Detective Lane had said the words with a twinkle in his eye. Being trapped inside an unsolvable puzzle was not a cause for celebration, it was a millstone to be worn around their necks. But that twinkle was misplaced. For, as long as the case remained unsolved, they were no longer just detectives searching for the truth; they were responsible for giving hope to the hopeless. They were the only thing standing between the city and complete anarchy.

Letting the case go unsolved was not an option, not in a city as familiar and as comfortable with death as the one they lived in. If evil knew it was so easy to get away with murder, there would be no end to the bloodshed that bathed the streets and gave a demonic glow to the endless stretches of asphalt. Center stage would beckon them, the spotlights would converge at their feet, and it would be up to them to prove they could withstand melting under the heat of a ravenous audience.

“You're being awfully quiet. What are you thinking?”

Detective Lane asked the question, unsure if Knox was even listening to him. He was used to being ignored by his partner, for he hadn’t yet proven himself to his elder. Time may have been able to prove any doubts wrong, but time moved too slowly for his liking. Not an unintelligent man, Lane knew that he would make little progress as a detective if he couldn't convince the man he spent all his time standing beside that he was worthy of his place.

To Detective Knox, his partner was nothing but a babysitter who, imposed on him, offered little in the way of support. Knox worked alone, his mind sifting the pieces until their jagged edges began to align. It was solitary work, and not the sort any partner could assist in. He held no grudge against Lane, nor did he think him incompetent. The problem was Knox himself, and the way his methods didn't fit the neat little box the department insisted he sit within.

“I'm thinking that we're screwed.”

Lane was unable to find the proper reaction to this. Detective Knox seldom agreed with his perceptions, but surely on this occasion he would have to concede that his partner was correct.

“What do you mean?”

“I see that look in your eye. You think we've just hit the jackpot, and we're about to become famous for taking on a real life novel. Let me tell you from experience, things aren’t so simple. Once this gets out in the press, everyone in this city is going to be watching our every move, they're going to question every decision we make, and they're going to be calling for our heads until we solve this thing. Every armchair detective who's ever read a story and figured out the ending is going to think they can do a better job than us, and it's going to leave us with a never-ending stream of lunatics calling in to give us the answer. I'm telling you, this is a no-win situation.”

“You're exaggerating. It won't be that bad.”

Knox did not appreciate being told how things were going to be by someone who had seen only a fraction as much as he had. Lane was still naïve about how far the depths of depravity extended, and how little respect men in their positions commanded. The police in the city were no heroes; they were a bunch of liars, peddling the myth of safety. Those who were paying attention saw through the lies, and much to Knox's dismay, the number grew with each passing sunrise.

This kid has no idea what he's talking about, Knox thought. He knew they were going to have to solve this case while hanging from a cross, and his clueless partner stood next to him with a smile on his face.

Detective Knox thought of him as a dog who doesn't realize he's being taken to get fixed, and wondered how he had been saddled with such a burden.

Knox swallowed his thoughts before they could become words, well aware that people always say they appreciate honesty right up until the minute the truth hits them in the face. Then, when reality can't be denied, they fall back into the bubbles of ignorance they prefer. Knox couldn't blame them; he wished at times he was able to do the same.

“I've learned a few things over the years. Chief among them is that no matter how bad you think things are, they can always get worse. I'm not trying to be a pessimist, I'm just accepting reality.”

“I deny your reality, and substitute my own.”

“Very funny. You have no idea what's about to happen.”

“Maybe not, but I have something you don't. I have faith. I have faith that we're going to solve the case, I have faith people are going to appreciate the work we do, and I have faith that there's going to be a bonus waiting for us on the other side of all this. It's going to be the best thing to ever happen to us.”

“The best thing that could ever happen to me is being pulled off this case.”

“But you always say how much you love the mystery, the puzzle. You finally get the big one, and all of a sudden you're walking away, afraid to take on the challenge.”

This show of fortitude made Knox smile. Perhaps, he thought, there was a fire inside Lane after all. The trouble was, that drive would push him towards failure and not away from it. They may have been standing at the beginning of the end of their careers, but Lane was not put off by the risks. Respect was beginning to emerge in Knox, a strange brew he was uncomfortable accepting.

“You know what? You're right. I do like puzzles, and I do like mysteries. What I don't like is having my future tied to one, but if you don't care that this could kneecap you before you even learn to walk, I might as well strap myself in and go along for the ride.”

“That's the spirit . . . I guess.”

“Cheer up, kid. We've got a genuine mystery to solve.”

“You're right. Do you have any initial insights?”

“It's a bit early for me to have much of an opinion. I need some time to sit down and go through my thoughts.”

“Oh, I see.”

Knox could feel Lane deflating, his interest waning as he was sidelined. Wasting time before one could assess the merit of each piece of information was not something Knox was comfortable with, but if Lane was going to be kept afloat, until they were dragged to the bottom together, such accommodations would have to be made.

“What about you? What's your initial take on all of this?”

As quickly as the air that seeped through the cracks, Lane reinflated, back to life. He had been waiting for the opportunity to prove himself to Knox. This was the first time his input had been solicited, and he considered it a major turning point in their relationship.

“People don't just get killed in locked rooms, so it seems to me that there's only two logical explanations. Either we've missed a key piece of evidence in our initial sweep, or that room wasn't locked at the time of the murder.”

“That could be, but how would someone go about locking it from the outside? It was a deadbolt keyed from the inside.”

“I didn't say I know how it was done. There has to be a way, and we're going to have to figure it out.”

“What's that thing they always say about the simplest explanation?”

“That it's always right.”

“Yeah, forget about that. It's not true at all. Murder is a complicated affair.”

“Maybe so, but engineering isn't. A lock is a lock, whether someone is murdered behind it or not. There has to be a way to get in and out without making it look like it. Magic isn't real.”

Knox appreciated the doggedness Lane was showing towards logic. He reminded Knox of himself as a younger man, unable and unwilling to admit the world didn't behave according to the rules. It was possible Lane was right, that there was a simple explanation for the problem that confronted them, but he was not counting on it. Knox knew problems grew more twisted, tangled, and complicated the deeper you searched, not the other way around.

“You're not being much of a detective. Don't write off any possibility until you absolutely have to.”