Intro
“I’m at the location” The police woman said on the radio, parked and idled silently beneath the elm tree. An officer checked the address on the dispatch sheet again. An anonymous, panicked call about a loud crash and possible break-in at the Albright residence, an address belonging to one of the city’s old-money patrons. The house was massive and silent. The officer circled the perimeter, flashlight beam cutting through the fog until it settled on a rear window a large library pane shattered inward. Drawing her weapon and radioing dispatch for backup, the officer slipped through the breach. The officer’s flashlight first illuminated what appeared to be a white mound of snow heaped on the floor, but a closer look revealed the gleaming, pulverized fragments of marble. A magnificent statue, a priceless relic, now dust. Rage and destruction, the officer thought, noting the violence. Then, she found the body. The body lay slumped over the bloody mahogany desk, at the back of the head resting awkwardly on a stack of mathematic texts. Their life was clearly over. The officer, focused on securing the scene, moved toward the body.Looking for the weapon, the signs of struggle, and the possible obvious details. But it wasn’t the blood or the marble dust that made her pause. It was the peculiar object on the victim’s hands Tucked between their limp fingers was a small, colorful plastic cube. She hesitated. Was it a child’s toy? A misplaced trinket? She nudged it gently with the tip of her pen. It was a standard puzzle cube, but even in the dim light, it was unsettling. Every face was a jumble of colors, a complex knot of sequences. Yet, on the top face, a piece was clearly missing, replaced by a different color that didn’t belong to that side’s solution. Also, it doesn’t have blood on it. The destruction was chaos, but this small object was mystery. Shaken by the sheer wrongness of the detail, the officer backed slowly out of the area. She holstered her weapon and brought the radio to her mouth, her voice catching slightly. “Dispatch, Unit 417. I have a 10-54, confirmed homicide, Albright residence. And... I think we have a signature. It’s some kind of puzzle.” The Dispatch Operator’s voice, usually a monotone cadence, hardened with alert. “417, confirm your 10-54. And you mentioned a signature?” Unit 417, still near the library threshold. “Affirmative on the homicide, Dispatch. Based on the I.D, it’s Professor Albright, a mathematician at Sunburst Valley University. And... yes, the signature. It’s unlike the others.” “Be specific, 417. We had that tagger leaving paint bombs last month. What kind of signature?” “No spray paints. No message on the wall. It’s a puzzle,” the officer insisted, glancing back at the desk where the little plastic cube rested, mocking the murder. “A small, cubed puzzle. Like a... a Rubik’s Cube.” The line went silent for a beat. “Describe the scene around this cube, 417. Is it damaged? Painted? Is there an accompanying note?” “It’s clean. Undamaged. It’s sitting right next to the victim’s hand. And it’s scrambled,” the officer reported. “But not randomly. It looks... deliberate. And one side, the white side, has a piece missing. Like someone replaced it with a wrong color, yellow.” On the other end, the supervisor, a veteran named Harding, had picked up the parallel channel. He knew the cube meant a certain kind of mind was involved. Harding confused “417, is the surrounding art damaged? Albright was a mathematician; a Rubik’s cube could be his.” “Massive destruction, sir,” 417 confirmed. “A large white statue in the corner is destroyed. But the fragments... they’re scattered in a perfect circle, sir.” Harding’s grip tightened on the handset. Harding understood what he needed to do “Understood. Listen to me, 417. Do not touch the cube. Do not let anyone touch the cube. Clear the immediate vicinity. I’m going to the Specialist. We have reason to believe this perpetrator views this crime as a challenge.” Supervisor Harding then grabbed his car keys and left the precinct.
