Tuesday, July 7, 2370, 11:34 AM
DeWitt Investigations, Calypso Plaza, Bradley Heights

Sally had left a message a few hours before Anna woke up, saying some stuff had and she would not be able to do her afternoon shift.

Anna hadn't heard it yet, though. Right now she was sitting at her desk, listening to the sound of someone entering the reception area of her office.

"Hello?" a voice called out.

"Through the door on your right," she replied, getting up from her desk.

The door opened and in walked a young man, probably early 30s, wearing a brown suit. His hair was combed to the side with a crisp part on the same longitude as the furthest edge of his right eyebrow. He had put too much gel on, his hair was shining even when he wasn't standing under light.

"Mr. Boyer, I presume," Anna said, walking up to him and shaking his hand. "Have a seat. Would you like some coffee?"

"Uh, no thanks," he said nervously. "It…goes right through me."

"Fair enough." Anna made herself a cup before directing him to the chair directly opposite her desk. "So…tell me about yourself, Donovan Boyer."

"Just call me Dean. I don't really use Donovan."

"Well, Dean Boyer, what can I do for you?"

Dean glanced around the room. Anna didn't like when her clients did that: it implied initial mistrust right off the bat. Not a good start to relationships in her book.

"Well…it's about my ex-boyfriend."

Anna let out a sudden cough, which was definitely not accidental. "Not that kind of Private Eye, pal."

"No! No, not like that…" Dean shifted embarrassedly. "He, well…he's been murdered."

"Sorry to hear that."

"I was looking to hire your services in investigating his death."

"Is that so?" Anna pulled out a notepad and a pencil. "Well, my asking price is 400 dollars a day."

Dean looked startled. "Isn't that a little much?"

Anna smiled. "Well, under normal circumstances I would settle for minimum wage. But when we take into account accident insurance and risk of bodily harm and the potential need for me to be bailed out of jail—"

"Okay, okay! Can you give me an estimate on how many days this would take?"

"Not really. I go over every detail, but one case could take a few hours and another could take me a month." Noticing Dean's sickly look, she added, "Though most of my cases only take a week."

Dean looked at the door. "Umm…I don't mean to be rude, I think I'll take my case elsewhere."

Anna shrugged. "Fine with me. Before you do though…mind taking a look at that bulletin board over there?"

To Anna's left, hanging between two windows in the lounge area, was a large bulletin board. At the center was a picture of an unpleasant-looking man with a red line drawn in crayon over his face. Next to it, linked by some red thread, was a picture of what appeared to be a femme-fatale-type with a question mark over her face. Linked to her were photos of five people, each with a red X covering their faces.

"That's from my last big case," Anna explained. "I'm sure you remember Frank Fontaine? That's him with the red line through his face. That lady next to him was his lieutenant, who also carried out assassinations for him—specifically, those five people."

"I see."

"Now…look at what's directly above Mr. Fontaine."

Linked to Fontaine with blue thread was a picture of Anna.

"Notice anything different about mine?" she asked. "Perhaps a lack of crayon? Think about that before taking your services somewhere else."

Dean stared at the board for a moment longer before turning to look at Anna.

The detective knew what that silence meant. She gripped her pencil and began writing on the notepad. "Your boyfriend…what was his name?"

"Silas. Silas Cobb."

The pencil tip broke. Anna stayed still for a moment.

"Umm…Ms. DeWitt?"

She put down the pencil. "That's 'Detective,' to you, Mr. Boyer. Well, today's your lucky day. I'm waiving the fee."

"You're what?"

"You're what?!" Alec exclaimed.

"I'm already undergoing an active investigation with regards to your boyfriend's death. You don't have to hire me for a case I'm already on."

Though he didn't say it out loud, Boyer seemed pleased by this. "So where does that leave me?"

"Just a witness." Anna pulled out a microphone. "Mind if I record our chat? I'm gonna need to check back on some stuff over the investigation."

"Of course."

"Alec, transcribe the conversation as we go along."

"…of course, Detective."

Anna turned on the microphone. "So, how did you know Mr. Cobb?"

Boyer, who seemed more relaxed now, leaned back in his chair. "Well, we hit it off at a club one night about a year ago, and we ended up getting an apartment together about two months in."

"Daring."

"Well, he was good with money, able to support both of us. Then he got cast in some Tennessee Williams play that was co-produced by—"

"Which play?"

"…what?"

"Which Tennessee Williams play?"

"Err…A Streetcar Named Desire."

"Ahah. Continue."

"Well, it was co-produced—"

"You sure it was Streetcar? He also wrote Cat on a Hot Tin Roof."

"I'm…pretty sure it was Streetcar."

"Was there a random-ass moment where a lady kisses a kid?"

"I'm sorry, is any of this relevant?"

"I don't fuck around with Tennessee Williams. Go on."

Boyer waited for a few seconds before continuing, clearly on-guard after that strange digression. "Well, the co-producer of Streetcar was Sander Cohen, so I'd see him around a lot in the rehearsal space. He seemed to take a…a liking to him after a few rehearsals."

"I see."

"Something weird started happening. He started coming home pretty late in the evenings, he was cold and distant with me and his friends… he tried to keep to himself. Like he was hiding something."

"Was he cheating on you?"

"Knowing what Cohen gets up to with his muses, I wouldn't put it past him. Either way, soon as the production was over, Silas packed up and left. Moved to a penthouse near the studio."

Anna pursed her lips. "So…why did you wanna hire me?"

"Well, a few months ago, he called me out of the blue. I think it was a wrong number. But he sounded like he was in trouble."

"What'd he say?"

"It was a weird call… he said 'the goods had been compromised' and that he wanted out. But then he realized it was me and hung up. He sounded… pained?"

"Pained?"

"Like he'd been injured. He was breathing a lot and it sounded like it was hard for him to speak. Probably wasn't a call I was meant to hear. He called me back about a week later and apologized, said he'd gotten mixed up. But whatever he was up to…it had to do with Cohen."

"You think Cohen killed him."

Boyer let out a laugh, an unusually candid one for him. "Not himself, no…that guy wouldn't dare get his hands dirty. But he has to have something to do with it. Silas got in over his head, cost him his life."

"Precious. Alec, stop recording." Anna leaned forward. "On-record, you're not hiring me. But off-the-record, considering you came with the intention of it, I'm obligated to offer you any information I find."

Boyer held up his hands. "No information needed. Just… I need closure."

Anna nodded. "I'll let you know when I'm done. Feel free to head out."

Boyer nodded as he grabbed his things and headed for the door. But before he left, he stopped. "By the way…" he said, looking over his shoulder. "Bring Cohen down, alright?"

And then he was gone.

Normally, Anna would have found some way to weasel herself into the Cohen Studios. This time, however, she had someone much closer to Cohen to help her get there through more legitimate means.

"Alec, call LeSandra Cohen."

"Dialing…"

The muffled sound of dance music. "Well, Ms. Draper, I presume."

"Hahah."

"What can I do for you, Anna?"

"I need a way to get close to your father."

"Ooh, looking for a date?"

"You know I'm not. It's…for a case."

"…"

"Hello?"

"This is about that Cobb kid, isn't it?"

"How did you know?"

"Listen, DeWitt: I know my dad. Sander Cohen is one of the most dangerous men in the city, I wouldn't put it past him to kill Si, much less Kyle or Martin."

"You knew them?"

"Of course. He loves bringing his work home with him."

"Pleasant. So why haven't you gone to the police about it?"

"Evidence, honey. I may be his socialite daughter, but he's practically one of the founders. I can't go to anyone about my suspicions, not even the Board of Improvement. If anyone's gonna find proof he killed those guys, it's you."

"Thanks."

"He's got a banquet at Cohen Studios tomorrow night. I might be able to sneak you in as a journalist. Maybe the backstory is we're old girlfriends."

"Not far off."

"As I recall you weren't too interested. I'll get you a ticket: what name should I put you under?"

"Courtnee Draper, Arts Section of Odyssey Magazine."

"Got a good ring to it. Oh, one more thing."

"Yes?"

"Who hired you for this?"

"No one, actually, I'm just curious."

"…just curious, huh? Well, you know curiosity killed the cat."

Anna smirked. "Yes, but satisfaction brought it back."

"Good girl. See you tomorrow."

"Likewise."