Just as Hank was about to start his car, his phone rang. Seeing Fowler's number, he put the phone on loudspeakers after answering.
"I just got a call from higher up," the captain's tired voice sounded from the speakers, "apparently both Mr. Crestwood and Dr. Kimble missed an emergency meeting of CyberLife's head staff this morning. None of them could be contacted per phone or mail and nobody has seen them since last night, when Crestwood ordered the tower into lockdown. We're still trying to organise lifting the towers security right now, before sending in a team, but such things take time. It's only a matter of time until the media get wind of this mess, so I'll approve search warrants for both apartments, the forms are in your inbox. Hurry up, would you?"
Not giving either of them the chance to reply, the call disconnected, leaving thoughtful silence behind.
"Well, where to first?" Hank asked as he started the car.
Connor accessed the warrants and looked up the addresses.
"Dr. Kimble's apartment is nearest, so I would recommend starting there. Also, considering the hacking signs, he may be more important to find."
Hank nodded and - guided by the android - started driving.
Dr. Kimble's apartment was located in a high-rise building on the outskirts of downtown.
As modern and clean as the building may have looked at first glance - all gleaming metal and glass covering the front - Connor noted in surprise that none of the security cameras surrounding it were connected.
Passing through the self opening glass doors, Hank only huffed a derisive laugh and shook his head.
"Yeah, they're probably charging real high bucks for the location alone. Seems like they tried to save costs by cutting corners. These kinds of buildings are mostly full of busy folk, who want to be able to say they live downtown but only really need the bed to crash at night."
His gaze wandered around dismissively. "Overpriced motels, if ya ask me. No real need for security around here, with the precinct in spitting distance."
The entrance hall was big and empty, artificial marble floor gleaming under the bright LED lamps dangling from the high ceiling. A big print of some kind of modern art on a wall opposite the mail boxes was the only feature apart from the elevator and stairway.
Dr. Kimble's mailbox was full of unread letters, a sign that he probably hadn't been home in a while even before the android revolution.
Looking around in interest, Connor followed Hank across the hall to the waiting elevator. Hank pressed the button for floor 9 and the elevator began its fast ascend smoothly.
Floor 9 was just as empty and clean as the rest of the building so far, numbered doors with keypads lining the gray walls, a single floor to ceiling window at the end, facing the small plaza on the backside of the building.
They stopped in front of a door with the number 912 and after their repeated knocking had no further effect, Connor interfaced with the keypad to gain access.
He frowned after a second, before the door unlocked with a beep.
Pushing it open, he informed his partner, "The software has been modified. I couldn't have hacked my way inside without a huge amount of work. Thankfully it seems to have accepted my police ID."
Hank shook his head as he followed the android inside.
"Well, we expected that guy to be tech savvy already. Now we can probably add 'paranoid' to the profile."
The first thing they noticed upon entering the apartment was it's emptiness.
White walls were lined with basic, if well made and probably expensive furniture.
A single huge bookcase stacked top to bottom with rows upon rows of old books stood next to a small empty desk, seemingly the only spot of personality in the whole room.
A small seating area next to an open kitchen island, that looked completely unused.
Two open doors leading into the bedroom and bathroom respectively.
No pictures, no decorations, not even a single plant in front of the big windows or on the balcony beyond.
Hank shrugged before commenting, "See, I told ya. These folk basically only sleep here."
Connor headed straight for the open bedroom doorway.
This room seemed nearly as soulless as the last, apart from a well read book laying exactly in the middle of the otherwise empty bedside table.
The huge bed was made with surprising precision, that left Connor wondering about possible android caretakers.
He opened the closet only to find it still full of clothing. Rows of suits were hanging neatly on one side, while colourful sweaters and simple jeans were filling the other side in perfectly folded stacks. Opening the drawers at the bottom showed collections of simple black socks and underclothing, both folded near obsessively.
All in all, nothing appeared to be missing.
Noting the empty suitcase sitting behind the door, Connor remarked loudly, "Wherever he went, he did not plan to leave for long. Everything is still here, even the suitcase."
Only to hear Hank call back, "Yeah, the bathroom's the same. Everything's still here. God, this guy seems to be obsessively neat."
Connor hummed in agreement, while carefully picking up the small book from beside the bed.
It appeared to be a collection of various old poems, pretty old and well read going by the creases and loose binding, but obviously cared for and covered in Dr. Kimble's fingerprints.
Slowly turning the pages, nothing stood out to him, apart from its pristine state.
He was about to set it back down, when Hank commented from behind him, "If you balance it on it's spine, it should open to whatever part here read most."
Blinking in surprise, Connor followed the advice to see the book fall open at a page in the middle, that was covered over and over in Kimble's fingerprints. "If- by Rudyard Kipling" the title stated. It appeared to be a guideline of human behaviour to strive for and Connor felt something resonate deeply in his core upon reading the poem out loud.
"If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And—which is more—you'll be a Man, my son!"
Noticing how deeply those words appeared to affect his partner, Hank remarked quietly, "Yeah, good poetry does that. There's nothing quite like it."
Connor nodded distractedly. He may not yet know who this Dr. Kimble was as a person, but he felt a strange kind of fragile connection to him nonetheless.
With all possible care, he put the slim book into an evidence bag, before slipping it into his pocket.
As they left the bedroom, Connor turned towards the kitchen and on a whim opened the fridge.
It was nearly empty apart from a bottle of old milk and a takeout container filled with moldy rice and vegetables.
The only other food related thing in the cupboards was a tin of loose leaf black tea and a pot of sugar.
Next, Connor turned towards the bookcase, eyeing the contents in curiosity.
He was faced with an eclectic mix of reference books concerning psychology and philosophy as well as poetry and older classics of various genres.
All of them appeared well read and cared for, in neat rows and stacks, each obsessively sorted by genre and alphabetical order of author and title.
The desk in contrast was utterly empty, not even the drawers contained more than a spare pen and an unused stack of paper.
Turning around in a circle, Connor had the frustrating feeling of missing something important.
He paced from one side of the room to the other, fiddling with his coin while going over everything they knew about Dr. Kimble out loud.
"Dr. Elliot Jonathan Kimble, born August 14th 2007 in Chicago, lived in an orphanage after having been found wandering the streets at age 5 and was adopted by Jennifer Kimble in September 2023."
"Any sign of his real parents?"
Connor shook his head.
"He moved to Detroit in 2028 after finishing his doctorate thesis in computer science on 'Applied Machine Learning Algorithms In Medical Fields' as well as a master in engineering at Chicago University."
Hank whistled impressed. "Clever boy, that Kimble!"
Connor nodded and continued, "He started employment at CyberLife in 2029 and was promoted to head of R 'n D after only five years. Over all, he appears to be highly intelligent, widely read, tech savvy and slightly paranoid as well as neat almost to the point of being obsessive."
He turned towards Hank and waved at the rest of the room.
"Something is off about this apartment, but I can't tell you what."
Hank hummed as he looked around thoughtfully. Eyeing the empty desk, he marched back into the bedroom, before calling "Where is all his tech?"
He re-entered the living room.
"He's a developer at CyberLife with a degree in cyber stuff and engineering. The guy must have a private laptop or something to modify the keypad outside, or at least a charger for his phone. But there's nothing in this whole apartment!" Connor's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he looked around. "Something else bothers me about all of this. But I couldn't tell you what."
He ducked under the desk to examine the electrical outlet in the wall. It appeared dusty and had to have gone unused for years.
Hearing this, Hank muttered grimly, "You're right, Connor. Something definitely seems off about all of this."
He looked at the clock on his phone before sighing and nodding towards the exit. "But if you've got nothing else to look at, we should head over to Crestwood's place next."
With one last lingering look around the empty apartment, Connor followed his partner outside.
He had the vague feeling that he hadn't seen the last of this place yet.