Episode 1: Midnight in Babylon

This is what happened. Pay attention.

The rain falls heavy on the streets of Babylon. The gutters are filling up. The light is grey, diffuse, strange. The sun is lost in the clouds like it's never coming back. There is a mass of people a throng even but every one of them is walking around as if they were the only person in the whole wide world They never look up, never look around. Why would they? What is there to see?

Deep below the earth, the subway creaks and rattles. On the streets, car engines moan and hum in the never ending traffic. And above it all loom the skyscrapers, Vast and faceless and silent, their cyclopian majesty reduced to a bland grey shadow. Buddy. Tell me, deep down in your soul are you horny? Are you looking for that extra?

Extraordinary erotic experience that will blow open your doors of perception? Can you imagine the magic of cinnamon an intimate exchange with the beguiling mysteries of lust? Oh Actually, I'm just Or maybe you're looking for something more down to worth. Mother Earth. The Earth Mother. Yes, the allure of the ordinary of grass desire splattered across the screen. The Pussycat has it all. Is this 66 Prospect Street. No man, this is 64. 66 is down there. In the basement? Yep. Thanks. Enjoy.

Sorry, I'm late. The rain is I'm aware of the weather, Mr. Wade. Your colleagues are already here. Please be seated. Sorry. It every time it rains the whole city breaks down. It's all the blockage in the sewers, you know. Like I read an article about it. So there is such a thing as too much shit, even in this city. It's mostly grease and wet wipes, actually.

What a great way to start the day. First I get a phone call from my smug asshole of a captain telling me to report to this shithole. Then I get to listen to a fascinating discussion about wet wipes and grease. And calcium. Can someone please tell me why I'm here? I I would actually like to know that too. We'll get there. But let's try to be professional for just a little bit, or is that too much to ask? Would you prefer to go on with the whining and blathering?

No? All right then. This meeting will be tapercorded, as will all further meetings. I'm Captain Donovan. Please state your names and ranks for the record. Harrison Crane, detective. Susan Danton, detective. Benjamin Wade, also detective. Detective. Now you were wondering what you're doing in this uh charming little basement.

The answer's simple. Due to your excellent work in each of your respective precincts, you've been assigned to the Unified Cold Case Task Force. Oh, fuck. What? I was in the middle of a case. All your open cases have been reassigned. You will be working exclusively for the task force from now.

I knew it. I fucking knew it. Mr. Crane, if you could contain yourself. You know, I thought this place was a rumor, but no, I do my job, and this is what I get. Reassigned to the murder dungeon. Wait, this is the murder dungeon? You're that, Captain Donovan? Yep. Welcome to hell, Benny Boy. But we didn't do anything wrong, did we? Did I mess up somehow? Cause I can someone please explain Quiet!

Now listen to me. Yes, you've heard the stories. Crazy old Captain Donovan and his filthy stinky murder dungeon where they send you to work on unsolvable cases till you lose your mind. And yeah. Everything you've heard is true. The reason you're here is because they want to fire you. But wait, why would they want to fire me?

I haven't done anything wrong. You may not know why, but they're pretty sure they want you gone. Except for whatever reason they can't fire you. So they send you to me, and I put you to work on the cases that nobody wants. Till you get tired of smelling each other's farts and do everyone a favor and quit.

Okay? That's the deal. Unacceptable. This is such bullshit. Unless you actually want to do something useful for once in your worthless lives. Something that might make a difference. Yeah, don't think I haven't read your files. I know exactly what sort of people you are. Morons? No. Morons do fine in this job. Here's something much worse. Something the mayor and the commissioner spent a long time trying to eradicate. You're good cop.

So we're being punished because we're good? Typical. You can call it punishment, or you can call it an opportunity. You can do what they expect you to do, which is to piss me off for a few weeks and then quit. Or, like I said, you can do something that's actually useful. You work for me, you play by my rules, and you actually solve these cases. That does sound better. Better than working retail. So what are your rules? There's three of them. And not a single one is optional.

First rule, everything is recorded, and I mean everything. Every conversation, every report, every interrogation, and every bit of audio must be reviewed at the end of the month. You better like the sound of your own voice. Now the second rule. Every recording, every document, every goddamn bit of scrap paper is kept here in the vault.

See that big metal door? Nobody has access to it except me. Nobody. And if the commissioner shows up and says, hey, I was just looking for Donovan's files. What files? Got it. Rule number three, you don't talk to anyone about what you do here. Not your wife, not your girlfriend, not even your mother. Believe me, it's it's better this way. I'll give you a moment to think about it. Get to know each other.

Who watches porn at this time of day? What, you never heard of Morning Wood? Besides, that's a classic. You can tell what movie it is by the sound alone? Yeah, it's cum nuns too. Bad habit. Ugh. Disturbed? No. Impressed. Thank you. Can we talk about the thing that actually matters here? Do we have to? I'm really uncomfortable.

What Donovan's talking about sounds borderline illegal. He's definitely not following any kind of protocol. Right? I mean, record everything and then hide it in the crazy bunker room? It's not really what we signed up for. Agreed. So uh what what did you sign up for? If we're stuck here, might as well get to know each other like you said. How did you end up here? You first. Me? I I don't know, I just I just wanna be a good cop, help people, keep them safe.

That's what you think cops do? That's what they should do. Okay, so you're here because you're an idiot. A heretic. How about you, Blondie? I testified in the Whitman dossier case. Oh wow. No wonder they hate you. You got like fifteen cops sent to jail. Me and whoever leaked the dossier. But if they fired you, it would look like retaliation. So here I am. But you did the right thing. You probably saved lives.

Those guys were killing people to cover up their tracks. I made the only ethical choice that was available to me. That doesn't mean that I can allow myself to indulge in the fantasy that my actions change something. Heinmann and his associates are in jail. But the people who protected them are still in power. Nothing's really changed.

Sure, but at least there were consequences. And if they didn't get away with it, doesn't that send a message that maybe sometimes there can be justice? Heinmann shot a guy in the head and he's doing less time than a homeless teen selling dope. You think that's justice? It's look, I don't mean to give the impression that I'm cynical. I do believe that policing is necessary and that it can be done correctly. Thank you. But the rot goes deep.

And I think we have to confront that soberly and analytically.

So I'm trapped in the murder dungeon with an idiot and a robot. Fan fucking test. Seriously, what do you gain from being such a dick? I don't know. Amusement? Is it really that funny that we give a shit? Yes. Yes, it is, because you're talking about justice and ethics and how maybe things are out of balance, but if we're nice enough or smart enough, somehow it'll all get better. But you don't get it. You just don't get that everything is fundamentally fucked.

It's fucked right down to the fucking nanoscale, okay? We are subatomically fucked. And nothing we can do can change anything. Correct a mundo, Benny Boy. Please don't call me that. So if everything is pointless and all actions are meaningless, I assume you won't be accepting Donovan's offer? I I did not say that. So you're thinking of taking the job?

Yes. Aha. And why would you do that? Why would you do something really annoying and difficult when you know that it's pointless? Why not just quit and go work in a clown shop or something? Alright, you got me. I'm a fucking idiot too. Happy now? Yes, sir. Welcome to the team.

I'm almost certain I'm going to remain. There is Or your case? That's A lot of files. Do any cases actually get solved in this city? Where do we start? Wherever you want. Top of the pile, by date, alphabetically, I don't really care. As long as you document everything you do. And I mean everything. Every weird idea, every stray thought. I don't just want your conclusions. I want the connective tissue.

How you got from A to B to C, and what you thought about it. You want me to document my shits too? If your shits are more interesting than your comments, then yes. Okay, the new boss is a bit touchy. Look, I don't have Time. Just di pick a case, get to work, document everything. Here. See if you can make sense of this one. Is he gone? Yep. Man, he has one tough son of a bitch. Did you see those scars on his arms? Those are from taking down Manny the knife fucker.

Excuse me, Manny the Who? Manny the knife fucker. He was a drug dealer. I I mean he took about as many drugs as he sold. Not exactly a business genius, if you know what I mean, but he knew how to keep people in line. He had this Big ass knife used to cut up junkies who didn't pay their debts. One time, he carved his name into a hooker right into her tits. He was like the fucking boogeyman of downtown for a few years. Charming. I remember reading about this.

Donovan subdued him unarmed. Sure, that's one way of describing it. Actually, Manny cornered him in a dark street, came at him with a knife, slashed the hell out of him, but Donovan punched him so hard, a piece of his fucking jaw ended up in his brain. Ow. Of course, some people wonder how a crazy ass drug addict like Manny knew where to find Donovan in the first place.

You think someone tipped him off? I think someone hired him. Donovan didn't exactly have a lot of fans in the department. This is all very interesting, but we should probably focus on the case. You're right. Sorry. Let's uh let let's see.

And we're back on the air. Hope you didn't forget your umbrellas this morning because it's raining cats and dogs out there. Hey Jerry, you ever seen rain like that? Yeah, yeah, crazy. Well you know what? Maybe it'll clean up dockside. Wash all those drugs down the river. You ever see a flounder get high? Heh, talk about a flying fish.

So on the surface this looks pretty ordinary. The victim is Samantha Perry, 21, studied mathematics, supported herself by working as a waitress. She was staying at a motel because of water main and her building ruptured. Around two AM, someone entered room one three seven and stabbed her to death in her bed.

The first suspect was the owner of the motel, Slobodan Vinitsky, but he had a pretty good alibi. The second suspect was Perry's estranged father. She was seen having a fight with him earlier that day. Uh it looks like they treated him like he was guilty before they'd even talked to him, and he was targeted by the press. They ran his picture on the front page of the post.

Except then it turned out he's disabled. That doesn't disqualify him. Trust me, disabled people can be just as shitty as everyone else. True. But her motel room was on the second floor, and there's no elevator. And he doesn't have legs from the knee down. Industrial accident. Okay, fair enough. That does make him an unlikely suspect. Do we know what they were fighting about?

Um, I have a statement from the father. Uh he says he thought she was hanging out with people who were a bad influence and throwing away her future. Oh, it's all very vague. When pressed he couldn't provide a single name. Could be typical paranoid dad stuff, except someone actually killed her. The forensic evidence is useless too.

Not really surprising in a fleabag motel like that. You turn on a blacklight in one of those rooms and it's like you're in a fucking Jackson Pollock painting. They probably found traces of cum on the ceiling. There's an image I didn't need.

And apparently you're right. From two different guys too. Yeah. Also, what were they doing? The strange thing is how she was discovered. 136 and 138 were empty, but uh misses uh Rhonda Weisberger was staying in O three seven directly beneath Perry's room. She says that she heard the sound of a door being broken down, followed by loud female screams.

She called 911 at 402 AM and officers arrived at the scene twenty-five minutes later. They found the door locked from the inside. Samantha Perry dead in her bed with her chest carved open. Oh. What? The photo is Quite graphic. I probably shouldn't look at that. Come on, you're a cop. Don't be a holy shit. That's

Mm fucked man. That's not a murder. That's a cannibal Holocaust sequel. Yeah, I really shouldn't look at that. Samantha Perry's liver was found on the nightstand. Her heart was cut into four pieces, and each piece was placed in a corner of the room. That sounds ritualistic. I agree. But it looks like the investigating officers couldn't find any links to cults or other religious groups.

although it looks like they never asked the father whether the bad people he mentioned might be connected to that sort of thing. Honestly, the entire investigation is really substandard. Substandard cops in this city? Look at this. These facts don't even match. The nine one one call was at four hundred O two AM, but it says the time of death was around two AM.

One of these numbers has to be wrong. That's not the only thing that doesn't match. The downstairs lady, Miss Uh Weisberger. Yeah, her. She said she heard a door being broken open, but the door was undamaged and locked. From the inside. Unless the killer was a carpenter and maybe a locksmith, that makes no sense. Maybe she heard something else breaking and later assumed it was the door? People create narratives like that and sometimes the narratives overwrite their actual memory.

Sure, but then how did the killer get in? And if the police arrived in twenty five minutes, is that enough time to carve up a person like that and lock the door from the inside and get away unseen? But wait. I reread the first report, and when the officers found the body, they said it looked like some time had passed since the murder. That suggests the recorded times actually do match. She was killed at two and then the witnesses called the police at four.

Okay, but that implies the witnesses were lying. Which means they listened to someone get brutally murdered and then just Sat there waiting. I mean, maybe they were in shock, but But for for two whole hours and then suddenly they call and pretend it all just happened a couple minutes ago? No. Something does not smell right here. Either the witnesses are lying or the dumbasses who took the case messed up big time. Why would the witnesses be lying? I mean

What what motive would they have? That's what we need to find out. I suggest you go talk to the motel owner and misses Weisberger and I'll dig deeper into these files, see what else I can find. Deal. Alright, so to document every step, we're in the car, if you want to call it that, headed downtown to talk to Mr. Slobodon Benit Vonitsky 62. Owner of the Golden Sleep Rest and Eat Best Comfort Motel. That's quite a mouth. That's what she said. Really? What? That's what she said.

Thanks for talking to us, Mr. V Vonitsky. Vonitsky. No problem. Everyone thinks I am shady man because I run motel in bad part of town. But I am just ordinary business. If I had money to run fancy hotel in Central Avenue, I would happily do it, yes? Uh big clean rooms, a nice spa, a restaurant with signed photos of movie stars. Sounds great. Instead, I have this shit. But I do what I can. When I bought the place, the water that came out of faucet was brown. Now it's almost clean.

I have three cats. They kill the cockroaches. They can't kill the big rats, but at least the big rats kill the little rats. And I really tried to We're not suggesting you did anything wrong. We just want you to tell us what you remember. Okay, okay. I just want you to understand I am not criminal. When cops come, you know, they treat me like I have something to hide.

Like I am lying about the girl. I would never Just tell us what happened. It is four in the morning. I'm sitting in my daughter's room. She is seven and she has nightmare. So I'm there with my wife and her mother. She used to live with us, and we are trying to calm her down. Just when she stopped crying, I hit. And the loud screen.

Now to see what happened. I hear more screaming and it's coming from room 137. Miss Weisberger comes out and she's yelling, we have to call the police. I tell her you call. I go help Miss Perry. Now you understand. I am shitting myself. I don't want to get shot by some maniac, but the screams are so horrible. You've never heard anything like that. So you run upstairs and then I try opening the door, but it doesn't open. Because it's locked. But don't you have a master key?

locked but no it's jammed somehow the key won't even turn i open like in a movie, but I just hurt my back. So we wait for police. And you wait there the whole time? Yes. Nobody leaves the room. No. And there's no other way out. No window? No, nothing. I wish I had windows. It would help with the mold. He must have already left. How much time would you say passed between you hearing the first scream and the moment you arrived somewhere you could see the door to 137?

Maybe two minute three? That doesn't make any sense. I am telling you exactly how it happened. No, I I don't mean I don't think you're lying, but we're missing something. When you saw the crime scene, what did it look like? Это вас... I don't know how to tell you. I've seen bad things, yes? But this was. I thought... this can't be real. So much blood and the girl all cut up. I think who does this? Who does this? human being. Kill them.

and then cut their flesh and write on the wall. Wait, there was writing? That's not in the report. Yes. Big letters over bed. What did it say? Strange words. I don't know what they mean. Can you try to remember? The first two words were the same. It was uh Mene mene tek something. That sounds familiar. There was also the tape I found later under bed. I gave to police. Another thing that's not in the report.

What kind of tape? Uh magnetic tape, you know, for a computer? It had something written on label but hard to read. They do not teach calligraphy in schools here, I think. Do you remember any part of it? I remember two words. One was just letters. Abbreviation, maybe? It's a NCC. What, like the Starship Enterprise? Huh? Never mind. What was the other word?

What the fuck is that? I don't know, but I don't like it. I I'm with you. Uh I I know this is a weird question, but how dry did the blood look to you? Not on the walls, but on the body. Was there any drippage? I'm not sure I understand. Did it look like the murder had just happened or did it look like maybe a few hours had passed? I don't know. I only see blood on television. Fair enough. I I did think that I expected it to look more fresh, but it had just happened.

I heard it. Right. So what about Miss White Weiss? Do you know where we could find her? In the graveyard. She was already very sick then. Shit, that sucks. Sucks more for Miss Weisberger. Sorry, he didn't mean it that way. Anyway, thank you for your time, Mr. V. We'll get back in touch if we have any more questions, but Don't worry, you're not under investigation or anything. No problem. Please tell me if I can help. I feel very bad for this girl.

She is not the first person to die in my motel, you understand, but This was different. We understand. Mr. Vinitsky, you said your daughter had a nightmare the night that Samantha Perry was murdered. Uh do you remember what that was? Yes, it was uh how do you say sleep paralysis. She cannot move, and at the foot of her bed she see a a thing like a man, but not really a man, more like demon in shape of a man. with a black tattoo of a serpent on his arm.

She said the demon man stared at her, angry, full of hate, and she tried to scream, but paralyzed. And he just stared. For a long time. And then slowly his mouth opens and she gets very scared because inside his mouth is all black. Then she wake up. Did this kind of thing ever happen again? No, no, thank God. But she pee the bed many times.

The fact that there isn't a single mention of the writing on the wall in the report is extremely unprofessional. Who the hell did they put in charge of this case? It's weird, the files didn't actually say. No investigating officer is listed. Wanna bet the tape is gone too? Let's ask Susan. Maybe she's figured out something useful. Oh, there's a payphone. Let me call her. You got any money? Sir. You don't have any cash? Bought myself a pretty expensive gift the other day. Okay.

UCCT Danton speaking. Hey Blondie, it's Harrison and Little Benny. Please don't call me the any news? I found a stamp on one of the documents that suggest the case was handled by someone from the seventh precinct. That's weird. Shouldn't it be the sixth? It should, but sharing cases is not exactly unheard of, especially since the sixth is notoriously understood.

What is strange, however, is that the investigating officer, one Victor Lamont, had only been transferred to the seventh two days earlier and was transferred again two weeks later. Wait, did she say Victor Lamont? Yeah. Why? I don't I don't know. It it sounds familiar.

Do you know where Lamont is now? No. He seems to have vanished after he retired. Oh, ask her if there's anything in the files about a magnetic tape labeled as as a m as of As whatever fucking. A magnetic tape? No, nothing. Apart from the body, no evidence was recovered. But I have another lead. You remember the victim's father, Sherman Perry? Yeah, the press blamed him, but he couldn't have done it. Is it about the dad? I knew that was important. I have an address.

Kind of. Kind of? It's the the homeless encampment in eastern downtown. Shit City. Oh, finding him is gonna be fun. I would suggest asking Dr. Nyar at the free clinic on the corner of Wilshurn Sixth. Perry has several chronic conditions, and that's the only place where people in Will do.

If we die in a car crash, let the record show that this vehicle hasn't been maintained since the invention of the automobile. And let the record show that someone has carved iHeart Anal onto the glove compartment. I think we have to turn left here. Yeah, wouldn't it be nice if you could use the indicator?

It's there for a reason. You ever been to Shit City? No. Doesn't sound like a very nice place. To be honest, as homeless encampments go, it's not the worst. A lot of old people, even some families. Uh and they have porta potties now, so the name isn't as accurate as it used to be. Still smells like shit, of course, just Less. I don't know how this is even like How is this just something we expect? So many people living like that. That's just how it is, man. Is it though? I mean...

Is this. I don't know. It didn't seem like this when I was a kid. That's because your parents protected you. I guess so. It just... sometimes it feels like everything's. slipping. That's those rose-tinted glasses, Benny Boy. You got lucky. You had a nice childhood. Believe me, it was always like this. Night gone to control. HVT terminated. Mission completed successfully. All assets accounted for. You know someone that uh

Oh, hello. Doctor Nayar. I'm Detective Wade. This is Detective Crane. We're with the UCCT. What can I do for you, gentlemen? We're looking for a man named Sherman Perry. We were told you might know where to find him. I might. Is he in trouble? No, no. We we just want to talk to him about an old case. His daughter. Yeah. Look, Sherman's been through a lot. He's not the only one here who's lost loved ones in a terrible way. But what the police did to Sherman was

To speak plainly, it was shameful. If you're here to do more of the same, I would ask you to reconsider. We're not. Then please keep in mind that Sherman is a human being, not just a pawn in your investigation. And if you can actually help him. Please do. The rain keeps falling, relentless, uncaring, oblivious to the needs of the huddled masses in the encampment.

The gutters are overflowing now and the river has turned wild, but there is no coming flood to wash away the city's sins. No apocalyptic release. Darkness begins to fall. But though the stars are there, they're obscured. A different light illuminates the streets instead. the garish glow of neon, and perhaps it is better that way. After all, the stars are indifferent, are they not?

How's the case going? Detective Wade and Detective Crane should be on their way back from the downtown homeless encampment. If they manage to find Sherman Perry, we we might have a new lead. If not I'm not sure what else we can try. These cases aren't called for nothing, you know. They're frustrating. And if you're not careful, you'll get tangled up with them. Start dreaming about them at night.

Yeah, I suggest you avoid that. Anyhow, I'm headed out. There's water in my shoes. Oh hey, they're playing hot and saucy pizza girls. That can't be a real movie. Looks like your co-workers are back. Maybe they'll have that clue. Good luck. Keep a clear head as long as you can detect. Gentlemen. How did it go? Your idea was really good. Dr. Nyar immediately recognized who we were talking about, and Sherman was

Very talkative. Play the tape. Harrison was a little Just play the fucking tape. He took everything from me, you understand? Everything. My body, my dignity, my family, my friends. I kept fighting, trying to find a way. I tried so hard. I tried so hard. But no matter what I did, it just kept getting worse. I could never win. And when I thought I'd won, just for a little while, when I thought I could be happy. That was even worse.

Because when it all came crashing down, I realized how fake my happiness had been. I tried. I really tried. Believe me. I wanted to be happy. I wanted my family to be happy. When I lost the lake, that wasn't the beginning. That was almost the end. When I started out, it was a good job. People forget that. It wasn't easy, but we did good work. We were proud of every machine that rolled off that line, and we got paid for it.

My buddy Steve always used to say the boss doesn't work and he makes millions while we only get a wage, but I mean, we did get a pretty decent wage, you know. So I I had a life. I had a family. My wife, she was real pretty and nice when we were young. But when But when we got older, she got hard, you know. She was tired all the time, and she got mean sometimes. Not really because she hated anyone, just You know, she was disappointed,'cause she thought things would get better.

But we just kept getting poorer. And then the leg. The pain. Uh The the pain the pain wasn't the worst part. I mean it it was bad. It was the worst pain I'd ever felt by a long shot, feeling my bone break and the flesh just rip. I wish I could forget that. The feeling of flesh Ripping. But when I couldn't work anymore. That was, you know, no job, no insurance. Probably would have been better if I'd died.

I thought about that all the time, you know? What if I died? Would have been a lot easier for everyone. I tried to tell myself, No, you can handle this. You've been through worse, right? You'll find a way just like you always do. And I just didn't. I tried, but no jobs for people like me. Not even jobs for people who are young and whole. But my daughter She wasn't like me and her mom. She was special. I know every dad says that, but she was. She was a Uh

uh a a prodigy. She saw numbers like y music or art It was like a a spark, a a gift, you know, from I don't know. I don't really believe in God anymore, but if there was a God, that's the sort of gift he would give. When she was ten, she could do stuff that even her math teacher didn't understand. Her mom and I tried to get her a better education, but It ain't easy when you're from this part of town. Sam, she she was smart. But she wasn't the right kind of person for those fancy schools.

I remember she really wanted to get into this program for gifted girls, and we tried. Wasn't meant for girls like her. She was so sad, and I felt so helpless. If I just had some money or my leg or Something. Well.

She got into college. Her mom married a guy with a house and no mortgage, and I thought I failed at everything except my daughter. I said to myself, It's all right, Sherman. You did what you could for the next generation. Your daughter's life is gonna be better than yours. That ain't so bad at the end of the day, is it? But she was hanging around with these people, these corporate folks from Parson Tech.

Now I don't like being poor, but these people they're cruel because they think they're better than everyone. And Sam, she was like her mom when I married her, and I thought I thought they'd hurt her. She said, no, they want me to work on their algorithms. They think I'm a genius. They call me Math Girl. I just knew I knew they were bad, but she was happy. And why would she listen to an old man saying these are not your friends? And then she died.

Butchered. Like an animal. And I just didn't know. I didn't know how to go on. All I could think about were her last moments. If she was in pain, or if it was I just I couldn't. I crawled straight into the bottle, and when I wake up the papers are saying I killed her. And they interview my wife, and she says I'm a bad father, even though she's barely talked to Sam in over a year, too busy with her new life.

And my friends, all of'em except Steve, they think maybe I did it. Maybe I'm a murderer. Even though there's no logic, there's no reason. How could I ever Steve tells me fuck em. They were never your friends, but that don't help. Amen. Now I just know my friendships were fake. Half my life is just a lie. And I got nothing. All those years of working and look at me. Look at me! You know how people always say, what if you could go back in time and kill some Some bad guy.

I wish I could go back in time and kill myself.

Fucking fucks. You okay, Harrison? No, just leave me alone. Look, if you need to talk about- I said leave me the fuck alone! You know what bugs me, Jerry? Everyone says the mayor should do something about the sewers. But come on. I mean, how about you do something about the sewers? Am I right? Stop flushing all that crap down the toilet, people! I feel so sorry for Sherman. He didn't do anything wrong, and the tabloids just turned him into a monster.

You know, for the people writing those articles, he's just like a toy they play with for a couple of days. But for him, everything he ever had is gone or ruined. And they never take responsibility. They just do it again and nobody really cares. When I testified on the Whitman dossier, I briefly actually thought the press would start digging into the case. You know that the official investigation covered less than ten percent of the dossier? Yeah. But they made it personal.

Heinemann, Spencer, Hansen, just a few bad apples, easily demonized and quickly forgotten. And they all did this. Every single newspaper, no exceptions. It it was like Betty Dulles wrote a press release and all they did was quote it. I don't mean to imply a conspiracy, although that's exactly what the Whitman dossier described. But it was like machinery. I suppose that's why that is such a common metaphor. Do you think Harrison is coming back?

I don't know. He seems unpredictable. I don't know if he's always like this. I hope not. I think something about this case really got to him. But if it's private, it's private.

Harrison. Yeah, I okay, look. I'm sorry I blew up. I know I shouldn't let personal shit get in the way of work, but we gotta do something for this guy, okay? This whole case is about as foobar as it fucking gets, and there's no way we are actually solving it. There has to be something we can do, just something, so it doesn't end like this.

I suggest we try to set out all the elements of the case and see if we can find an angle. All right. So wait, the company he mentioned was Parson Tech, right? What do we know about them? Very little. Their business is algorithmic finance, something to do with supercomputers. They have a facility in the heights and the whole ground floor is one enormous computer. Okay, so Parson Tech wanted to hire Samantha Perry to work on their algorithm.

So why would they harm someone they wanted to hire? Wait, could it be that she somehow stole the tape from them? Maybe maybe she was a whistleblower. And the ritualistic killing? Stage. As a as a cover. I know, it it's a stretch. Why not just kill her and take the tape?

And we don't even know the tape was related to Parson Tech. Let's not worry about that right now. Blondie's right. We need an angle. This thing is like uh like a like a ball of string, and we need to find a loose end to untangle it. It's a nice metaphor. Thank you. Oh maybe there's something in one of these files.

Donovan seems to hoard data. Yeah, data and rat shit. I wonder how much more there is in the vault. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. You mentioned Betty Dulles earlier. Mm-hmm. Does Donovan have a copy of the Whitman dossier? He does. It's it's over there. Okay, let me check. Technically her job title was liaison officer, but liaison to what? As far as I know, Whitman never figured it out.

There's clear evidence that she was involved in moving around millions of dollars in blood money, but she was never put on trial. Instead, they gave her a job working directly for the mayor. She got fifty thousand dollars from Parson Tech two days before Samantha Perry was murdered. The same day Victor Lamont was transferred to the seventh, where he proceeded to do the shittiest job possible, lose the tape, and turn the whole thing into an unsolvable mess.

She then sent half the money to another account, a company called Trapezahedron electronics. That's a company owned by Earl B. Winfrey. He ran the mayor's re-election campaign. Son of a bitch. This really isn't a murder. It's a hit. Fuck! That's a pretty big leap, isn't it? Is it 25k for the hit and 25 to cover it up? This isn't hard evidence, but the timing is suspicious. So, okay. Okay, okay, okay. Let's say you're right.

If it is a hit, and that's a big if, what can we do about it? Is there someone who would take this seriously if we brought it to them? Well I suspect there's a reason these cases were handed to Donovan. I know it's easy to get cynical. Maybe it's true. Maybe this company had someone killed and then paid the mayor or one of his friends to cover it up. Maybe the mayor knows. Maybe he has no idea. Just took the money and had some guys shifted from one precinct to the other. But what can we do?

Think. Right now, what do we have that could make a difference? Even a small difference. Sir.

When did you get back? I know what to do. You may not like it though. Is it legal? Just tell us. I know someone who works for the post. He's not exactly uh an upstanding citizen. Eh scumbag, in fact, but he uh well let's say he owes me a favor. And if this file here happened to be mislaid, I'm pretty sure he could spin a good story out of it. Crooked cop, Victor Lamont.

Messes up tragic murder case, blames innocent father. Another rotten apple. And the real bad guys get away again. Sure, but at least Sherman has his name cleared. And who gives a shit about Victor Lamont? He's either dead or in hiding anyway. Precisely. Fuck Victor Lamont. I don't actually object. I uh Yes, Detective Wade? I'm thinking. It's not what we're supposed to be doing, and I don't know how much it'll really help. But yeah, let's go for it. Fuck Victor Lamont. Fuck Victor Lamont.

Oh, was I supposed to join in? Yeah, obviously. Fuck Victor Lamont. As you command, my lady. Lucas, this is Donovan. Y Yes, nice to hear you too. Yes, yes I I'm glad you're well. Now, I've got a great story for you, and if you make sure it gets the front page, there's this envelope full of photos of you and a certain hmm Lady of the Night That uh will spontaneously combust. Interested? Yeah, I thought you might be.

The rain fades, the clouds recede, the sun, distant and pale, rises over the harbor. The cars return to their streets and the subway trains continue their rattling, creaking journeys through the city's underbelly. It's not a rebirth.

Not a cleansing. Just another day in the city. I don't know if you read the post, Jerry. I don't know how much you read at all, but yeah, yeah. But anyway, looks like there's been a pretty shocking new development in an unsolved murder case from a few years ago. Remember that girl who got chopped up in that motel room?

Well, seems a rogue cop called Victor Lamont messed up the evidence and then tried to blame the girl's father, a poor schmuck called Sherman Perry. There's a real miscarriage of justice. Yeah, yeah, I agree. Sherman. What a name, huh? Real old-fashioned. There was a guy who ran a diner around the corner when I was a kid. His name was Sherman. And let me tell

Well, he did it, I guess. I hope it helps somehow. Makes the guy feel vindicated even just a a little bit. I talked to Doctor Naya this morning. Please tell your friends that getting the truth out made a real difference to Sherman. He's been very quiet lately, but somehow he seems lighter.

I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that he'll be fine, but I've known Sherman a long time, and I can tell that a little bit of the pain has gone away. And to be perfectly honest with you, there were days when I was afraid that was impossible. So thank you, all of you. That's good. That's good. Yeah. Come on, Benny Boy, at least we did something. That's not it. Then what is it? Share your thoughts with the classroom?

I just keep thinking about all the details that don't make sense. The timing of the killing and the nine one one call, the stuff with the lock and how she was killed, and how the body looked. I don't know guys. It just it just doesn't add up.

It's another ordinary day in the city. But something has changed. Three lonely little figures have converged and scratched away at the surface of events. They don't understand. No, they barely even suspect. But they've caught a glimpse. And even a glimpse is enough. They know now, like we all know, though we refuse to admit it, that something is very, very wrong. Azithoth Blues was written and directed by Jonas K. with music and sound by Chris Christadulu. To speak their names and the airport.

Ο Νάσκυρατζή και Χρήστο Χριστοδό. Adam Green, Joe Lynch, Casey Camp, Sean Branny, and Peter Wings. For more information as well as a computer Show notes or the official website at azetothblues.com.