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The two destroyed paintings were placed in the middle Carl Manfred’s living room. Most of the damage was at the center of each painting, the canvas slashed with a sharp object.
Connor studied the paintings closely, his bright brown eyes processing what was still visible and reconstructing the images that were shredded beyond recognition.
The larger painting was of a woman holding an umbrella in the rain, painted in various shades of violet. The other was of a little girl on a carousel riding an animal Connor didn’t recognize. It was painted in blues and greens.
“Is this the only act of vandalism in the house that you know of?” Connor asked Carl Manfred.
“Just these,” Carl replied, and exhaled sharply as if pained.
The RK-200 android who had been standing quietly in the back of the room, came forward and stood beside Carl’s wheelchair. He put a comforting hand on the artist’s shoulder and Carl immediately took it, squeezing it gently.
Meanwhile, Lieutenant Hank Anderson roamed around the living room looking everywhere except the destroyed paintings. Today he wore a blue and orange striped shirt that was clean if not severely wrinkled. His long hair and bushy beard were unkempt, and as he folded his arms, Connor spotted a mustard stain on his elbow. Hank looked like a man wandering lost in an unfamiliar park, but Connor knew this to be an act. The lieutenant had a photographic memory, and a keen eye. He was absorbing every detail of the room even if it looked as if he was barely paying attention.
“Don’t see a place to hang these,” Hank observed. “Where were the paintings stored before the vandalism?”
“I hadn’t framed them yet, so they were in my studio,” Carl nodded to the double-doors behind him.
Hank picked at the gray hairs on his chin. “Mind if I take a look?”
“Be my guest,” Carl said, then turned his wheelchair to the android at his side. “Markus, would you mind staying here to assist Connor with any questions he may have?”
Markus nodded. “Of course.”
As Carl lead Hank into the studio, Connor looked over the RK-200 prototype registered as Markus. He had never seen a model like this before, perhaps custom-made for the famous artist. Since the android known as Simon had given androids free will, Connor had been making an effort to attach some sort of emotion when coming across new individuals.
As Markus pulled his lips back into a natural smile, hazel eyes glinting with intense intelligence, Connor felt an acute charisma radiating off of him.
When he spoke, Markus’ voice was calm, but purposeful; his stance at ease, but carried a quiet strength and vigilance.
Connor found himself wondering what other androids thought of himself.
Curious. He had never pondered such a question before. He would have to consult Hank on this new development in his internal dialogue.
“Do you have any idea who would vandalize Mr. Manfred’s work?” Connor asked, refocusing on the investigation at hand.
Markus’ eyes drifted over Connor’s shoulder, and Connor followed his gaze to the studio. Through the doorway, Carl and Hank were standing at the far end of the studio looking out into the garden. Hank’s shoulders were shaking from laughter at something Carl said.
“Leo,” Markus said, in a low voice. “Carl’s other son.”
Connor looked back at Markus and frowned. “Carl is only registered to having one child. Is there another that is undocumented?”
Markus seemed to hesitate. “No...not exactly.”
“Markus!” Carl called from the studio. “Will you get my sketchbook, the one with the peacock on the cover.”
“Sure, dad! One second.”
Connor blinked once…then twice...then two more times…
He watched Markus go to the bookshelf, his index finger gliding over book spines until he pulled out a teal journal with an iridescent peacock on the cover.
Markus handed it to Carl, who patted him on the arm in apparent appreciation.
“Uh, that’s okay, Mr. Manfred, really,” Hank said, as Carl flipped through the pages. “You don’t have to-”
“Nonsense, it’s no trouble. Now, this piece is called ‘Calm, Stand and Endure’…”
Markus rejoined Connor with an amused grin. “It seems Lieutenant Anderson made the mistake of complimenting Carl’s portrait of Simon. He has been working on an art series for him in honor of the One Year Anniversary of Freedom Day.”
From the studio, Hank looked up at Connor and threw him a helpless shrug before hunching over to look at the sketchbook. “Sure, yeah...that looks real...uh...endure-y.”
Connor glanced at Markus who still wore a genuine smile as he watched Carl from afar.
“You called him ‘Dad’.”
“Yes, I did.”
Connor tilted his head. “Why? You are an android with no biological parents. He can’t be your father.”
“Can’t he?” Markus asked, though it didn’t sound like a question to Connor. “Carl saw who I was before I became a ‘deviant’. He showed me how to think for myself. He taught me how to play piano, how to appreciate philosophy, art and beauty in nature. He always said never let anyone tell me what kind of person I should be. I may not have come from his DNA, but I am who I am today because of him. I’m proud to call him ‘dad’.”
Connor looked at Carl for a long moment, then at Hank beside him. Hank was laughing at something Carl said, his entire face lighting up and making him look decades younger. When the lieutenant caught Connor watching him, he raised both eyebrows.
Connor recognized the action. Hank was silently asking “we done here?”
Connor nodded.
“Alright, Mr. Manfred,” Hank said, folding his arms once again. “I think we got what we need. Connor, you good?”
“Yes, lieutenant,” Connor responded, then turned to Markus. “Thank you for your cooperation. We will be in touch.”
Markus held out his hand. “Thanks for looking into it, Connor.”
Connor shook Markus’ hand, watching with fascination at Markus’ mouth. The smile seemed to come to him effortlessly.
With a slight hesitation, Connor pulled his lips back and showed some of his teeth. Markus wrinkled his brow, his smile curling a little.
At least Markus didn’t ask what Hank often did when Connor attempted to smile. “Jesus, Connor, what kinda face is that?”
Connor made a note to work on that expression at a later time.
“Man, I thought I was never gonna get outta there,” Hank said as they drove towards Leo Manfred’s apartment. “The guy’s got a lot of talent, but I wasn’t planning to spend all day in that studio. It’s a thousand degrees in there!”
Connor said nothing, watching the world pass outside the car window without focusing on anything in particular.
“You’re quiet,” Hank said. “What’s up?”
“Carl seems like a good man.”
“Yeah, sure. He’s a nice guy. Definitely doesn’t deserve getting his paintings carved up, that’s for sure.”
Connor looked at Hank, who was picking at his grizzled beard as he drove.
“Do you like philosophy, Hank?”
“Huh?”
“Do you enjoy Plato?”
Hank grunted. “Is...that the guy who wrote about the tortoise and hare?”
“I believe that’s Aesop.”
“Oh, then no. Don’t really think much about philosophy.”
“What about musical instruments? Do you play any?” Connor asked.
“Ugh, my mom made me take goddamn violin lessons as a kid. Hated every second of it.”
“Oh.”
Connor resigned to look out the window once again.
“So,” Hank said after a few minutes of silence. “Who do you think carved up those paintings?”
“Markus suspects it was Leo Manfred.”
“Yeah? And what motive to do ya think Leo had?”
Connor’s mind palace reviewed the evidence: Images of the paintings both destroyed and reconstructed, length and angle of slashes on the canvases, the financial history of the suspect, the records relating to previous violent incidents and drug use and-
“Connor,” Hank interrupted. “Stop analyzing what ya saw today and just…” he waved his hand in vague circles. “Feel it out. Looking at evidence is only a part of the job, ya gotta have intuition, too. What’s your gut tell you?”
Connor considered his ‘gut’. “I feel...like Carl and Markus have a father-son relationship.”
“...and…?” Hank pressed.
“...and this relationship incites jealousy within Leo who is Carl’s biological son. The paintings themselves were made at the same time. One was painted by Carl, the woman holding the umbrella, but the other of the little girl on the…horned horse...”
“It was a unicorn,” Hank clarified.
“Yes...on the unicorn...that one was made by Markus.”
Hank nodded. “Yeah, in the studio Carl mentioned Markus and he paint together sometimes. Those two were done last week. Keep goin’.”
Connor sat up straighter. “Leo disapproves of their relationship, so he wished to destroy something that symbolized their connection.”
“That’s good detective work there,” Hank said. He reached over and patted Connor’s arm. “Proud of ya.”
Connor kept his eyes focused on the road ahead.
“Thank you...dad.”
Connor noticed his LED flicker yellow in the reflection of the vanity mirror. He also noticed in his peripheral vision that Hank was looking at him, though he did not meet the lieutenant’s eyes.
After a few moments, Hank returned his gaze to the road.
“You’re welcome,” he replied, and flipped on the stereo.
Soon the muddy roar of Knights of the Black Death filled the air, vibrating the whole car with aggressive bass.
Connor felt his face pull upwards. When he looked at his reflection again, he saw the smile he had seen on Markus earlier.
His LED returned to a calm blue.