Chapter 1 - THE ROOM THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN IMPOSSIBLE
Detective Jack Miller hated scenes that looked too clean.
Clean scenes lied.
Michael Turner’s apartment was the cleanest murder scene Jack had seen in three years.
Forty-second floor.
Private elevator.
Floor-to-ceiling glass.
Smart locks.
No forced entry.
And one dead man sitting beside a shattered whiskey glass.
Jack kicked the front door open after building security failed to get a response.
Michael Turner sat in a leather chair facing the city.
His body leaned sideways.
One arm hung limp.
The glass lay under his hand.
Jack took two steps.
Stopped.
“Murder.”
Captain Robert Hayes entered behind him.
“Based on?”
Jack pointed.
Michael’s shirt had a narrow puncture tear near the chest.
Not much blood visible.
No weapon.
Robert closed the front door.
Tested the lock.
Deadbolt engaged from inside.
Jack checked the windows.
Locked.
Robert checked the balcony.
Locked.
Every exterior opening had magnetic security sensors.
No alarm event since 8:41 p.m.
Robert looked around.
“Every exit was sealed.”
Jack opened drawers.
Nothing.
Robert flipped cushions.
Nothing.
Kitchen.
Bathroom.
Closets.
Under furniture.
No knife.
No gun.
No bloody object.
No obvious suicide device.
Jack stood in the center of the living room.
The apartment belonged to a man worth almost eighty million dollars.
Michael Turner, forty-six.
Founder of Turner Meridian Group.
Commercial real estate.
Private lending.
A fast-growing data-security subsidiary.
Divorced.
No children.
Known for being difficult.
Building security gave them the preliminary timeline.
Michael arrived home at 8:37 p.m.
At 9:12, an unidentified man in black entered the private hallway.
Camera showed him at Michael’s door.
The door opened.
He entered.
Door closed.
No one came back out.
At 10:48, Michael’s assistant called building security because Michael missed a scheduled encrypted video meeting.
At 11:06, Jack arrived.
Hallway camera showed:
no exit.
Elevator log:
no departure.
Stairwell door:
never opened.
Jack stared at the smart-lock display.
Entry:
9:12 p.m.
Manual deadbolt engaged:
9:13.
No unlock event.
Then Robert said:
“So our killer walked in.”
Jack looked at Michael.
“And stayed?”
Robert checked the apartment again.
No one.
Jack reconstructed it in his head.
Black-clad man enters.
Locks door.
Charges Michael.
Knife.
One strike.
Michael falls.
Then what?
No exit.
No weapon.
Jack looked at the sealed door.
“He got in.”
Robert waited.
May you like
Jack’s voice dropped.
“So how did the killer get out?”
