In the laboratory, the blast-resistant glass reflected Arthur Crowder's contorted face, while a 40-watt ultraviolet lamp cast his trembling shadow onto his wife's lifeless body. Eileen Crowder was immersed in a quantum preservative; the amber liquid gave her blonde hair an unnaturally bronzed hue, reminiscent of fragments peeling off an ancient Egyptian mummy mask.
"Time of death: 3:21 AM," the coroner's voice echoed from the depths, "The fatal wound is a precise incision to the carotid artery, with nano-scale burn marks on the weapon's edge."
Arthur's nails dug into his palms. Just two hours ago, he had been at a Berkeley University academic reception, accepting congratulations from colleagues, with a champagne glass still bearing the coral-colored lipstick his wife often wore. Now, that warm hue was congealing at the corner of Eileen's stiff mouth, creating a macabre contrast with the crystalline wound on her neck.
"Dr. Crowder, explain this," Detective Watson held up an evidence bag, a half-gear-shaped metal fragment glinting between Eileen's clenched fingers. The etched pattern labeled CR-2049 rippled under the blue light, reminding him of the virtual particle annihilation phenomena he had observed in the particle collider last week.
"Initial component of the Novous project..." Arthur's throat tightened, "But it was suspended three months ago due to ethical reviews."
Watson suddenly turned his tablet toward him. The genetic comparison chart exploded with scarlet warnings—epithelial cells on the weapon matched his DNA with 99.8% accuracy. Surveillance footage showed that during the time of the incident, only Eileen's access card was recorded in Building 7.
"Did you preserve the body with liquid helium?" Arthur noticed the crystalline structures suspended in the preservative; they were actually artificial crystals implanted in his wife when she was six due to a car accident.
The coroner paused as he lifted the white cloth: "The body was already in the preservative when it arrived."
Arthur's temples throbbed. Last night, Eileen had indeed mentioned calibrating the magnetic trap device overnight, but all quantum computers were on the second basement level. When he felt the foreign object in his lab coat pocket, a chill instantly ran down his spine—a half CR-2049 metal fragment, its edge still smeared with the jasmine-scented hand cream his wife often used.
The roar of a police helicopter passed by outside the window. Arthur suddenly realized the notches on the sidewall of the preservative tank. They were Morse code that Eileen had taught him, short vibrations scratched repeatedly with her nails, forming two words:
"Don't trust."