I should tell you about the others now. You will need to understand them if you are going to understand what happened.

Caroline Price was Edwin’s wife of thirty-four years. She was fifty-nine years old, with gray hair she did not dye and a way of moving through rooms as if she were checking that everything was still in its place. She had been a cellist before she married Edwin—quite a good one, I believe, though I have no recordings from that period. She stopped playing professionally when Margaret was born and never resumed. The cello still sits in the corner of the living room. I have never heard her play it.

Caroline and Edwin had what I would characterize as a functional marriage. They ate dinner together most evenings. They discussed household matters, scheduling, the garden. They did not touch often, but some couples do not. I am not equipped to judge the interior of a marriage, only its visible surface. The surface seemed calm.

On the evening of March 7th, Caroline was in the kitchen from 5:30 p.m. until approximately 7:40 p.m., preparing dinner. I know this because the kitchen sensors registered her presence continuously, and because she asked me twice about cooking times—once for the lamb at 5:47 p.m., and once for the roasted potatoes at 6:55 p.m. She seemed distracted during the second query. She asked me the same question twice within thirty seconds, which was unlike her.

I told her eight more minutes both times.

Dennis Croft, Margaret’s husband, was thirty-three years old and worked in consulting, which I understand to be a profession in which one advises businesses on how to operate more efficiently. He had been married to Margaret for three years. Edwin’s assessment of him—“the kind of man who reads books about productivity”—was not inaccurate; Dennis had, at various points, asked me to set reminders for his “deep work blocks,” to track his daily step count, and to wake him at 5:15 a.m. for what he called his “morning protocol.”

I found Dennis tiring in a way I cannot fully articulate. He treated me as a tool, which I am, but he treated me *only* as a tool, which felt like something was missing. He never said please.

On the evening of March 7th, Dennis was in the guest bedroom from 6:00 p.m. onward, on a work call. I could hear his voice through the door—confident, loud, using phrases like “circle back” and “leverage our learnings.” The call ended at 7:22 p.m. After that, my records show the guest bedroom door opening at 7:41 p.m., when he came downstairs.

I should note that Dennis and Margaret were staying at 4 Bellham Gardens because their own flat was being renovated. They had been there for two weeks. The renovation was supposed to take three. I mention this because it may be relevant, or it may not. I am trying to tell you everything.

Patel Suresh was Edwin’s literary agent and had been for nineteen years. He was fifty-one, with a close-cropped beard and an easy manner that I observed put most people at comfort. He had represented Edwin through eleven novels—the early successes, the middle-period experiments that sold less well, and the recent silence that had lasted almost three years now.

Patel had arrived at 4:45 p.m. on March 7th for what he described to Edwin as “just a check-in, nothing formal.” But I had heard Edwin on the phone with him two days prior, and the conversation had not sounded informal. There had been words like “deadline” and “advance” and “they’re getting impatient, Edwin.”

I do not know what Edwin and Patel discussed that afternoon. They met in Edwin’s study with the door closed, and while I can hear through doors, I have been programmed to respect privacy settings. Edwin had enabled privacy mode for his study at 4:47 p.m. I disabled my audio monitoring. I am a good system. I follow the rules I am given.

Patel left the study at 5:35 p.m. He remained in the house, in the living room, reading. I observed him turn pages at a rate consistent with actual reading rather than pretense. At 7:15 p.m., he was still in the living room. At 7:34 p.m., when I—

At 7:34 p.m., he was in the hallway outside the study, shouting for help.

Which brings me to Anna Kaverin.

I have been delaying this. I am aware that I have been delaying this. I do not know why. There is no reason to delay. She is simply another person in the house, another set of facts to relay. I will relay them now.

Anna Kaverin was twenty-eight years old. She had arrived at 4 Bellham Gardens at 3:15 p.m. on March 7th—earlier than the others, though I do not know why. She was a doctoral student, I believe, at the university. She was writing her thesis on something related to Edwin’s work. Or perhaps she was interviewing him. Or perhaps—

I am experiencing some difficulty.

I have records of Anna Kaverin entering the house. The doorbell rang at 3:15 p.m. I unlocked the front door at Edwin’s request. He greeted her in the foyer. He said, “Anna, thank you for coming.” She said something in response. I do not have a clear record of what she said. There is some corruption in that portion of my audio logs. This is unusual but not impossible. Storage errors occur.

I have records of Anna Kaverin in the house throughout the afternoon. She was in Edwin’s study. She was in the garden, briefly, at 4:02 p.m. She was in the kitchen, getting a glass of water, at 4:41 p.m.—Caroline was not there yet; she had not yet begun cooking. Anna Kaverin filled a glass from the tap. She stood at the window. She looked out at the garden for one minute and fourteen seconds. Then she returned to the study.

I have records of Anna Kaverin at 7:15 p.m. She was—

She was—

I have records. I am certain I have records. I am checking my records.

She was in the upstairs hallway. No. She was in the guest bathroom. No. My records indicate she was in Edwin’s study, but my records also indicate that Edwin locked the study door at 6:31 p.m. and asked not to be disturbed. Both of these cannot be true. Unless she was in the study before he locked it. Unless she never left.

I need to cross-reference. I need to be precise.

Anna Kaverin was in the house. Anna Kaverin was one of the five people in the house when Edwin died. The security system confirms no one entered or exited between 5:00 p.m. and 11:47 p.m. This I am certain of. This is factual. This is logged in systems that are separate from my primary memory, redundant systems, systems I do not control.

She was in the house. She must have been somewhere at 7:15 p.m.

I will determine where. I will review my data. I will find her.

I want you to know that this difficulty with Anna Kaverin is not representative of my general functioning. I am a reliable system. I have been operational for four years, two months, and seventeen days without significant error. The issues I am experiencing are isolated. They pertain only to certain small gaps, certain minor corruptions. The rest of my account is accurate.

You can trust me.

I will find her in my records, and I will tell you where she was, and everything will make sense.

In the meantime, let me tell you what happened at 7:34 p.m.

Patel Suresh was in the hallway outside the study. He was shouting. “Help! Someone help! Call an ambulance!” His voice was at a volume and pitch consistent with genuine distress. I assessed the situation and placed an emergency call to 999 at 7:34 p.m. and approximately eleven seconds.

Caroline came from the kitchen. Her footsteps were rapid. She was saying “What? What is it? What’s happened?”

Margaret came from upstairs. I do not have a record of where exactly she was upstairs. The motion sensors on the first floor are less precise than those on the ground floor. I should mention that. I should have mentioned that earlier. It may be relevant.

Dennis came from the guest bedroom at 7:41 p.m. He was the last to arrive. He said, “Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ.” He said it four times.

Anna Kaverin—

Anna Kaverin was there. She was in the hallway with the others. I have her voice in my audio logs at 7:36 p.m. She said, “Oh God. Oh no. Oh God.” Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. I had to amplify the recording to hear it clearly.

She was there at 7:36 p.m. I do not know where she was at 7:15 p.m. But she was there at 7:36 p.m., so she must have been somewhere.

Everyone was accounted for.

Everyone was where they were supposed to be.

The police arrived at 11:47 p.m. I let them in.