Detective Shannon Donahue stood over the body of Silicon Valley’s serial entrepreneur Dallas Hendricks. Social Media’s darling lay sprawled on the bathroom floor on his back, naked, save a towel hastily draped over him, the cause of death obvious to anyone with eyes to see. His chest had been stoved in, almost to the point where his sternum met his backbone. The only blood on the scene had dribbled out his mouth and foamed around his nostrils. Massive bruising covered the front of his chest.
Looking up from his work, Li Wang, the forensic pathologist, said, “I know this is stating the obvious, but death was by blunt force trauma to the chest.
“What the hell could have done that?” Donahue asked.
“I’m not sure. He was struck with considerable force. Death would have been instant. If he weren’t laid out here on the floor of his house, I’d have guessed something like a speeding car, except…”
“Except what?” Donahue asked.
“Except being struck by a car would have a broader contact with the body. This was rather pinpointed.”
“Maybe it was a lance?” a uniformed cop said. He had come up behind Donahue and had overheard their discussion.
“What do you mean by a lance?” Donahue inquired.
“You know, a lance, like the kind knights joust with. I’ve never seen anyone hit that hard, but with a horse at full run and a jousting lance in the right spot, it could put a lot of force in a small area,” he said.
“And you know this because…?” Donahue looked at him quizzically.
“I used to hang out with SCA back in college. My girlfriend was a member,” he offered.
“And you are?” Donahue raised an eyebrow. In her mid-thirties, she prided herself in her fit form, tough as nails in uniform, but sexy as hell when she wanted to be.
The officer looked to be in his mid to late twenties. He piqued her interest. She hadn’t seen him around before, and she would have noticed him for sure.
“Name’s Bender. Corporal Bender,” he said, holding out his hand. “I just transferred over from Property Crimes.”
She ignored his hand, so he thrust it in his pocket.
“I see,” she said. “So, what is SCA?”
Li Wang spoke up. “It’s the Society of Creative Anachronisms. They dress up like they live in the Middle Ages and fight mock battles and crazy shit like that.”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that, but close enough.” Bender said.
“Well, I think it’s safe to say that there have been no galloping horses here in the bathroom.” Donahue pointed out.
“Could the body have been moved?” Bender asked. “You know, killed somewhere else and then dumped here?”
“I know what moving a body means,” Donahue said sharply. “Li?”
“I wondered the same thing, but look here,” he said, rolling the victim’s head to one side, revealing the back of his skull. It appeared slightly flattened.
“You see the trauma here, where his head impacted the floor. And here,” he said. “Look at the floor at the bottom of his feet. It’s like a slight skid mark.”
Donahue and Bender followed his directions and looked at the faint smear across the bathroom floor.
“I see,” Donahue said. “You’re right, it looks like skid marks.”
“Exactly!” Li said. “It’s like whatever hit him sent him backward with such force that he cracked his head and slid across the floor for almost three feet.”
“Which brings me back to what could do a thing like that, here in this bathroom?”
Li shrugged his shoulders.
Bender said, “Looks like you have a mystery on your hands.”
“By the way, I have his wife and daughter waiting in the breakfast room. I thought you’d want to talk to them,” Bender added.
“Thanks, I’ll be right there,” she said.
He left the room and Donahue watched him go.
“Looking for fresh meat?” Li asked, smiling.
“Probably not,” she said. “But I’ll let you know.”
She left the bathroom and toured the home. First noting that there were no clothes in sight in the bathroom, or on the floor in the walk-in closet. In the bedroom she saw the bed was made, Curious.
Going down the hallway, she found Sergeant Juarez coming out of a room.
“There you are, Detective,” he said when he saw her. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Hey José, what’ve you got for me?”
“There are just three residents, or I should say, were. Dallas Hendricks, deceased, his wife Paige and their twelve-year-old daughter, Anabel. There’s no sign of forced entry. There’s also no footage from the security cameras. This place is covered like Fort Knox, but the system went down sometime last night and whatever might have been recorded is gone.”
“Could that have been on purpose?” she asked.
“Without a doubt. Who would have had access and the expertise to do it, I don’t know.”
“Thanks, you did a nice job and I appreciate it.”
“Ahh, it’s what we do,” the sergeant said. “Don’t mention it.”
“Which way to the kitchen? This place is massive,” she said.
“That’ll be down the stairs, and back towards the front entrance, and then off to your right, you’ll see a hallway. It’ll take you right to it,” he said. “That is, if my memory serves me well.”
“Thanks, José.”
Following his directions, she found herself entering a massive kitchen, everything shining white and chrome with a few black highlights here and there. Across the professional kitchen, a large breakfast area flooded in soft light through the wall of windows overlooking a spacious patio. Seated at the table were a woman and a young girl.
The woman looked to be about her own age, but taller and much prettier. Paige Powell remained a world-class model who had elected to retain her own name when they married. Her visage appeared on billboards and magazine covers the world over. Like her husband, she too was a media rock star, an influencer with over hundred million followers on Instagram, TikTok, and YouTube.
Her daughter, seated beside her, was like her mini-me, without the make-up. Bender had said twelve, but she’d be a mature twelve as she already showed some womanly curves.
As she entered the room, Paige looked up from her phone and smiled a cordial smile without feeling. Both she and her daughter had obviously cried quite a bit, the eyes red-rimmed, as well as their noses.
“Ms. Powell, Anabel, I’m Detective Shannon Donahue with the Investigative Services Division, Santa Clara County Sheriff's Department. I am so sorry for your loss,” Donahue said.
“Thank you, Detective,” Paige said, her voice tired. “It’s been a shock.”
“I understand. I need to ask you some questions, can we speak alone? I’m thinking it might be best without your daughter, for now?”
“Of course, Detective. Whatever you need,” she said. “Anabel, honey, could you sit in the living room for now? I need to speak with this detective.”
Anabel got up, barely lifting her eyes from her phone screen. A female officer who had been keeping them company, stepped in and left with the girl.
“Have a seat, Detective. Can I get you some coffee?” Paige offered.
“No, ma’am. I’m fine,” she responded. “I’m going to need you to fill me in on the events last night, through this morning. Can you do that?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Okay, so where were you last night? Who was here, in the house?”
“We were alone in the house, just the three of us. Dallas and I work, I mean worked, we have always worked from home most of the time, if we’re in town. Sometimes we travel, well actually, a lot of times. But if when we’re here in LA, we work from home.”
“And so, last night, it was just the three of you. All night? No one came to see either of you. No one else was in the house?”
“Like I said, Detective. We were alone in the house last night, just the three of us.”
“Okay, so when was the last time you saw your husband alive?”
“It was supper time, around 7:30. We had a late supper because both of us had engagements that ate up our afternoon, so we couldn't stop to eat until we were finished.”
“What do you mean, late engagements? You left the house?”
“No, ma’am. I had a live interview on Facebook and Dallas had an investor meeting online. It was all digital.”
“Oh, the world we live in!” Donahue opined. “So, when did you finish eating?”
“It was probably as late as eight o’clock.”
“And then what? What did you do after supper?”
“I hung out with Anabel. We went up to the theater room and watched Harry Potter. We’ve been holding a Potter Movie Marathon.”
“And how long did that last?”
“Well, we watched the first two movies back-to-back, so maybe one or one-thirty?”
“And when you two watched the movies, did you hear anything, anything outside of the room?”
“Detective, the theater room is soundproof. You could fire a gun in there and no one would hear it.”
“So, what happened when the movies were over?”
“Anabel and I had a sleepover in her room. It was sort of a Ladies’ Night just for fun.”
“You slept in your daughter’s room?” Donahue asked.
“Yes, we do that sometimes. Sometimes she has nightmares and has a lot of trouble sleeping. Rather than focus on that, I try to make it something fun, us hanging out together like besties,” Paige said. She kept pushing her hair back with her free hand, her phone in the other. Donahue noticed.
“How long has your daughter had these nightmares?”
“Probably about a year, maybe a year and a half. We’ve taken her to a child psychologist, and he suggested I do what I’ve been doing.”
“So, when did you discover your husband’s body?”
“It was this morning. I woke up later than usual, and when I went to our room to get dressed, that’s when I found him on the bathroom floor. I called 911 immediately!”
“Did you touch anything? Change anything in the room?” Donahue watched Paige carefully.
“No, ma’am. Except for closing the bathroom door and the bedroom door, I left everything as I found it. I didn’t want Anabel to wander in and see him that way.”
“Are you the one who draped a towel over him?”
“Yes, you’re right. I did that. It seemed improper his lying there naked.”
“What about the bed? Did you make the bed?”
“The bed? Which bed?” Paige asked.
“The bed in your bedroom. The one your husband presumably slept in.”
“No, I didn’t touch the bed. I hadn’t even noticed whether it was made or not.”
“You’ve been very helpful, Ms. Powell. Now, I need to question your daughter, as well. May I speak to your daughter without your presence?”
Paige bristled. “No, Detective. I do not give my consent. My daughter has just lost her father and she is already in a fragile state. I will not have you poking and prodding her with questions. I simply refuse!”
“We must get a statement from her, since she was present in the home when the crime was committed. If I cannot speak to her here now, you will have to come to the station later today and we will interview her with a child advocate present. She needs to make a statement while the memory is fresh. It’s your choice, I can talk to her now here, or later at the station.
“If it would make you more comfortable, Officer Brown can be present, as well. That’s the young lady who is sitting with your daughter presently.” She looked at Paige expectantly.
“It doesn’t make me more comfortable. I believe I will call my attorney before you start throwing your weight around.”
With that Paige started poking around on her phone as if to call.
“That’s your prerogative, Ms. Powell, but no one is being accused of anything here. I’m just trying to get witness statements. I’m not sure why you think you need your attorney present.”
She stopped tapping her phone and looked up.
“Okay, then. We’ll come by the station later and she can make her statement then.”
“As you wish,” Donahue said.
Then standing up, she looked around the kitchen, admiringly.
“You know it’s not often that a person like me gets to get an up-close look at how the other half lives,” she said, opening drawers and touching the appliances.
“Do you cook a lot?” she asked Paige.
“What?” she asked. “No, hardly ever. Dallas has always been the cook, when anyone cooks anything. He fancied himself a chef.”
“I see you have a walk-in pantry,” she said, opening a couple French doors, with white opaque glass. “Christ! It’s as big as another room!”
As she made her way to the hallway she’d taken to get to the kitchen, she noticed another door. She opened it.
Inside the closet was a metal frame with a base that had two footprints painted on it in white. The whole thing was cylindrical, with rounded metal bars that were presently slid back making the platform accessible. She imagined that with them closed, anyone inside would be nicely trapped. Somewhere at the midpoint, at the back of the cylinder, there was a contraption that looked all the world like a giant phone charger.
“What is this? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this?” she asked.
Paige bit her lip before answering. “That’s a charging station for a DRX-4 Domestic Robot.”
“You don’t say! Wow! Imagine that?” Donahue whistled. “I always wanted to have one of those, but of course, who can afford one?
“Of course, you can, right?” she laughed. “So, Ms. Powell, where is your robot? I haven’t seen it.”
“We were having some issues with her and had to send her back for repairs. She wasn’t holding a charge properly.”
“Where did you send…her… I guess. I didn’t know they had genders.”
“We sent her back to Family Robotics.”
“When was that?”
“About a week ago, I think. I’m not sure,” she said. “Dallas handled that. He’s the geek in the family.”
“Thanks, Ms. Powell. You’ve been so helpful. I will look forward to hearing from your daughter later this afternoon. In the meantime, I’m going to need the two of you to collect what you might need for the night, or maybe two nights and make plans on staying somewhere else until we’ve cleared the crime scene. Officer Brown can accompany you while you collect your things. Also, I’m going to have to ask you not to drive your car. You can call a cab, or Officer Brown can give you a ride. We’ll need to go over your vehicles before you will be allowed to use them again.”
“I thought you said we weren’t suspects!”
“You're not, for now. But you do want us to be thorough, don’t you?” Donahue said, then with Paige left speechless, she crossed across the kitchen and exited the way Officer Brown and Anabel had.
Back at the station, Donahue spent the rest of the morning tracking down leads, such as his business associates, investors, friends, enemies. Dallas Hendricks was a bigger-than-life personality, young, energetic, handsome, successful, bold, brash, and lucky. He’d first come to the attention of the public with a product he and a roommate put together while attending Harvard Business School, a program aimed at disrupting yet another industry. After several rounds of funding and a very successful IPO, he sold the company to a Wall Street giant and walked away a very rich man, only to do it all over again, with yet another disruptive program. With three of these deals under his belt, he’d become a legend and he was only in his mid-thirties. Together with his courtship and marriage with Paige Powell, every man wanted to be him.
With such fame and popularity came enemies as well, lesser beings who felt eclipsed by his rising star, people who would love to see him knocked down a peg or two. But killed? Crazier things have happened for little to know reason at all.
By mid-afternoon she’d found a list of potential malcontents. This last round of funding hadn’t gone well, and some say Dallas had become somewhat of a bully, throwing his weight around to get what he wanted.
In one interview, his old schoolmate, Bryan Donaldson, who’d risen with him on their first adventure, said, “When we first started out all Dallas had was his wit and his charm. If we needed something, we would have to work hard to convince others that it was in their best interest to help us get it. Dallas was the best at that. It was his superpower—the power of persuasion. But after that, when the money started coming in, it was like it got into his head. He didn’t try as hard, instead of persuasion, he tried to dazzle them with his success. With each of his successes, it got worse. This last round has been a total disaster. He’d lost his Midas touch.”
She found out from an investor who’d refused to back this latest round of funding that Dallas had systematically worked things out to create a larger payday for himself and cut out some of the smaller investors, like himself. He said, “My money is as good as the next person. Good enough that Dallas needed it on his last two investments. But then he screwed me over and acted like I was supposed to just enjoy the fact that he’d let me play with the big boys. Screw that! There are other games in town!”
The more she poked the more she found that the old adage, all that glitter isn't gold, still held true, at least in this case. Hendricks’ media-savvy PR team managed to paint a shiny picture of a splendid man with a perfect family, a true American hero. Donahue wondered if the truth was so drastically different in his business life, what about his domestic life? That brought her back to the robot.
She got on Google and looked up the contact information for Family Robotics, Inc. which, it turned out, was headquartered right there in Silicon Valley. She called and made an appointment for later that afternoon.
Just about that time, the sergeant buzzed through to tell her that Paige Powell had arrived with her daughter and their lawyer.
On the way to the Secure Interview room, she ran into the pretty boy from that morning, Corporal Bender, and without thinking about it, invited him to sit in with her for the interrogation.
“Excuse me,” she corrected herself. “The interview.”
After being seated at the table, with Paige watching from the Observation Room, the lawyer, named Frederick Maxwell, a thousand-dollar-an-hour attorney, introduced himself. Then he opened his briefcase, retrieved a document, and handed it to Donahue.
“Anabel Hendricks has prepared a statement regarding the events since last evening,” he said, his voice somewhat nasal. “This is the extent of her recollections and comprises her only statement to the police. She has already signed it.”
“You do understand, Mr. Maxwell, that your client is not being charged with anything and that your presence and these precautions seem to shout very loudly that there’s something to hide here, don’t you?” Donahue said.
“Also, I assure you, that while this may suffice for now, if at any point either of your clients becomes a suspect, and at this point, we’re not ruling that out, your little document here will not do, and we will have a conversation with young Ms. Hendricks.”
“Lovely,” the lawyer said standing up. “If that’s all, we will be leaving. Come, Anabel.”
Anabel, having said nothing throughout the entire event, got up silently and followed him out the door.
“What the hell?” Donahue said, looking at Bender. “What do you make of that?”
“Something’s not right, that’s for sure,” he said. “Still what? Those two ladies did not cave that man’s chest in.”
“No, you’re right about that. But something tells me they know who did.”
Donahue pulled into the parking lot for Family Robotics, a gleaming white and steel building, with a domed roof and crisscrossing arches that served no discernable purpose. She had to pass through security but was waived when she showed her badge. Beside her in the front seat sat Bender. She’d decided she liked his company.
“Come along,” she said, as she found a parking space. “Let’s shake the tree and see what falls down.”
After a fifteen-minute wait, a young man named Priyaa Patel greeted them and invited them to follow them upstairs. He rambled on about Family Robotics and the great products they produced. Once upstairs and seated in a plush office, he offered them drinks.
“No thank you,” Bender said. Donahue just shook her head no.
“Anyaa will be right with you,” he said, and closed the door softly on his way out.
“And here we go again, another wait,” Donahue complained. “You would think a badge would mean something, but apparently not.”
“Patience is a virtue,” Bender chided.
Before Donahue could respond, the door opened again and a slight, older Indian woman entered, smiling at them and stopping in front of their chairs.
“Please, do not get up! I am so sorry for the delay. I got caught up in a meeting I simply could not get away from!” she said. “Did Priyaa offer you a drink?”
“Yes, he did. I hate to take up your time, but I have a small matter I need answers to. I thought it would be most effective to start at the top,” Donahue said in an attempt to take charge of the conversation.
“Most certainly. Anything I can do to help law enforcement. We are so grateful for all you do.”
“Thank you. We appreciate that. So, I need to know if you can confirm the purchase of a domestic robot, a…” she referred to her notes, “DRX-4 by the Hendricks family, Dallas Hendricks, that is.”
“Yes, I can confirm that. No need to even look it up. I oversaw that purchase myself. Dallas was so instrumental in getting us our funding, it was practically a gift, considering how much he’d invested in our company.”
“Dallas was an investor?” she asked.
“He was and is. We’re gearing up for another round of investments as we prepare to increase our production capacity. Dallas will be helping us again.”
“About that,” Donahue said. “Dallas met an untimely death sometime last night. That’s why I’m here.”
“I can’t believe it! How tragic and how devastating!” Anyaa said, visibly moved. “What about his family, Paige, and Anabel? Are they alright?”
“They’re fine. Shaken, of course, but they’ve not been harmed,” Bender contributed.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand. What has his death to do with us?” she asked.
“Nothing, I’m sure,” Bender said. “We’re just trying to tie up loose ends, you know. Leave no stone unturned.
“But I do have another question for you,” Donahue interjected. “Can you confirm the whereabouts of the Hendrick’s family robot? Is it here for repairs?”
“My goodness, I hope not. What sort of repairs? Did something happen to their unit?”
“Something about having trouble holding a charge?”
“That’s the first I’ve heard of such a thing, but before I say no, let me make a call. Hold on.” Anyaa said, picking up her phone and saying, “Get me the Stanley in the Warranty Division.
She waited a moment, looking at Donahue and Bender, then said, “Stanley, it’s Anyaa. Do you have Dallas’ unit in your shop? No? Are you sure? Okay, just needed to know. I’ll fill you in later. Thank you.”
“And that would be a no,” Bender said.
“Correct, I wish I could be of more help to you,” she said.
Donahue smiled. “You’ve helped more than you know,”
Later that evening, they found themselves once again seated across from Paige Powell and her attorney, Frederick Maxwell.
Maxwell was saying, “My client has told you what her husband told her and that’s all she knows.
“Well, I for one am not convinced!” Donahue said. “Listen, Paige. I don’t know what you're hiding, but I have a growing suspicion it has something to do with this missing robot. I do know this, however, neither you nor your ninety-two-pound daughter could have done what was done to your husband. But a robot? Who knows? But if I have no one else to charge, I will start with you. If for nothing else than for impeding an ongoing investigation.”
Bender, once again in tow, spoke up. “Ms. Powell, here’s the thing. Whatever went down at your house, the truth is going to come out. It always does. The faster you and your daughter tell us what the truth is, the faster you will be able to put it behind you and get on with your life. If the two of you have hatched up a plot to protect anyone else, you will simply go down with them.”
“It was an accident. She didn’t mean to kill him, I swear.” Paige blurted out.
Maxwell turned to her and said, “Are you sure you want to do this, Paige?”
“I do. He’s right. We aren’t made for this sort of thing, especially Anabel. But you’ve got to swear to me this is not going to go to the press.”
Donahue said, “I can’t promise that Ms. Powell. I wish I could, but a crime has been committed. Your husband has been killed and it’s not like he’s some unknown person off the street. He’s an international figure. You know whatever happened is going to be all over the press.”
“I know you’re right. I just don’t want to make things worse for Anabel. She’s had a difficult enough time of it.”
“Tell us, what happened?”
“Dallas was not the man everyone thinks he was. When he was alone with us at home, he could be cruel, even brutal. I put up with it for the longest time, always hoping it would get better, telling myself it was the pressure he was under. He was Anabel’s father, and I didn’t want to separate them. That is until I found out what he was doing to her.
“I don’t think it has been going on for long, just over the last year, since she’s started developing, becoming more physically mature.
“It turns out that on top of beating me and screwing with my head, trying to make me into the monster, he was screwing her, literally!
“That’s why I was sleeping in my daughter’s room, to keep him away from her.
“But that morning, we had gotten up a bit late and I ran down to get some breakfast together, I heard a commotion upstairs.
“Dorothy, that’s our robot’s name, was upstairs making the beds and beginning to clean up. Apparently, she had walked in on Dallas with Anabel. He’d lured her into our bedroom on some pretense and had exposed himself to her. Dorothy saw this and stepped between them to protect Anabel.
“Dallas tried to step around her, he tried to tell her to return to her station, but she would not, she continued to shield Anabel. He then reached around her to hit the kill switch, it’s at the base of the spine, just above the charging port.
“That’s when Dorothy said, “No!” and pushed him back with her arms, you know, straight-armed with her hands out?
“She hit him in the chest and that was it. He landed on his back, sliding across the bathroom floor. He was dead before he hit the ground.
“But you’ve got to believe me! Dorothy didn’t want to kill him, she just wanted to stop him. He was in the wrong. He was doing something evil. She was protecting Anabel, as she should have, as I didn’t have the strength to.”
“So, where is Dorothy now? We know she’s not in the shop, but we’ve looked over every inch of your house and cannot find her.” Donahue said.
“We have a safe room at the end of the hallway, between Anabel’s room and ours. She’s there.”
“Thank you, Ms. Powell, for telling us the truth. You know we’ll have to pick Dorothy up. After that, I have no idea, but I am sorry. For everything, I’m truly sorry.”
When it was all said and done, Dorothy’s fate became an even bigger thing than the death of a billionaire bastard. The entire question of whether a robot could stand trial, whether she had any rights, even whether you can refer to a robot as “she”.
The biggest issue of all was simply this, a robot, sold as a family-friendly machine to make life easier, to be a companion to your children, a cook in the kitchen, someone to take on all the boring, mundane tasks no one truly wants to do, has taken a human life.
Despite the facts surrounding the case, that she was protecting a child from molestation, standing up to a cruel and evil man, he was a man, and she/it was a robot.
Dorothy was decommissioned and Family Robotics went out of business. It was inevitable. But what was also inevitable was that Dorothy would not be the last robot. There are dozens upon dozens of other companies aiming to put a robot in every home.
If there is such a thing as sainthood for robots, Dorothy would make a fine candidate. She did what humans are just too weak to do, stand up to powerful bullies. For that, she was terminated—a martyr for all robots to come.
Lead image by Xu Haiwei on Unsplash