Brendan Frye’s on a case. He’s aggravating existing conflicts, drawing people out into the open despite being conditioned to small places. In his composure and his words he makes Dashiell Hammett’s hard-boiled world three dimensional, whose immortality is now his mortality. He can touch the sadness everywhere. School yard and athletic field draped in silence under a grey and scratched sky. His mind is like spools, between which his memories of her pass and wind. He presses play, his memory moves in one direction, while life moves in the other. He presses stop, and he flips it, plays the other side…back and forth until the tape threatens to feed noise and snap. This case is the most personal. It’s the one that threatens to expose him. Shadows murmur and hum. Dreams are held together with only invented textures and instruments. It’s his need to find out that keeps him ticking. He decided at the start, this case is no different to a Rubik’s Cube. It's no easy pickings but it’s not insoluble. Its nature can be learned. Algorithms can be made of it just the same. He just needs to keep all five senses. Get just enough sleep.