Case of Spontaneous Human Combustion

INTRODUCTION

 Sanliurfa, Turkey February 12th, 2023 at around 3:45 a.m., a black armored vehicle made its way through the streets of the hellish city and stopped in front of the remnants of what was an ordinary four-story apartment building until a week ago, which was now nothing more than a pile of stones, sand and iron.

 "Is this place?"

 "Yes."

 "Alright, let's get in."

 The burly, stubble-bearded man in his forties and the woman in her thirties with long blond hair quietly got out of the vehicle. Turning on their flashlights, they examined the wreckage of the building, first cursorily, then more carefully. It didn't take long for them to find what they were looking for.

 "Is he alive?"

 The blonde woman quickly removed the glove from her right hand and pressed two fingers against the neck of a two- or three-year-old boy, whose survival was not clear at first glance.

 "For now, yes." 

 "Good, hurry up..."

 On February 6th, 2023, two earthquakes with a magnitude of 7.7 occurred in the Pazarcık district of Kahramanmaraş at 04:17 and a magnitude of 7.6 occurred at 13:24 on the same day.

 The earthquakes were felt intensely in the surrounding provinces, especially in Gaziantep, Hatay, Osmaniye, Adıyaman, Şanlıurfa, Diyarbakır, Malatya and Adana. According to official statements made a few days after the event, there were more than four thousand aftershocks. Again, official statements said that thousands of buildings were completely destroyed, tens of thousands of people lost their lives, and hundreds of thousands of people were seriously injured.

 According to some speculations, the official figures did not reflect the reality and the number of casualties actually reached hundreds of thousands. Some conspiracy theorists claimed that it was not possible for two earthquakes of this intensity to occur within a few hours of each other and that there were some unnatural elements involved.

 One way or another, one of the greatest disasters of the century had occurred. In a matter of hours, eight provinces were almost wiped off the map.

 The scene that emerged after the earthquake painfully revealed the extent of the destruction. Neighborhoods turned into piles of rubble testified to the merciless power of nature.

 The loss of life was staggering. The severity of the trauma they experienced could be read on the faces of the survivors. It wasn't just people's lives that the earthquake took. It had torn apart the fabric of society, exposing the fragility of even the most developed and prepared regions.

 In the aftermath of the earthquake, those who were displaced from their homes had to face a bleak reality. Temporary shelters were set up, accommodating those who were left homeless. The most basic human needs have become luxuries. It was clear that the wounds inflicted by the disaster went deeper than the visible wreckage. Emergency services, government agencies, volunteers responded to the incident. The capacities of the existing hospitals were not sufficient to provide medical care to all the wounded. For this reason, emergency treatment centers were quickly established, trying to cope with the influx of wounded. Search and rescue teams fought fiercely to pull survivors out from under the rubble.

 In such an atmosphere, neither the armored vehicle with foreign license plates, nor the small children kidnapped by two black-clad people who got out of the vehicle attracted anyone's attention…

***

Baltimore International Airport,

Washington 22 June 2023

 Ray Fisher, the boss of the Dreamgates Pictures media group, has been using his Eclipse 500 private jet for the past two years from time to time just for sightseeing.

 Fisher was more eager than ever that day to take off his private jet, which was waiting in the section northeast of Baltimore Airport that was operated by the "SRF" and reserved for the private planes of certain individuals. In the early morning, as the sun began to scatter its bright rays along the runway, Ray Fisher approached his plane with proud steps. In his opinion, this state-of-the-art private jet was a marvel of modern aviation. He wasn't exaggerating. The plane's flowing fuselage, decorated with the logo of the owner's company, gave Ray a sense of power and grandeur.

 The wealthy businessman, who is in his sixties, visualized the perfect body of Megan Cole, whom he had been with the night before, as he boarded his plane. He grinned to himself. The wealthy media mogul had a busy and complex business life, encompassing the management of television networks, radio stations, publishing houses and digital platforms. His professional life required constantly meeting with high-profile executives, building business partnerships, discussing content, shaping brand identities in order to stay on top of the competition. This kind of life was unhealthy in every sense of the word, and would be exhausting, if it weren't for some of the blessings it provided.

 He and Megan had met at one of their usual meetings about six months ago and were together that same night. From that day on, they repeated it at regular intervals.

 It had been almost eight years since Fisher lost his first wife, Bridget, to cancer. His current wife, Tabitha, started working for Ray while Bridget was still healthy and supported Ray in every way as he had a hard time after Bridget's illness became serious. Their relationship began to expand beyond a professional relationship while Bridget was still alive, resulting in the two marrying three months after Bridget died.

 But after eight years, Ray could see no resemblance between the understanding, self-sacrificing woman he once knew and the Tabitha he had now. About Tabitha, who insulted her at every opportunity, talked back and forth about her 'husband' left and right, and lied all the time, he now regretted not listening to Kyla's warnings before marrying her. When his daughter Kyla, who was twenty years old at the time, told him that the woman's problem was money, Ray scolded her.

 Now, he was pursuing another beautiful young woman to fill the void left inside him after Bridget's death and to repair his shattered ego.

 Ray Fisher boarded his plane, which was equipped with state-of-the-art avionics systems. As he stepped into the luxurious interior, he admired the sumptuous furnishings and elaborate details. He wasn't sure if the admiration he felt was for the plane or for himself.

 He moved into the cockpit and excitedly settled into the pilot's seat. After the final control lap and approvals from air traffic control, Ray steered the Eclipse 500 onto the runway. The engines came to life, the plane moved along the runway, slowly and then acceleratingly, and the wheels were elegantly disconnected from the ground.

 About twenty minutes after starting the flight, Ray realized something was wrong. At first, he thought he had a technical problem. However, it only took him a few seconds to realize that the problem was not caused by the plane, the weather, or any external elements.

 He seemed to have some kind of health problem. But he couldn't name it. This was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. First, he felt an inexplicable sensation in his spine, climbing up the coccyx. Then, an intense and unstoppable warmth spread throughout his body. He put his chubby hands to his chest, trying to unbutton his shirt. His eyes sparkled with concern. Instinctively, he looked around for water. Found. At the same time, looking at his arm, he noticed in horror that his skin had turned red, and his swollen veins were beginning to flow like rivers of fire just below the surface of his skin. Their breathing quickened desperately. The cockpit had become incredibly hot.

 Then it happened. Ray Fisher began to burn screaming, with no vehicle such as matches or any flammable substance such as gasoline around. Only a few minutes later, the wealthy businessman was left with nothing but a handful of ashes.

CHAPTER 1

 Dr. Aldric Köhler, a handsome man in contrast to his profession, was walking down the wide glass corridor to return to his work after a quick snack on his lunch break. Köhler's father, Prof. Heinrich Köhler, who died a few years ago, was one of the co-founders of Asklepios & Company and one of the most important scientists. Thanks to the vision and courage of Köhler's father and his friends, Asklepios & Company was founded in the 2nd century. Since the post-World War II era, the medical industry had not only managed to survive in the increasingly tense competitive environment, but it was also taking decisive steps towards becoming a globally recognized monopoly, and the unique champion of medical innovation was winning victory after victory.

 The goal of Asklepios & Company was to go far beyond people regaining their health and redefining and shaping the basic standards of human health.

 Asklepios & Company's headquarters in Washington, D.C., was as grand and eye-catching as the company's vision. The exterior of the biotechnology company's building had a modern and stylish design. The exterior was covered with a glass surface that reflected the surrounding landscape, allowing natural light to illuminate the lobby. The intro was highlighted by a bold logo that emphasized innovation.

 Stepping inside, the interior showcased a balanced combination of functionality and aesthetics. The lobby, which greets visitors with polished fine marble floors and vibrant green walls, explained the company's focus on nature and biology.

 Dr. Köhler walked up the stairs as briskly as usual, passing through wide well-lit corridors, and headed to his room on the third floor. At the same time, he noticed that his cell phone was ringing. She was the one calling.

 "Hi, have you heard the news?"

 "What news?"

 "Ray's plane crashed."

 "Today? How's that?"

 "It's early in the morning. He took off alone. It is estimated to have happened shortly after takeoff."

 " What about the cause of the accident?"

 "As we expected."

 There was a short silence. Köhler didn't seem to know exactly how to react to the news he received.

 "Well, I'll get back to you as soon as possible. See you soon."

 He hung up. He took a deep breath. It was impossible to tell from his facial expression what he was feeling. He went into his room. He tried to concentrate on his work as much as he could.

CHAPTER 2

 The façade of Ray Fisher's stately mansion towered over a vast estate. The marble columns rising on both sides of the entrance door were eye-catching. The manor house had three floors. The vast garden was filled with exotic plants of a rich variety. The large swimming pool in the garden was surrounded by grass.

 Fisher's funeral was held in the garden of his mansion, in accordance with the man's will. A large white tent set up in the garden for the ceremony was decorated with flowers. Candles were placed along the walkway in the large garden. The number of participants was not large enough to do justice to the magnificent venue. Ray Fisher's family, dressed in black, a few old close friends, and a dozen well-known names in the business world and a priest were there. Megan Cole and Aldric Köhler were among the participants.

 The priest began his speech.

 "Dear friends, we are gathered here today to bid farewell to our dear brother Ray Fisher on his last journey. His unexpected and inexplicable death deeply hurt and stunned us all. However, the real reason we are here today is not to commemorate death, but to commemorate a precious life lived to the fullest. Dear Ray was a brother of ours who was known for his achievements and productivity. Today, however, we will remember him not only for his achievements in business, but also as a good family man and a big-hearted, generous person.

 May he rest in peace, may his memory live in our hearts. May God's love and mercy be with him. When I look at you, I see how lucky Ray is. He has spent his life with beautiful people like himself. Thank you all..."

 Suddenly, under everyone's stunned gaze, Tabitha Fisher slapped Megan Cole and started yelling.

 "Filthy shit! It's all because of you! My husband died because of you! Damn you!"

 Megan Cole quickly overcame her surprise and responded with a slap to the slap and said, "Come to your senses or I'll bring you filthy alcoholic! Everybody knows what you married Ray for!" 

 "Ladies, please!"

 The priest and several of the guests intervened and separated the two women before the incident escalated. At the time, two members of the press who had attended the ceremony were busy recording what had happened. When the dust settled, no one noticed that Tabitha Fisher and Aldric Köhler made eye contact and the man winked at the widow.

CHAPTER 3

 Major Boris Pavlov stayed up late, as he usually does. The bright rays of the sun pierced through the curtains of the bedroom in a summer-like manner, waking Pavlov up at an early hour. Pavlov, who had not had the opportunity to get his air conditioner, which had been out of order for a while, repaired or bought a new one, left the fan on when he went to bed at night, but this did not work very well.

 The veteran policeman got out of bed, muttering to himself, overwhelmed by the heat, sweating and unable to sleep. He first went to the hall, where a number of maps, photographs and scribbled notes adorned the walls, and then to the bathroom. He went under the cold shower. He stayed under the cold water until he was convinced that he had regained consciousness. Then he shaved, dressed and went to the kitchen to pour himself a strong coffee. He postponed the task of checking if there was an important message on his cell phone until later. He prepared a toast and ate it quickly.

 He was heading towards the door to leave the house when suddenly there was an insistent knock on his door. Instinctively, his hand went to his gun. He quietly approached the door. He looked out through the hole in the door. As far as he could see, a young girl was standing in front of his door. His professional life had taught him that he should always be wary of unexpected visitors. He asked aloud without opening the door.

 "Who are you? What do you want?"

 "Are you Major Boris Pavlov?"

 "Yes, it's me, who are you?"

 "My name is Kyla... Kyla Fisher. You don't know me. I have to talk to you. Very important. Please open the door."

 Kyla Fisher, Fisher...

 It was true that the major did not know the girl. But the name Fisher sounded all too familiar. Pavlov seemed almost certain that he had recently heard the name. But he couldn't figure out from where.

 He forced himself to remember.

 Yes, of course.

 He remembered that his name had been mentioned on the TV news about two weeks ago. How was the news... A wealthy businessman goes on a sightseeing tour in his private jet, the jet crashes in a strange way shortly after taking off. The weather conditions are extremely suitable for the flight and it is not possible for there to be any technical problems on the plane. Interestingly, there does not appear to be anyone in the wreckage of the plane. It was as if the plane took off and crashed on its own. There is no one near the wreckage who managed to jump out of the plane before falling from it. Later, in the cockpit part of the plane, which was shattered by the impact of the fall, there are some remains that clearly belong to the person who drove the plane. By contacting the airport, detailed information about who owns the plane and the departure is obtained. Subsequent laboratory analysis revealed that the burned body belonged to the plane's owner, media mogul Ray Fisher. Investigations into the crash are ongoing.

 "Major, are you there? Please open it!"

 "Alright little lady, I'm opening the door now. But let me warn you from the beginning. I'm armed."

 Pavlov slowly opened the door. Standing in front of him stood a thin young woman of medium height, looking no more than thirty years old, with white skin, blunt hair dyed red, dressed in a navy blue blouse and a sleek black leather jacket. A young woman who is clearly in serious distress from the bags that have formed under her eyes.

 Boris Pavlov looked at the young woman. She was a beautiful girl. The girl immediately chimed in. In a theatrical tone, he asked,

 "I have to talk to you, may I please enter?"

 Before Pavlov could say, "Well, let's see," the girl had already burst into the house. She entered the hall without offering, took off her jacket, chose one of the seats in the hall and sat down.

 "I'm sorry I behaved this way. I know it's weird, but I didn't know what to do."

 Pavlov felt bewildered. He needed to leave as soon as possible to get to work. In front of him, in the middle of the living room of his house, sat a young woman.

 "My time is limited, ma'am, I have to get out, what can I do for you?"

 "Look, I... I lost my father two weeks ago. In a plane crash."

 In Pavlov's eyes, the news he had watched came alive again. His prediction was correct. But he continued to listen quietly without saying anything about it.

 "My father was a wealthy man, his name was Ray Fisher. He was the founder and owner of the famous Dreamgates Pictures company. The crashed plane belonged to him. He was driving the plane himself."

 "I'm sorry for your loss. But what does this have to do with the police? Why did you come to me specifically?"

 As Pavlov said this, he sat down in the seat opposite the girl. It was clear that this conversation would not be short-lived. Or that he can't persuade her to cut it short by standing up.

 "We were told that my father died in a very strange way. It is very difficult to explain this correctly. He was on the plane and suddenly, how shall we say, he had some kind of illness or something like that, and suddenly his whole body was burned."

 "Who do you mean by us?" 

 "Without taking Tabitha into account, I mean myself and my brother. My brother's name is Dorian Fisher. He is twenty-five years old. Ph.D. student. He's a talented young man, but a bit of an introvert."

 "All right. But I'm not sure I understood what you just said correctly. What does sick and burned mean? I am not a doctor, but as far as I know, there is no disease that causes a person to burn suddenly. Could it be that your father set himself on fire in some kind of madness or something?"

 "This is not the case. Experts told us about a very strange phenomenon. They said that what happened to my father was something that had only happened to ten or twenty people so far. They talked about a situation that could not be fully explained scientifically."

 "So your dad is going for a ride on his own plane and dies due to some kind of inexplicable mysterious event. It's really quite a strange situation. I'm guessing how it might have affected you. I'm really sorry for you. But I still couldn't figure out what that had to do with me. What exactly did you visit me for?"

 " It's simple, Mr. Pavlov. I don't care what the experts say. I think my father was murdered and I know who did it and why. I just don't know how he did it. And you have to clarify the situation."

 Pavlov thought that the girl was acting a little arrogant, a little dramatic. But that didn't mean she was lying.

 "Go ahead. Who do you suspect and for what reason?"

 "From my father's second wife Tabitha. My mother died of cancer eight years ago. My father married Tabitha soon after. At that time, my father was very upset. He was confused and tired. He felt alone. Tabitha was aware of my father's weakness. She persuaded my father to marry her. But I could see what was going on. She was acting, and what she was after was the opportunities my father would provide. That's why my dad and I had a few fights in those years."

 " What happened next?"

 "My father was a man with weaknesses but a smart man. When he recovered from the period of grief caused by the loss of my mother, he realized that it was a big mistake to marry Tabitha. Before the third year of their marriage was up, he told Tabitha that he wanted to break up with her. The woman said she would gladly do this on the condition that she would receive alimony large enough to put even a wealthy man like my father in a difficult situation. My father did not agree to this. Since then, they have been married on paper, but lead seperate lives inside the same house."

 " I understand. But is it plausible that Tabitha was really so desperate that she wanted to kill your father? Even if she doesn't like Ray Fisher, judging by what you said, she leads a comfortable life thanks to him. And this interesting story that you tell, the spontaneous combustion phenomenon, is really interesting. At least from a scientific point of view. But how can this be an instrument of murder? Maybe you can't think clearly because of the trauma of losing your father in such a strange way."

 "I thought you would say that. But I'm a more discreet person than I seem. If it had happened a year or more ago instead of now, I would have thought the same as you."

 "What happened a year ago?"

 "Tabitha began an affair with one of the men. The man's name is Dr. Aldric Köhler. He's wealthy and impressive. It's pretty good-looking. I think he's the owner of a major pharmaceutical company."

 "Did your father know about it?"

 "I'm not sure. But even if he was, he wouldn't mind it. Except for the first two or three years of their marriage, my father had already had affairs with many other women and Tabitha with other men, and they didn't even need to hide it from each other anymore."

 Pavlov referred to it as a model family.

 "And how is the man you are talking about, Köhler, different from his predecessors?"

 "I can't explain it to you in a concrete way. But there is something wrong with the man. I can feel it in the man's looks, in his behavior. There are also other things that I suspect."

 "What kind of things?"

 "I think there are some dark aspects to Köhler's work."

 "What is your reason for thinking this way?" 

 "I feel like something is not falling into place in the man's life. The wealth he has with his work, and the impression he creates... Something is bothering me. But most of all, I saw the man carrying a gun."

 " This can be a bit odd. But it doesn't substantiate your claims."

 " I know. As I said, I don't have any evidence to offer you directly. But even though it doesn't prove anything, when I put the pieces together, my instincts tell me that my father was murdered. By Tabitha, with the help of her lover. Probably for inheritance. Or for who knows what morbid reason."

 "All right. Is there anything else you'd like to add?"

 "Yes. In fact, there is. But I'm a little hesitant to say that."

 " I can't help you if you don't share what's on your mind."

 "Well, I actually have a theory about how they killed my father."

 "Go on."

 "My father was going through a very depressed period until last year due to the effect of his busy work schedule, perhaps with his age. He was only interested in his work to the extent that he had to. He began to have sleep problems and anxiety disorders. He was starting to move away from nightlife and all his other hobbies. He had no appetite. He was beginning to turn into a tired, antipathetic, intolerant old man.

 "It was around this time that Tabitha started to get along with my father again. She turned into a caring woman, just like in her early years. She was telling my father that he needed to take care of his health. She convinced my father that it would be beneficial for him to take some medicines, or rather food supplements. Interestingly, shortly after my father started taking these drugs, there was a noticeable improvement in his health. He looked noticeably more vibrant, youthful and energetic than before. Everyone, including himself, was surprised by this. I was glad to see my father like this.

 "Even I was convinced, if only for a short time, that Tabitha was sincere. But it turns out that this is not the truth.

 "One day, when I returned to the manner in the evening, I caught Tabitha in a very intimate state with Dr. Köhler, whom I had seen for the first time ever. Neither of them seemed too embarrassed. I remember the man staring at me uncomfortably. Then he pulled himself together, said something to Tabitha, and walked away.

 "Something immediately caught my attention from behind the man. It was understood that Dr. Köhler had supplied the medicines that my father had been using for some time. The coffee table in the living room was full of them. The bag that the man had taken with him before leaving the house was also next to the coffee table.

 "My father was out of town that day. As soon as I returned, I told him what had happened. He and Tabitha argued violently, and they broke up again.

 "However, my father did not stop taking his medication despite what had happened. Or rather, he could not let go. I think the drugs had made him kind of addictive. He felt so good that it didn't matter by whom or in what way he was procured. I warned him about it, but he didn't care."

 Pavlov seemed to be beginning to be convinced.

 "Look, this is interesting. I'm still not sure I can help you, but at least what you're telling me is starting to make sense. By the way, can you tell me if your father had an ongoing private relationship before he died?"

 "Yes, there was. The woman's name is Megan Cole."

 "Do you have Mrs. Cole's contact information?"

 "No, but if necessary, I will find out easily and let you know as soon as possible."

 "Okay. So, if your father was really the victim of a murder as you claim, do you think the people who did it could not be from the business world? The disappearance of your father can benefit many. What do you think about that?"

 The girl stared blankly.

 "Frankly, I don't know."

 "I am not a businessman or an economist, Ms. Fisher, but based on my limited knowledge of these matters, I can tell you the following. With the death of your father, the company he owns will first enter a chaos. There is an administrative gap and uncertainty about company policy. This can significantly reduce the stock market value of the company's shares, albeit temporarily. Someone who wanted to buy the shares that had fallen in price or to take advantage of the opportunity to take over the company may have wanted your father dead. I'm just talking about it as a potential possibility, but I've seen similar incidents in the past. You may be being emotional about your stepmother. Did any of your co-workers get back to you after your father's death?"

 "No, not yet."

 "It probably will. You can inform me about this if necessary. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll have to get out at once, Miss Fisher."

 " Will you help me?"

 "For now, I don't promise. I will assess the situation and get back to you."

CHAPTER 4

 The blackened-eyed young woman descended on the crowded square around noon. She didn't even care about the crowd, but the heat was intolerable.

 She had no remorse for what she had done. And from what will happen in a moment. She had never understood why people feel remorse. Just as she couldn't understand almost anything about people. There was only one thing she wondered about them. Why wasn't everyone screaming I'm dying of boredom?

 Procuring the illegal drug had been child's play for her. She had many connections that would allow him to do this with ease. More than half an hour had passed since she had taken the medicine. She was ready for what was about to happen. SHe tilted her head downwards and looked at his swollen belly. She was finally about to get rid of her five-and-a-half-month-old baby.

 Suddenly, she felt a terrible pain. All the muscles in her body contracted. She gasped. She began to tremble. Realizing that he could not stand, he collapsed on the ground. There it was.

 In the crowded square, busy with her own troubles, the strange behavior of the young woman did not attract anyone's attention at first. Then there was a loud scream. The young woman was covered in blood. She got up from her seat. She put the fetus in the bag she had brought with her and threw it into the first trash can she could set her eyes on. At the same time, she noticed the ambulance and the police car coming towards her.

 The police learned from the people in the vicinity that the woman had a miscarriage and threw her baby in the trash. They found the baby. While she was taken to the forensic institution to determine the cause of death, the young woman was put into an ambulance under police guard.

 One of the paramedics in the ambulance had a loud ringing of his cell phone.

 No, not now.

 The paramedic found his phone and tried to silence it. He couldn't make it. The phone kept ringing insistently.

 It was almost like he was playing in his head.

 I can't open it now... But I have to open it. Yes...

 Finally, Dr. Simon Blake woke up from his horrible nightmare, thanks to his phone, which kept ringing persistently.

 It's the same nightmare again...

 Trying to pull himself togather, he picked up the phone. It was Pavlov who called.

 "Hi Boris."

 "Hi buddy, are you okay? I've been trying to reach you for minutes."

 "Yes. Yes, I'm fine. I was just having a bad dream."

 " I understand. There is something I need to consult you. Have you ever heard of spontaneous human combustion?"

 "Sure."

 "Sure? You spoke like it was something everyone knew."

 Blake smiled to himself, but didn't answer his friend.

 "Let's talk about it face-to-face when it's appropriate."

 "Sure... I will get back to you as soon as possible. See you soon." 

CHAPTER 5

 Boris Pavlov took another big sip of cold mineral water. Wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his right hand, he completed what the interesting guest who had visited him the day before had told him.

 The two old friends' most frequent meeting in recent years was Simon Blake's quiet home, the back of which overlooks the Potomac river.

 The soothing view of the river was like therapy for Pavlov. From Blake's balcony, one could see some historic bridges over the Potomac River, green parklands, and the vague skyline of Washington, DC. Boat traffic, which was heavy from time to time, people who came to do sports, and rare bird species were relieving for Pavlov as well as Blake.

 "Interesting story. Will you investigate it?"

 "Maybe. But legally, it is difficult to reopen the file. The girl's claim is not based on any concrete evidence. And there are some pretty strong people involved in."

 " Can this be done 'off the record'?"

 Pavlov took another sip of the mineral water before answering. From Blake's large balcony overlooking nature, he stared absent-mindedly for a few seconds at the wooded area across the river.

 "Actually, that's what I was going to ask you about. I need to find something convincing to make it official. Until then, someone has to help me. I can't do it alone."

 Blake smiled.

 "And as far as I can tell, it's me."

 Silence.

 This time it was Blake's turn to dive into the landscape.

 "All right. To be honest, the incident is extremely interesting. But I'm not sure how I can help you."

 "That spontaneous combustion thing... To begin with, what can you tell me about that?"

 "It is an astonishing phenomenon that has been encountered several times in history and has not been fully elucidated scientifically. There are some assumptions about how the mechanism works, but they are purely speculative.

 "It was first seen in 1663. At least, that's assumed to be the case. The last recorded case is from 1952.

 "On a hot July day, Mary Reeser, a sixty-seven-year-old woman in Florida, falls asleep in her usual rocking chair in her home where she lives alone. The next morning, Pansy, who lives next door to Mary, jumps out of bed startled by a noise she hears in the early hours of the morning. She gets up from her bed and looks out of her bedroom window at the street, but she doesn't see anything out of the ordinary. Eventually, Pansy decides that she is dreaming and goes back to bed.

 "However, just as she was about to fall asleep again, Pansy started to smell a burning smell in her nose. After waiting for a while, Pansy goes to the woman's apartment on the pretext of delivering a telegram that arrives at Mary around eight o'clock in the morning and encounters busy business in the hallway. When she tries to open the apartment door, she notices that the door handle is too hot to handle.

"Pansy then asks a neighbor for help. With the help of the man, they open the door. The two witness a terrifying sight. The view is exactly like this; a pile of ashes, a shrunken skull, smoking fumes, and a leg.

 "Authorities are immediately called to the scene. The fire brigade is the first to arrive with fire concerns. According to firefighters, the black slipper Mary wore on her leg remained unharmed. The woman's skull was found to be as small as a coffee cup. The most interesting part is that while the body was completely burned to ashes, no burn marks were found on the leg, and there were no burn marks anywhere in the house, except for the chair where Mary was sitting. According to the crematorium expert who was called to clarify the case, Mary's body had to burn at 650 degrees Celsius for three or four hours in order to become like this. If such a temperature exists, the house is expected to burn down completely. However, as I said earlier, there is no trace of the burning mark even in the newspapers next to Mary.

 "The situation is so bizarre and illogical that no one can give a satisfactory explanation, and this ambiguity still exists today. Some of the clarification attempts that have not been finalized are as follows:

 "The FBI claims that Mary fell asleep with a lit cigarette in her hand; The police hand over the ashes from the crime scene, the room's carpet and the rocking chair to the FBI. As a result of the examination, no flammable material was found. Another assumption is that the fire was caused by electrical components. However, the police make it clear that there are no technical problems with electricity in the house. It also doesn't make sense that a fire caused by an electrical fault burned Mary while damaging the rest of the house.

 "No report can convincingly explain the incident. For example, human body fat certainly contains chemical compounds that are combustible, but if that's what fuels the flame, why doesn't Mary's leg burn?

 "When the official report of the FBI is not enough to clear up the question marks, many different theories are put forward. The plausible ones of these are as follows;

 "The assumption that Mary was struck by lightning. It is indeed not impossible that such an event could have been caused by a lightning strike. Mary, however, was inside her house, not outside. Therefore, the theory can be eliminated.

 "Another theory is that Mary's death was actually a murder. Termite bombs were allegedly dropped on Mary's home, and she died from the bombs, which contained magnesium, phosphorus and kerosene. Personally, this is what I find most plausible of the current assumptions. I researched what a thermite bomb is in my own way. Such bombs react with metal oxide, raising the temperature of the place where it is located and scattering sparks around it. This is consistent with Pansy's statement that the door handle was hot, and the firefighters said it was too hot to stand inside the house. So far, so good. However, the theory gives a deficit on two points. First, the bombs scattering around would have required at least items near Mary to catch fire, but it was the opposite. Secondly, if a bomb had been thrown at the house, there should have been remnants of explosives at the scene, which is not the case. After all, it's not about the thermite bomb.

 "The most interesting hypothesis, at least from a scientific point of view, is that Mary burned to death.

 "In the last three hundred years, according to records, nearly two hundred people have died by spontaneous fire. As I said, there are scientific studies on this subject, but none of them can explain the real cause of death of these people, most of whom are elderly, overweight and have a habit of consuming alcohol regularly.

 "By the way, before I forget, there is one more thing that needs to be mentioned in the case of Mary Reeser. As far as I can see, this point is not emphasized much in various sources. Reeser has a son named Richard. Richard is a medical doctor. On the evening just before the unfortunate woman lost her life, Richard visits his mother. Mary is a woman with sleep difficulties and there are some medications she uses to sleep comfortably, and these drugs are over-the-counter. In his testimony after the incident, Richard stated that his mother had taken two of the drugs in question before going to sleep that evening, and that he did not see any danger in the fact that the drugs were not over-the-counter in his capacity as a medical doctor."

 Simon Blake paused at this point in his long speech, noticing that his friend was paying special attention and that he had something to say. Pavlov interrupted by dropping the empty mineral water bottle he had been holding for a long time on the coffee table.

 "So that's really interesting. Over-the-counter medicines used for one reason or another, a relative who doesn't mind it, maybe even recommends it. Don't you think the commonality between the deaths of Mary Reeser and Ray Fisher is remarkable?"

 Blake thought for a while. Then he continued his speech.

 "Maybe. At the very least, you could be right that it should be considered. But we cannot draw such a conclusion directly. The reason is that of the two hundred or so cases that have been recorded, none of them, except for these two, at least as far as we know, have no information about drug use. Therefore, if we make such an inference in advance, it will be a hasty and emotional decision. Statistically, this is more likely to be a coincidence. Still, I find it worth working on."

 " What do you know about that, except in the case of Mary Reeser?"

 "As I said, there are many cases that have been recorded since 1663. And most of the victims have some commonalities, such as old age, being overweight and high alcohol consumption. For example, in Italy in 1745, a countess named Cornelia Bandi was found with her entire body turned to ashes, except for her legs, very similar to the case of Mary Reeser. 

 "If we look at the romantic side of things, this phenomenon has been the subject of some literary works. Charles Dickens, for example, touched on the subject in his novel Bleak House. In the Victorian era, the subject was even looked at as God's punishment of sinners who drank alcohol.

 "Of course, what I'm personally interested in is more the scientific side of things. The adipose tissue in the human body is highly flammable. We also have methane gas, which is an extremely flammable substance. According to the theory of some scientists, spontaneous combustion can occur when static electricity, bacteria, overweight, stress and alcohol consumption come together. There are biologists who claim that acetate, which is highly present in the body, can similarly lead to burning.

 "In relation to this, there has also been a recent experiment. A recently deceased pig was wrapped in a blanket and a lit cigarette was placed on top of the blanket. After a while, first the blanket, then the skin, and after the skin cracked, the body was burned. The pig's legs were left unburned, just like in the Mary Reeser case.

 "At first glance, this experiment seems quite revealing, but it leaves some question marks. First of all, in the experiment, the combustion is triggered by an external source, a cigarette. Secondly, while the burning of the pig used in the experiment spreads over a serious period of time, it takes almost seconds for Ray Fisher's entire body to be burned to ashes.

 "Mast cell activation syndrome, which is a medical diagnosis, may be a possible explanation for this condition. Mast cells, which are located in the connective tissue in the human defense system, normally undertake tasks such as allergy, anaphylaxis, and vessel formation. To do this, it secretes more than two hundred molecules. In some cases, as a result of the deterioration of the arousal threshold in humans, the amount of molecules secreted rises much higher than normal. One of these molecules is norepinephrine. The extremely rapid fat burning provided by norepinephrine could theoretically lead to spontaneous combustion."

 "I felt like I was at a conference. And will you help me with the case?"

 After thinking for a while, Blake answered.

 "What's the point of trying to trick you by seeming not to be interested? A little excitement would do me good. And I can't sleep until I know the ins and outs of it."

 "Good. I'm glad to hear that."

 " So where do we start? I think we'll have to take a closer look at Fisher's manor, Dr. Köhler's work, and Megan Cole's life. Is there a way to do this without hiding behind a formal police investigation?"

 Pavlov answered his friend's question while lighting his cigarette.

 "Yes, I think there is..."

 Blake grimaced to emphasize his displeasure with his friend's smoking, and chased with his hand the phantom smoke that was bothering him on the open balcony, saying,

 "By the way, that girl, Kyla Fisher, I don't think she really told you the truth." 

CHAPTER 6

 Major Pavlov and Kyla Fisher had met that afternoon at the Beetle Cafe, a short walk from the University of Washington, as they had agreed the day before, and were chatting over a drink.

 The scorching heat that has been going on for the last two weeks has finally given way to slightly rainy and windy weather. Pavlov considered himself lucky for this. 

 "You have made me very happy, Mr. Pavlov, frankly, I did not think you would agree."

 The young woman lifted slightly from her chair, leaving the milkshake glass on the table, trying to hug Pavlov. The man smiled and prevented her from doing so. As Kyla Fisher sat down again, Boris Pavlov began to speak.

 "I was assessing the situation with a trusted friend before giving you a definitive answer. I'll introduce you to him as soon as possible, but first I have to make sure you clearly understand and confirm some things."

 Okay, I'm listening to you."

 Kyla Fisher took another sip of her drink and looked at Pavlov. Boris Pavlov automatically moved his hand to the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, but realizing that smoking was forbidden in the section where they were sitting, he put the package back in his pocket.

 "First of all, since no criminal elements were found in the detailed investigations carried out after your father's death, the incident was recorded as an accident and the file was closed. Your personal concerns do not allow the case to be reopened and a formal investigation to be launched."

 "But you said..."

 "Please allow me to wrap it up. What I'm trying to say is that the research that we're going to do is going to be informal. No one should know about it, otherwise we may get into trouble and we will not be able to help you. Until you get something tangible. In order for us to do that, you need to cooperate and be very careful."

 "I understood. What exactly do you have in mind, Mr. Pavlov?"

 "You need to get my friend, Simon Blake, whom I told you about, into your father's mansion without attracting suspicion and allow him to examine the environment in detail. If it's okay with you, you'll introduce Simon to Tabitha Fisher as a tutor you've hired. So he'll be able to get in and out of your house comfortably and study the environment."

 Kyla Fisher looked like she was having fun.

 "Why not. And am I going to keep him as a teacher of…"

 "Simon's main specialization is art history. I think it would be quite appropriate if you introduced him as an art teacher. Maybe you will be a young lady trying to get out of the depression she got from by losing her father by dealing with art."

 "It seems logical. Is this Mr. Simon Blake someone who can solve the case at a glance at our house, or is there something else that needs to be done?"

 "Time will show us, but I think if we investigate Dr. Köhler and Megan Cole, we will have a much broader view."

 "So how do you do that? Or is Megan Cole going to hire you as a gymnastics instructor?"

 Boris Pavlov couldn't decide whether the young woman's unwarranted joke was funny or inappropriate. Then he found it appropriate not to react in any way.

 "You were going to give me the contact information of Mrs. Cole and Dr. Köhler..."

 "Sure, I wrote it down on a piece of paper, wait a minute."

 As Kyla Fisher pulled out a piece of paper from her bag in which she had written down Megan Cole's phone number and work address, Boris Pavlov said,

 "By the way, you said that there was a scuffle between Tabitha Fisher and Megan Cole at your father's funeral, and that it was recorded by journalists on cameras. Was this reported in the press?"

 "No, I don't think so. I remember that same night Tabitha called the journalists on the phone and tried to persuade them not to spread the word."

 "OK. This information may be useful to us. Can you find me the names and phone numbers of these journalists?"

 Kyla Fisher looked at the major,

 "Well, I think I can find it."

CHAPTER 7

 Thirty-eight-year-old Megan Cole was a twenty-year-old college student majoring in public relations at the University of Southern California, when her impressive physique attracted the attention of several casting agencies and advertising companies. In the same year, she started modeling and acting in promotional films. A year later, she decided that college was a waste of time and dropped out less than a year and a half before graduation.

 Thanks to the connections she made over the years, she moved away from modeling from her early thirties and began to establish herself as an executive and producer in the same industry.

 With the help of Ray Fisher, whom she met and had a relationship with three years ago, her already trouble-free professional life had leveled up.

 Although Megan Cole was no longer a model or a young college girl, she continued to take care of her health and physique. To do this, she goes for a walk at least four days a week.

 That's what she did that morning.

 Poor Ray out of her mind, it wasn't good that he died like that. he was a fertile resource. Besides what he offered me, I really loved spending time with him.

 In fact, she didn't miss Ray too much. What really bothered her was the disgrace that Ray's stupid wife had caused at the funeral. Two young journalists filmed what was happening. Because of this incident, it was certain that she would be subjected to a lot of annoying harassment and deal with people who would annoy him. She was going to have a lot of headache.

 But that's not what happened. She did not see the incident on the day of the incident, nor the next day, nor for the next twenty days or so, on any TV channel, newspaper, or internet. No one had ever called her and asked her questions.

 She almost began to feel disappointment for it. 

 Convinced that she had run enough, she slowed down his pace. She began to walk with brisk steps.

 She remembered the drug that Ray had been taking for a while before he died. At the man's insistence, she had bought a few of these himself for a short period of time. The result was incredible. She wasn't one to put a premium on such things, and she wouldn't believe it if he heard it from someone else, but she couldn't ignore her own experiences. Ray Fisher had given her these mysterious, anonymous drugs from time to time until the day he died, and as long as she was using them, Megan felt the same way she did when she was fifteen. She didn't know where Ray got these drugs. With his death, her access to them was also cut off.

 She returned home after completing a distance of about seven kilometers, half of which he covered by flat running and the other half by brisk walking. She took off her wet leggings and T-shirt and went under the cold shower. Once she was cool enough, she dried her hair with a towel. As she made her way to the kitchen to make herself coffee, she noticed her phone ringing. The number that appeared on the screen was unfamiliar. She ignored the call, as she usually does in such cases. The phone rang several times and then went silent.

 She prepared her coffee without milk and sugar. She took a sip. She walked in. Her phone rang again. The same number was calling. This time, she deigned to open it.

 "I'm Megan Cole, who am I talking to?"

 "Hello. My name is Major Pavlov. If you don't mind, a friend and I would like to visit you to ask a few questions about the death of Ray Fisher."

 Megan Cole didn't respond right away. A voice inside her was telling her that there were unpleasant things going on.

 "Mrs. Cole, are you there?"

 "Yes, Major, I'm here. I would love to help you, but I had already given a detailed statement to the police after Ray's death. I have nothing extra to say. As far as I know, the incident was recorded as an accident in the official records and the file was closed. Am I wrong?"

 "No, you're not wrong, but there are some minor points that stick in my mind. I just wanted to ask a few questions. I thought that would be okay with you. After all, you have nothing to hide, do you, Miss Cole?"

 "What a deal! But as I understand it, this is not an official investigation. And I'm not going to answer every question that comes to mind."

 "Ms. Cole, there's no reason for you to make a big deal out of it. And believe me, if you oblige, it is not difficult for me to interrogate you at the police station. Before I forget, I have a young journalist friend with me. He has some footage of you recorded at Mr. Fisher's funeral. I'm trying to convince my young friend not to publish them, but I'm not sure how successful I can be."

 Megan Cole thought to herself, I'll show you.

 "Alright, since it's so important, I'm waiting for you."

CHAPTER 8

 "To be clear, our contact is happy with the results. He thinks that the work should be accelerated. Despite the risks, he will continue to support the supply of the necessary raw materials for this."

 Dr. Aldric Köhler smiled slightly and said, "Glad to hear that, Dr. Walsch."

 "But... There is an issue that makes us think. That businessman. Ray Fisher."

 In the meeting room on the top floor of the magnificent building of Asklepios & Company, an off-the-record meeting of three people was taking place at an annoying late hour of the night.

 The hall had a large space with high ceilings. Thick and heavy window curtains had been drawn. The wall colors were in dark tones. The atmosphere of the hall had a feeling that would make those with claustrophobia uncomfortable.

 Dr. Aldric Köhler's guests were Prof. Arnold Walsch and his assistant Dr. Angela Strickland. Arnold Walsch was a burly, bald-headed man of about fifty-five years of age, who wore expensive clothes. He had a habit of constantly playing with his wristwatch while talking. His assistant, Angela Strickland, who was in her forties, was a medium-sized, slightly overweight and not-very sympathetic woman with short blonde hair cut like a man.

 Köhler felt a little nervous about the death of Ray Fisher at this session of their meetings, which they had held regularly for the past two years and kept as far away from prying eyes as possible, but on the other hand, he did not think that this event would be a real problem compared to the magnitude of the work they were doing.

 "I'm listening to you, Dr. Walsch."

 "I'm sure you were aware of Fisher's death. He was a powerful businessman who was well-known throughout the state."

 " Yes, I heard about it on TV. I think he had a heart attack and crashed while piloting his own plane. Or something like that. Poor fellow."

 "I wouldn't recommend you play games with me, Dr. Köhler. We heard that you are having an affair with the businessman's wife. And the cause of the man's death is not a heart attack or anything."

 "But..."

 "For now, our contact's thinking is to ignore this incident. But don't count on the project not being canceled if a similar incident happens again. Is there anything you would like to add, Dr. Strickland?"

 "For my part, I believe that in such cases one should be very cautious. As you know, Ray Fisher officially died as a result of an accident. But there are always busybody types who will dig up such incidents. And I would advise Mr. Köhler to stay away from women who are married to other men."

 Köhler had already anticipated that the meeting would be annoying, but his guests spoke more sharply than he had anticipated. He thought to himself vile vultures.

 Fifteen minutes later, Walsch and Strickland were out of the building. Turning to her boss, she said,

 "What are we going to do about it, sir?"

 "For now, watch the man's every second and let me know any developments. We cannot afford to shy away from taking the most radical measures when necessary."

 "Of course, professor..."

CHAPTER 9

 Megan Cole opened the door, trying to drown out her true thoughts of her guests with a fake smile.

 Of the two men, both in their late forties, about the same height and the same weight, she looked at the one with shorter hair and a formal look, and said,

 "Welcome, Major Pavlov, I suppose?"

 "Yes, you must be Mrs. Megan Cole."

 The woman nodded vaguely.

 "And that's my friend Simon Blake. We won't take up much of your time."

 The woman gestured inwards and said, "Come along, please." Walking in front, she guided her guests into the spacious and well-lit hall. The two friends glanced around the living room of the house, then sat down with their eyes on each seat.

 Megan Cole bought herself something cold to drink before she started talking, passive- aggressively not asking her guests what they were going to drink. Blake and Pavlov didn't care. With the insides of her wrists facing up, she stretched her hands out forward, winking and saying,

 "Yes, gentlemen, tell me if I am under arrest. Are you going to put handcuffs on me?"

 "Relax, Mrs. Cole. You are not a suspect. We think you only have useful information to give us. Let's be honest and get past the formalities. We know that you had an affair with Ray Fisher for six months before his death and had a friction with his wife, Tabitha Jenkins Fisher, at the man's funeral. First of all, how well did you know Fisher? What did he tell you about his work, about his family life?"

 "I'm a businesswoman and I don't deeply meddle in people's private lives. Ray was a successful and fun guy. He was very interested in me and we were having a good time with him. That was enough for me. Like everyone else, he had his problems, but they were mundane things. It wasn't worth dwelling on. His first wife was dead, and he was on bad terms with his second wife, Tabitha."

 " What did he tell you about his children?"

 "Not much. I think he has a son who is a PhD student somewhere. He mentioned that the child looked like his mother. He's academically promising but socially stiff. His daughter, who was a few years older, was the opposite of his son. Irresponsible, lazy, but sociable and funny. I think he found her closer."

 Simon Blake, who had been carefully following Megan Cole's and Pavlov's conversations up to that point, began to think that this dialogue had become a cliché.

 "Mrs. Cole, do you mind if I look around while my friend continues to talk to you?"

 "Enjoy yourself, Blake."

 Blake stood up. First, he took a closer look at the hall they were in. The room had high ceilings and large windows, allowing natural light to flood in ideally. He looked out for a few seconds before one of the windows. He then ran his hand lightly over the expensive frame of the wooden window. He turned his attention back into the room. He looked at the sumptuous candelabra chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the exquisite upholstery, the luxurious furniture, the few reproduction paintings hanging on the wall. He thought that all these were extremely expensive and tasteful items when taken individually, but they were not harmonious and complementary. Then some photos on the fireplace, which was mostly made for decorative purposes, attracted his attention. He picked up one of them and examined it closely. Then he was caught on the old-fashioned display case made of quality wood and the trinkets inside. Then he left the hall.

 The woman, who appeared to be wealthy, had a total of five rooms and two bathrooms in her large house. One of the rooms was designed to function more as a small recording studio.

 The woman's bedroom, on the other hand, consisted of a large four-poster bed, silk sheets and pillows, a large wardrobe and vanity, and according to Blake, it was expensive but tasteless.

 While Blake inspected the house, Pavlov, who was alone with Megan Cole in the living room, continued his questions.

 "Did Mr. Fisher have a problem with his business?"

 "I don't think you're talking about money. If he had any other problems, he didn't share them with me."

 " As far as you know, was he receiving any threats?"

 "Frankly, I don't know. He was a man with a wide circle in the business world. There's always a chance that someone like him has stepped on someone's tail. Also, as you know, he had a bad relationship with his wife. But he didn't tell me anything of the sort."

 Blake opened the next door. The reading room, which contained a large library, was apparently later converted into an entertainment room, with a television with a giant screen, cinema chairs and a game corner added to the room. There was also a small bar counter in the room.

 Pavlov asked Megan Cole what she knew about Ray Fisher's health condition.

 "Ray was fifty-eight years old. A man at that age, as a rule, has some minor health problems. Such as high blood pressure, cholesterol, diabetes. Or at least someone at this age is no longer as energetic as they were at thirty years old. Ray had no trace of them. He was twenty years older than me, but I was the one who struggled to keep up with his pace. Maybe you won't be interested, but there's something I need to say at this point. Ray had been suffering from these very signs of aging until a few months before he met me. He mentioned that he was thinking about retiring in those days, that he was feeling extremely exhausted, that he was taking a lot of drugs every day, and so on. He said that in those days, Tabitha started to be close to Ray, even though he was not expecting it, and convinced him to use some kind of food supplement or something like that, saying that she was worried about his health. Ray told me that after he started taking this drug, he threw away all the other medications he was taking, got rid of all his symptoms, and felt better than ever."

 When Pavlov heard the woman's words, he thought of what Kyla Fisher had told him and what Blake had said about spontaneous combustion.

 Simon Blake saw that the decoration of the room he entered was unfinished. On one side of the room, sports equipment was piled up, which had just been purchased and some of which had not yet been opened. Cardio equipment, free weights, exercise balls, resistance bands... On the other side was a wardrobe that had apparently been there for a long time, a desktop computer, magazines and books piled up on the floor. Megan Cole couldn't seem to decide what to use this room for.

 While Pavlov and Cole continued their conversations, Simon Blake returned to the hall and sat in the same place. He made a hand gesture that meant go ahead.

 "When was the last time you saw Ray Fisher?"

 The woman pretended to think.

 "I think it was a day or two before the accident." 

 "Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?"

 "No, I don't think so."

 "Thank you, Miss Cole. You have helped us a lot. That's all I have to ask. What do you think, Simon?"

 Simon Blake pointed with his finger to the photographs on the fireplace and asked,

 "When did you have those pictures taken, Miss Cole?"

 "I think it was about a year ago."

 "Do you know someone named Dr. Aldric Köhler?"

 The woman hesitated for a few seconds and then said,

 "No, I can't remember anyone by that name."

 "Do you have a chronic illness or a recent health problem? Are you taking any medication?"

 "No, I'm perfectly healthy."

 "Thanks for your time. I don't have any further questions."

 "Tell me, what's the real reason you come here and ask questions? Or are you... Do you think Ray was murdered? If so, do you suspect me?"

 Major Pavlov said, "We can't say for sure. Let's just say that we have some reasons to think that the cause of Ray Fisher's death was not an accident or illness, and we find it helpful to talk to everyone in his inner circle."

 Simon Blake interjected,

 "I don't think you are responsible for Ray Fisher's death. The problem is, I'm worried that your life is in danger." 

CHAPTER 10

 Dreamgates Pictures was founded in California in 1992 by two childhood friends, Marc Richards and Ray Fisher. Working really hard, Richards and Fisher grew their company in a short period of time. Headquartered in California, the company opened branches in Oregon and Washington within a few years. The company, whose work mainly focused on the cinema industry, took on everything that comes to mind when it came to the press and media as it gained power and succeeded in most of them.

 However, in 2007, Marc Richards, who had a heart attack while things were in full swing, passed away at the age of forty-seven. Ray Fisher has risen to the position of absolute ruler of the company.

 Around the same time, Fisher unexpectedly moved to Washington, D.C., and Dreamgates Pictures' headquarters moved from California to Washington.

 On the death of Marc Richards, some allegations have been made.

 There were those who claimed that Richards' death was not a natural heart attack, but was eliminated by his competitive partner Ray Fisher. According to this, Fisher poisoned his friend using strychnine creatine, causing him to have a heart attack. None of these claims were based on concrete foundations. Requests for an autopsy were denied, and the incident was soon forgotten.

 The decline in the company's performance caused by Richards' death was quite natural. Fisher brought Dreamgates Pictures back to its former glory days with some structural reforms and lineup changes. Since the early 2010s, it has moved away from conventional cinema and started to focus on digital media.

 The area with the highest concentration of business centers in Washington DC is the 'Downtown' area, commonly known as the city center. In addition to political structures such as federal government buildings and embassies, the region also includes many important points such as commercial centers, office buildings, tourist attractions, and shopping areas.

 The building, which has been the headquarters of Dreamgates Pictures since 2007, was also located in this area. The modernly designed multi-storey building, which housed the various departments in which the company carried out its activities, consisted of administrative offices, newsrooms and studios, post-production spaces and lobby, dining hall and meeting rooms for entertaining guests.

 The spacious meeting room on the second floor was witnessing an important meeting that day. In the wake of the bizarre death of company owner and CEO Ray Fisher, there were a number of changes that needed to be made urgently.*

 The primary agenda was the settlement of legal and legal issues and the subsequent change of management. After the legal obligations were settled, the change of position of the heirs, shareholders or the current managers of the company would be discussed.

 Then the conversation would come to operational continuity and strategic objectives. But no one cared much about this part of the business.

 And, of course, after Fisher's death, the company's financial position would be assessed.

 Rusty Richards, president and chief production officer, opened the meeting. Richards, who does not like to prolong the word, came to the point he wanted to reach by bypassing the formalities.

 "As you know, Dreamgates Pictures owes its existence to Marc Richards as much as to Ray Fisher. Fisher was a man of vision, and Richards led the company to where it is now without tarnishing his name. But the situation is clear, Fisher is no longer with us. And I think, of course, if you don't object, it's the right thing to do to buy a majority of the shares and make Dreamgates a Richards company again."

 When Marc Richards died in 2007, his son, young Rusty Richards, a recent college graduate who was then in his early twenties, took up the company, and his power within the company grew rapidly over the years. It seems that all these years he had believed that the company had always belonged to him, and he wanted to get back what was theirs without wasting time. There was silence in the hall after Richards' remarks.

 The only person who had the courage to speak out was Garrit Arbeit, a close friend of Ray Fisher. Arbeit was chief operations officer and reported directly to Fisher.

 "It's true that Fisher is not with us. But his family is still alive. At this point, I think they also have the right to speak. By the way, why aren't they here?"

 "You are completely right in your concerns, Garrit. But I talked to them at length. They agreed to sell a significant portion of the family shares to me. Of course, the Fisher family has always been an integral part of Dreamgates. At least as long as they want it to be. And our communication with them will continue with all transparency."

 The meeting continued for some time. When it was over, Garrit Arbeit didn't feel convinced at all.

CHAPTER 11

 Five minutes later, Blake and Pavlov left Megan Cole's house.

 Pavlov gestured to the approaching taxi. The two friends got into a cab and told the driver to head toward the University of Washington. *

 After asking the taxi driver to turn on the car's air conditioning, Pavlov asked Blake,

 "What do you think of the woman?"

 "Knowingly or unknowingly, he has been involved in Ray Fisher's life too much."

 "What do you mean?"

 Before answering, Blake pulled out a small medicine bottle made of thick dark glass without any labels from his pocket and held it up to his friend.

 "Do you see that?"

 "Of course. Or do you do this..."

 "Yes, I 'got' it from Megan Cole's house. I assume you won't arrest me for that."

 Pavlov looked at him as if to say, "Oh, that's funny."

 Blake continued.

 "The woman was lying about not taking medication, and the drugs she was using are the same as the ones that Ray Fisher was using. She probably doesn't know the source of the drugs. So there's no reason to think that she lied about not knowing Aldric Köhler, but whether she knew him or not, it could be that she was involved in some unpleasant business. Did you pay attention to the photos of the woman?"

 "I left that part of the job to you."

 "Megan Cole has lost at least six or seven pounds in a matter of months. Of course, this could be a coincidence, but I don't think so. This seems to be related to the drugs Fisher is taking. The condition of one of the rooms in the woman's house confirms this."

 "What was in the house?"

 "In one of the rooms there was plenty of newly purchased gym equipment. None of them have been unpacked. Some items that were obviously from the previous state of the room were also scattered on the floor. The sports equipment was new, but the packages were dusty. It was obvious that they had been standing there for a while. As you have noticed, the woman already takes care of herself. Lately, she's been more enthusiastic about the sport than ever, she's lost a lot of weight and bought state-of-the-art fitness equipment to create a kind of personal gym in his own home, but then she's suddenly given up on doing it for whatever it is."

 "So now you're convinced that it's drug-related, and you're afraid that Megan Cole will suffer the same side effects."

 "Maybe, and no. It's too early to make a judgment. We don't know Fisher's family and co-workers. Things may be knotted up on the drug, but I don't think Megan Cole is in danger because of the side effects. The main problem is this; If we noticed that the woman was using drugs, someone else may have noticed the same thing. And the fact that the possible effects of the drug are known to undesirable people may upset them."

 "But in this case..."

 "Exactly. And we're not very safe."

 The vehicle stopped at the main entrance gate of the University of Washington's College of Fine Arts campus. The two friends got out of the taxi, and Pavlov made the hand signal, which meant 'thank you' to the driver. As the taxi driver deftly maneuvered his nose to the opposite side of the road and drove away, Blake and Pavlov calmly entered through the ornate gate of the campus and began to head in the direction of the buildings. They continued to chat as they walked along the wide, green road.

 "How are we going to investigate Dr. Köhler and his biotech company? That part of the job doesn't seem as easy as sitting down and chatting with Megan Cole."

 Pavlov answered his friend's question while trying to make sense of the crooked sculpture, which he guessed was made by fine arts students on the side of the road.

 "At this point, I plan to engage a young friend. His name is Jimmy Perkins."

 "What does this Jimmy Perkins do?"

 "He's kind of a computer genius."

 "What do you know that he will agree to help us?"

 "I have reason to believe that."

 "And Fisher's company... How are we going to get there?"

 "We'll decide on that after talking to Kyla Fisher again. But I think Jimmy can help with that."

 Blake's room was a synthesis of modern technology and traditional art historical research. The walls were decorated with reproductions of works of art from different periods, and handmade ceramics and sculptures were spread throughout the room. Thousands of books and magazines were scattered in the large library, and those that did not fit in the library were left left and right. In the middle of the large room, a large square table was filled with old manuscripts, notebooks, and photographs from different eras. In one corner of the room was a seating area with a comfortable armchair and a desk. There was a computer on the table, a printer right next to the computer, stationery as needed, some framed photographs, and a miniature chess set. This space provided an opportunity to meet with students or other faculty members.

 Blake took a wad of keys from his pocket and carefully selected one of them to open the door to his room. Then he turned on the light in the room and gestured with his hand to Pavlov to enter.

 "When is Kyla Fisher here?"

 Pavlov looked at his watch.

 2:07 p.m.

 "About twenty minutes later."

 Blake turned on the room's air conditioning. The weather, which had cooled for a few days, seemed to give way to sweltering heat again. The air conditioner started to work with a slight rattle.

 "Would you like to have a drink?"

 "Cold water..."

 Blake nodded. He grabbed two bottles of water from the mini-fridge, handed one to his friend and then took a big sip of the other. Then he took a deep breath and sat down in his seat.

 "What do we have about Fisher's accident?"

 "Unfortunately, nothing but what is reported in the press. There are people I know from the forensic team investigating the case. But even though I insist, he says he can't give information without official permission."

 "That's bad. It would have been very helpful for us to examine the incident closely. Have you studied the records on Aldric Köhler and Asklepios & Company?"

 "Of course. There's not much out of the ordinary, except for minor roughness. The company was founded by his father, Heinrich Köhler, who was also a successful biologist. Heinrich Köhler is a German. He was born in Berlin in the 1920s. He immigrated to the United States a few years after the end of World War II. After working as a lecturer at different universities for a few years, he founded Asklepios & Company in the 60s with a few close friends who were also of German origin. Aldric Köhler was born shortly after the company was founded and followed in his father's footsteps. He was criticized by a group of activists for collaborating with Monsanto for a period of time and for going beyond his main field of work. In addition, there were rumors that there were financial shady connections behind the growth of a modest biotechnology company in such a short time, but Heinrich Köhler refuted these rumors by transparently revealing the company's revenues based on pharmaceutical sales."

 "I see. You still haven't told me how that friend of yours, Perkins, is going to help us."

 Just as Pavlov was about to answer, there was a knock on the door.

 "Come on in!"

 Without hesitation, Kyla Fisher opened the door and entered Blake's room. She was dressed in a yellow T-shirt and black sweatpants. She was wearing light-colored sneakers on her feet and a small burgundy handbag in her hand. Pavlov thought that the girl seemed more lively than they had in their previous meeting.

 "Hello, Major Pavlov. And I think you too..."

 Pavlov interjected.

 "Welcome, Mrs. Fisher, this is my friend Dr. Simon Blake, of whom I have told you. We've been waiting for you."

 "Nice to meet you, Ms. Fisher. Please sit."

 After shaking hands with the young woman, Blake motioned for her to sit on one of the chairs at the front of his desk. As if trying to explain that it was too hot, Fisher sat down on the chair shown to her, bringing her left hand close to her face and waving it up and down.

 "I'm glad too, Dr. Blake. According to an academic, you look better than I expected."

 Blake ignored the girl's compliment and asked,

 "Would you like something to drink?"

 After offering the girl lemon mineral water, he got to the point without further ado.

 "My friend Major Pavlov told me what had happened. First of all, let me say that I am sorry for your loss. As far as I understand, you are not satisfied with the official explanation that the death was an accident. Can you tell me why you think that?"

 "The reason is simple. Tabitha had married my father for his money, and when my father died, she would live a very comfortable life, spending the inheritance she would inherit as she wished. She made it look like an accident because she would not be able to benefit from the inheritance if the murder was discovered."

 "How do you think she did it?"

 "With the help of her new boyfriend, Dr. Aldric Köhler. By giving my father a high dose of the drugs that the man produced."

 "Boris told me about your theory. The question I'm going to ask now may hurt you emotionally, so I apologize in advance. Have you seen your father's corpse or photos of his corpse?"

 Kyla Fisher turned her head to the side for a few seconds and stared absent-mindedly. Then she said,

 "No."

 "We only found out about ten hours after the accident. My brother and I wanted to see the crime scene, but they wouldn't let us. They did not show any photographs, on the pretext that the body was in very bad condition, and that there was not even a body as we know it. They said it was for our own good."

 "I understand. And did you see Dr. Köhler after the fact? With Tabitha Fisher or alone?"

 "No... But wait a minute. Although I'm not entirely sure, I think it was at my father's funeral. You scoundrel!"

 Blake continued, indifferent to the girl's extravagant demeanor.

 "Your father was an influential businessman. What will be the status of your company after his death? Has there been any development in this regard in recent days?"

 "Yes, I would say it is. As you know, the company will have to be restructured, and a meeting was recently held with senior executives in this direction."

 "Didn't you participate it?"

 "Neither I nor my brother have ever taken care of my father's affairs. We are not in a position to be a decision-maker in a company of this caliber. Tabitha's only concern is to live without working. Before the meeting, the son of my father's former partner called us on the phone and told us that he wanted to take over the company. He offered us a pretty convincing price for it, and I think we'll take it."

 "All right, Mrs. Fisher. You have expressed yourself very clearly. Thank you for that. But I want you to know that we will have some difficulties in investigating this incident. First of all, even if you don't agree with it, there is no concrete evidence of a murder. Therefore, there is no way to legally mobilize the relevant units of the police. Similarly, we have limited or no access to some vital data. We'll still try to help you, but don't get your hopes up too much."

 Kyla Fisher continued, slightly turning her head to Pavlov, who was sitting in the chair opposite him.

 "Yes, the major told me about it. I think you're going to be my teacher for a while."

 "Well, one of Boris' creative ideas. Let's hope it works."

 Boris Pavlov interjected, smiling.

 "If anyone has a brighter idea, I'm ready to listen."

 Blake smiled and continued.

 "Before we determine the details about this, it would be good for us to meet your brother in person, if possible. I mean, before you start classes and somewhere outside of your mansion."

 "I'll talk to Dorian about it and let you know."

 "Very well."

 Half an hour later, Blake and Pavlov bid farewell to Kyla Fisher and chatted briefly.

 "What do you think of the girl?"

 Blake answered his friend's question while getting himself some more water.

 "I doubt that the reason she insisted on the matter was because of the innocent feelings she felt for her father. I think there are whole other dimensions to the event and if we manage to reach it, we will be quite surprised by the result."

 "Don't you think the girl's account of Fisher's company was a bit strange? No family members attended the meeting. And that is the matter of the son of Ray Fisher's ex-partner. Did you know that Fisher had a partner in the past?"

 "Obviously not. I guess we didn't work hard enough. But what really interests me is what the girl said."

 "What do you mean?"

 "As I recall, you told me you didn't have access to official reports of the accident. Kyla Fisher just said the same thing. In other words, there is a plane crash and the remains of Ray Fisher, which were announced to the press. But no one has seen them in person."

 "What you mean is..."

 "I'm probably being extremely skeptical, but in fact we can't even be sure that the person who died was Ray Fisher. And even if we go so far as to say that someone is actually dead. Someone may be playing a well-scripted theater in front of our eyes."

CHAPTER 12

 Simon Blake, who also send Boris Pavlov off a few minutes after Kyla Fisher, took care of his works at the university until the late afternoon. It was 7:30 p.m. when he left his room to return home.

 After walking three-quarters of the way down a gentle downhill road to the main exit of the campus, Blake turned left to reach the wide opening usually used by university staff to park their vehicles. He found his vehicle. A minute later, he nodded to the only security guard waiting at the entrance gate of the university at that hour and left the school.

 Even though it was evening, it was still warm. The humid air made the heat more sweltering. After covering a few frustrating distances in heavy city traffic, which at times moved quite slowly, Blake took the bend that led to his home on the banks of the Potomac river. From this point on, an atmosphere prevailed, where traffic and everything made by man decreased, and natural beauties came to the fore. Blake loved it.

 It was getting slightly dark. Simon Blake had about twenty minutes ahead of him. For the last fifteen kilometers, he continued on his way at an average speed, unaware that he was being followed.

 On a section of the curved road that runs parallel to the river, narrowing and widening in places, where vehicular traffic was becoming sparse, Blake noticed that a large black jeep with dark windows suddenly appeared and began to squeeze him from behind. At first, he thought that the vehicle behind him was in a hurry and was trying to overtake him. Reducing his speed, he put his left hand out of the window and motioned for the man to pass. In response, the man suddenly increased his speed and hit Blake's bumper hard. Shaken, Blake seemed to lose control of his car for a few seconds, then recovered. It was now clear that the intentions of the person behind him were not good. Blake tried to increase his speed to clear the gap to the vehicle that was following him, but the narrow and winding road did not allow him to do so. The two vehicles continued on the road for a while, with a distance of no more than a few meters. In a place where the road partially widened, the black jeep suddenly swerved to the left and increased its speed. The two vehicles were now running side by side and covering the entire road.

 Damn, what's wrong with you...

 Blake sighed that they had angered someone sooner than he expected. At least he now knew that Kyla Fisher wasn't paranoid.

 The jeep continued to drive in the left lane of the road and swerved to the left in an attempt to throw Blake off the road. On his first try, he failed. As he prepared for the second, he noticed a light-colored pickup truck coming towards him from the opposite lane. The man was honking his horn with all his might. In a deft manoeuvre, he slowed down and moved into the right lane behind Blake. He didn't care about the profanity he hurled at the driver of the pickup truck as he passed by and opened his window. From the rearview mirror, Blake saw the jeep accelerate again. The jeep steered to move into the left lane, then something completely unexpected happened.

 The black jeep with dark tinted windows first slowed down, then made a sudden U-turn, crossed into the opposite lane and soon disappeared from sight. Blake took a deep breath and wiped away the sweat that had accumulated on his forehead.

 When he reached his house ten minutes later, his head was cracking with pain. He took a cold shower, drank painkillers and threw himself on the bed. 

CHAPTER 13

 Dorian Fisher was about to complete his fourth year at Northwest University, where he was pursuing as a doctoral student. He was due to submit his dissertation in September, i.e. two months later.

 In the first year of his doctorate, he almost abandoned his education because his stars did not reconcile with his advisor, Prof. Sabrina Maxwell. The woman was literally paranoid and was constantly picking fights. Luckily, Prof. Tyler Benson came to Dorian's aid.

 Dorian had rented a small but luxurious student house within walking distance of the university. He had been living here alone for the past four years. Thanks to his father's financial means, he did not have to work to pay rent or pay for other expenses. He did not have to go to school often at the thesis stage. He was content with the life he lived. Temporarily.

 That day, he left his house to go to Prof. Benson's house to discuss the final revisions to his dissertation. He would use his bicycle for transportation. As he was about to put his helmet on his head, he heard the sound of his phone ringing. It was Kyla who called. Again, thinking that there was something to do with company matters, he reluctantly opened it.

 "Hi Dorian. How are you?"

 "I am fine. I was just about to leave. What happened, did Richards call again?"

 "That's not the point. Listen, do you remember that policeman and teacher friend I told you about?"

 Dorian rolled his eyes. Again...?

 "Yes, of course. So what?"

 "They want to talk to you."

 " With me? Is that necessary?"

 "Yes."

 " When?"

 "When is the earliest?"

 Dorian thought for a few seconds.

 "Not before the weekend. And I have to come back on Monday. You know, I'm busy right now. So I can only take time on Saturday or Sunday."

 " Well, I'll get back to you. See you soon."

 When Dorian got on his bike and hit the road, he had something else going through his mind.

CHAPTER 14

 Simon Blake doubted he could make it happen. He opened the door of the plane. It was empty inside. Who was it going to be, anyway. He moved into the cockpit and settled into the seat. As a matter of fact, he had no training in piloting. Even as a passenger, air travel was something he chose only when he had to. But this time it was different. It was as if someone was telling him what to do. His hands knew what had to be done spontaneously.

 He thought to himself, if I knew it was so easy, I would have been a pilot. Less than a minute later, he took the plane into the air. There was light and fresh air. He was having a lot of fun and feeling liberated. Then, before he had a chance to understand what was happening, the plane plunged into the storm. Blake felt himself begin to swerve. It was the end of it. At the same time, the door of the cockpit opened. He thought he was alone on the plane. He looked behind him to see who the intruder was who had entered. There was no one.

 Suddenly, he was startled by the sight of someone talking. On the other hand, he was trying not to lose control of the plane.

 "I know who did it!"

 What a strange sound it was. The voice, which was not clear where it came from, continued to speak.

 "The same thing will happen to you!"

 In an instant, Blake felt hotter than he had ever been in his life. He turned around again to see the owner of the voice. This time, he looked down instinctively. It was a baby a few months old at most who spoke. And a dead baby. God, how is this possible...

 And he saw that his right arm began to burn like coals. She woke up screaming...

 What a terrible dream it was...

 He looked at his watch.

 11:00

 He was surprised that he had slept until this hour. He got up and went under the cold shower.

 Fifteen minutes later, while she was making herself coffee, her phone rang. It was Pavlov who called.

 "Hi Simon, how are you? If you have time today, I'd like to introduce you to Jimmy."