DRayVan
09-02-2025, 11:47 AM
The Fishy Murder Case - Chapter 02
1:30 AM
Two technicians in white hazmat coveralls, surgical masks, and latex gloves lifted the first body bag and secured it on a nearby stretcher. They wheeled it toward the front door, where two other technicians stood ready to assist. Together, they lowered the corpse down the steps and into the waiting medical examiner’s vehicle. When they returned to the dimly lit living room, the technicians began preparing to transfer the next body into a body bag.
In the meantime, forensic investigators combed the surrounding rooms, examining every corner of the kitchen and adjacent areas. They inspected and assessed each item as they gathered and bagged crucial pieces of evidence. In the middle of the great room, Doctor Mary Robbins, a petite, forty-two-year-old woman with tousled blonde hair, knelt beside Professor Winston’s body, examining his eyes, mouth, and neck. She wore a fitted baby-blue “bunny suit” coveralls, a surgical mask, and latex gloves.
Sergeant Oscar “Ozzie” O’Malley, a lanky man with a receding hairline, impatiently paced while she worked.
“How’s it going, sweetheart?” He attempted to strike a casual tone but came across as impatient.
Mary shot him a stern look, her brow furrowed. “What’d you expect, Oz? It’s late, I’m exhausted, and we’ve got five dead. So, tell me, how you think it’s going?” She stood and poked her gloved finger in his face. “And... We haven’t been sweethearts in over a year.”
“Jeez-o-Pete.” Ozzie backpedaled a couple of steps and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Didn’t mean to yank yer chain, Mary, but the chief’s breathin’ down my neck. Ya know this is his alma mater, don’t ya? And he wants answers, and yesterday ain’t soon enough.”
“Alright, sweetheart,” Mary said with a sarcastic tone in her voice, “here’s what I’ve got so far.”
Mary’s irritation was unmistakable, so Ozzie tried to flash a confident grin, but his quivering lower lip gave him away.
“It appears a group of four—probably students—came for a meal hosted by the professor,” she continued. “One or more of the meal’s ingredients were tainted or poisonous, leading to their demise.”
“Tainted? Poison?” Ozzie’s eyes opened wide. “With what?” He poised his pencil to take notes.
“Bacillus cereus, Clostridium botulinum, or Amanita phalloides, for starters.”
“That’s just great, Mary. Ya always got yer kicks doing that to me.” Ozzie dropped his writing hand to his side and slumped his shoulders. “But I never understood why.”
“What could you possibly mean, Oz?” Mary said, shrugging her right shoulder and looking away with a smirk.
“When ya explain something, speak plain English, Mary, not Greek, Latin, or whatever language ya use to irk me. The chief wants an update, and I don’t understand a word ya’ve said, let alone spell it.”
“Then, how about you say they were poisoned, Oz? Can you spell that?” she said, glancing at Ozzie and grinning. “It starts with a ‘p,’ sweetheart.”
“Please, Mary, let’s not rub salt in old wounds.”
Mary hesitated and shook her head.
Ozzie paused as if almost afraid to ask. “Accidental or murder?”
“Well...” Mary said, furrowing her brow as if thinking. “Until I have evidence to the contrary, I’m considering this an accident.”
Ozzie frowned while he scribbled in his notepad.
“And... You’ll have a complete report once I’ve completed the postmortems and run tox screens,” she said. “You can pass that along to your chief.”
Mary returned to examining the professor’s body.
“That’ll do for now, Mary, so I’ll—”
“You can’t come in here, mister,” the officer said, blocking the front door.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Ozzie yelled, his voice rising above the commotion.
“Two guys are trying to get in, Sarge. They claim Chief Griffin sent them.”
Ozzie turned toward the front door and spotted the familiar smile of his long-time friend, Amos Bell, Private Investigator.
Amos stood at five feet ten inches, with broad shoulders. His dark, slicked-back hair shone under the porch light, and his tailored charcoal-gray jacket fit him like a glove, complementing his V-shaped torso.
“Amos! Long time no see!” Ozzie said, quickly moving toward him. He extended his hand to greet his friend. “Let ‘em in, Joe. These are friends of mine.”
With a nod, the officer stepped aside, allowing the two men to enter. Amos and Ozzie shook hands, each giving the other a hearty slap on the shoulder.
Ozzie stepped back and gave the slender man with Amos a quick glance from head to feet. The short man exuded an exaggerated yet genuine friendliness. His broad and flamboyant smile showcased his pearly white teeth, which gleamed like polished piano keys. When the man bowed, Ozzie hesitated, not knowing how to react.
“Uh...” Ozzie said. “Who’s yer new sidekick, Amos?”
“Protégé,” Amos said, with a hint of pride in his voice.
“Protégé? Well, whoop-de-doo. Aren’t ya the lucky one?” Ozzie said with a teasing tone in his voice.
“Knock it off, Oz, and meet Andrew Nakamura.”
“Ain’t that rich? Amos and Andy.”
“It’s too early in the day for jokes, Oz. Just give me the facts,” Amos said, his tone sharp with urgency.
“How’d ya sniff this one out? Haven’t seen hide nor hair of ya in months,” Ozzie said, “and then slam bam, ya show up at the scene of accidental food poisoning.”
“Griff was throwing a small dinner party when the call came in, and he asked me to help. How could I say ‘no’ in front of the mayor? You know how it is, Oz.”
“Griff?” Ozzie’s eyebrows raised an inch or more. “Chief Griffin?”
“One and the same. So, what’s the situation?”
“Well... Seems a retired professor, Robert Winston, with a list of letters after his name a mile long, like MD, PhD, hosted a Chinese dinner—”
“Japanese,” Amos said, “not Chinese.”
“What?” Ozzie said.
Amos pointed to the delicate bowls. “Look at the serving pieces, Oz. They’re all exquisite Japanese ceramics, and some are genuine antiques.”
“Whatever ya say, Sherlock... Anyhow, the professor cooked up a Japanese meal, and something musta been tainted ‘cause everyone died after they ate it.”
“Isn’t that unusual?”
“Unusual? What ya driving at, Amos?”
“I never had a professor host a dinner party. They kept their distance from students.”
“Times have changed, Amos, my boy. Our information is that these professors conducted a special seminar for a select group of five hand-picked medical students.”
“These professors?”
“Yeah. Professors Jonathan Greenly and Robert Winston.”
“But there are only five bodies. Who’s missing?”
“Greenly and a student, Chiyoe Hamasaki, but everyone called her Chloe.”
“Where are they?”
“Places unknown,” Ozzie said with a shrug of his shoulders. “But we’re looking for them.”
Amos glanced around the room and saw Mary, who was examining a body.
“Doctor Robbins!”
Mary turned at the sound of his voice. Her eyes lit up when she recognized Amos, and she stood to greet him with a warm smile behind her mask.
“Hi, Amos! What brings you here?”
“Griff asked me to swing by,” Amos said.
“Oh... Uh... If Chief Griffin thinks we need help, who am I to stand in anyone’s way?”
“Play nice, Mary,” Ozzie said. “We’re all friends here.”
Mary hesitated and nodded. “Okay... It appears Professor Winston prepared a Japanese-style meal for himself and four others, most likely students, and something they consumed was tainted, possibly with botulism. Or maybe a deadly mushroom was mixed with the several varieties of mushrooms that he served. Once I get them on the table and conduct some toxicology screens, I’ll know more.”
“Did you notice no one had moved far from where they sat and ate?” Amos said, gesturing toward the lifeless bodies.
“I saw that, too, but—”
“Then, nothing adds up. Isn’t botulism slow-acting, and doesn’t mushroom poisoning cause vomiting?” Without waiting for an answer, Amos continued. “No one took a bathroom break—”
“How’d ya know that?” Ozzie interrupted.
“They relieved themselves after they died.”
Blood rushed to Ozzie’s cheeks. “Oh,” he said.
“Or got out their phones,” Amos said. “And isn’t it odd that there’s no vomitus? Whatever the cause, it happened quickly. Too quickly.”
“Correct, but right now, I don’t have another theory,” Mary said with a sigh of frustration and fatigue.
“Speaking of phones,” Ozzie said, “one student had hers out. She musta been the one who called 911.”
Amos pondered for a moment. “Did you notice the young woman with the phone didn’t have any food nearby? Why is that? And why was she the only one with her phone out and in her hand when everyone else fell ill?”
“Maybe she had time,” Ozzie said, shrugging.
“Or maybe she recorded the dinner party,” Mary said. “When I attend an informal gathering and I’m not particularly hungry, I’ve done that—record everyone. It’s entertaining to watch how silly people can be in a relaxed setting.”
“Your tech guys need to hack into her phone, Oz,” Amos said, “and see if she recorded any of the events leading to these deaths.”
Meanwhile, Andrew had wandered into the kitchen, interested in the ingredients of the Japanese meal. He examined the rice, the steamed vegetables, the wilted mushrooms, the wok still glistening with oil, the arrowroot, and the unlabeled jar of pickled fish livers.
He held the jar to the light and gave it a swirl. His eyes narrowed as he focused on each liver floating into view. Then his eyes popped when he noticed the jar contained livers from two different species of fish. He shook the jar again. After several more drifted into view, his face lit up, and he grinned from ear to ear. He carefully returned the jar to the counter and hurried to find Amos.
“Boss! Boss!” Andrew yelled.
Amos, Ozzie, and Mary turned toward his voice.
“I know what killed these unfortunate people.”
*** End Chapter ***
1:30 AM
Two technicians in white hazmat coveralls, surgical masks, and latex gloves lifted the first body bag and secured it on a nearby stretcher. They wheeled it toward the front door, where two other technicians stood ready to assist. Together, they lowered the corpse down the steps and into the waiting medical examiner’s vehicle. When they returned to the dimly lit living room, the technicians began preparing to transfer the next body into a body bag.
In the meantime, forensic investigators combed the surrounding rooms, examining every corner of the kitchen and adjacent areas. They inspected and assessed each item as they gathered and bagged crucial pieces of evidence. In the middle of the great room, Doctor Mary Robbins, a petite, forty-two-year-old woman with tousled blonde hair, knelt beside Professor Winston’s body, examining his eyes, mouth, and neck. She wore a fitted baby-blue “bunny suit” coveralls, a surgical mask, and latex gloves.
Sergeant Oscar “Ozzie” O’Malley, a lanky man with a receding hairline, impatiently paced while she worked.
“How’s it going, sweetheart?” He attempted to strike a casual tone but came across as impatient.
Mary shot him a stern look, her brow furrowed. “What’d you expect, Oz? It’s late, I’m exhausted, and we’ve got five dead. So, tell me, how you think it’s going?” She stood and poked her gloved finger in his face. “And... We haven’t been sweethearts in over a year.”
“Jeez-o-Pete.” Ozzie backpedaled a couple of steps and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Didn’t mean to yank yer chain, Mary, but the chief’s breathin’ down my neck. Ya know this is his alma mater, don’t ya? And he wants answers, and yesterday ain’t soon enough.”
“Alright, sweetheart,” Mary said with a sarcastic tone in her voice, “here’s what I’ve got so far.”
Mary’s irritation was unmistakable, so Ozzie tried to flash a confident grin, but his quivering lower lip gave him away.
“It appears a group of four—probably students—came for a meal hosted by the professor,” she continued. “One or more of the meal’s ingredients were tainted or poisonous, leading to their demise.”
“Tainted? Poison?” Ozzie’s eyes opened wide. “With what?” He poised his pencil to take notes.
“Bacillus cereus, Clostridium botulinum, or Amanita phalloides, for starters.”
“That’s just great, Mary. Ya always got yer kicks doing that to me.” Ozzie dropped his writing hand to his side and slumped his shoulders. “But I never understood why.”
“What could you possibly mean, Oz?” Mary said, shrugging her right shoulder and looking away with a smirk.
“When ya explain something, speak plain English, Mary, not Greek, Latin, or whatever language ya use to irk me. The chief wants an update, and I don’t understand a word ya’ve said, let alone spell it.”
“Then, how about you say they were poisoned, Oz? Can you spell that?” she said, glancing at Ozzie and grinning. “It starts with a ‘p,’ sweetheart.”
“Please, Mary, let’s not rub salt in old wounds.”
Mary hesitated and shook her head.
Ozzie paused as if almost afraid to ask. “Accidental or murder?”
“Well...” Mary said, furrowing her brow as if thinking. “Until I have evidence to the contrary, I’m considering this an accident.”
Ozzie frowned while he scribbled in his notepad.
“And... You’ll have a complete report once I’ve completed the postmortems and run tox screens,” she said. “You can pass that along to your chief.”
Mary returned to examining the professor’s body.
“That’ll do for now, Mary, so I’ll—”
“You can’t come in here, mister,” the officer said, blocking the front door.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Ozzie yelled, his voice rising above the commotion.
“Two guys are trying to get in, Sarge. They claim Chief Griffin sent them.”
Ozzie turned toward the front door and spotted the familiar smile of his long-time friend, Amos Bell, Private Investigator.
Amos stood at five feet ten inches, with broad shoulders. His dark, slicked-back hair shone under the porch light, and his tailored charcoal-gray jacket fit him like a glove, complementing his V-shaped torso.
“Amos! Long time no see!” Ozzie said, quickly moving toward him. He extended his hand to greet his friend. “Let ‘em in, Joe. These are friends of mine.”
With a nod, the officer stepped aside, allowing the two men to enter. Amos and Ozzie shook hands, each giving the other a hearty slap on the shoulder.
Ozzie stepped back and gave the slender man with Amos a quick glance from head to feet. The short man exuded an exaggerated yet genuine friendliness. His broad and flamboyant smile showcased his pearly white teeth, which gleamed like polished piano keys. When the man bowed, Ozzie hesitated, not knowing how to react.
“Uh...” Ozzie said. “Who’s yer new sidekick, Amos?”
“Protégé,” Amos said, with a hint of pride in his voice.
“Protégé? Well, whoop-de-doo. Aren’t ya the lucky one?” Ozzie said with a teasing tone in his voice.
“Knock it off, Oz, and meet Andrew Nakamura.”
“Ain’t that rich? Amos and Andy.”
“It’s too early in the day for jokes, Oz. Just give me the facts,” Amos said, his tone sharp with urgency.
“How’d ya sniff this one out? Haven’t seen hide nor hair of ya in months,” Ozzie said, “and then slam bam, ya show up at the scene of accidental food poisoning.”
“Griff was throwing a small dinner party when the call came in, and he asked me to help. How could I say ‘no’ in front of the mayor? You know how it is, Oz.”
“Griff?” Ozzie’s eyebrows raised an inch or more. “Chief Griffin?”
“One and the same. So, what’s the situation?”
“Well... Seems a retired professor, Robert Winston, with a list of letters after his name a mile long, like MD, PhD, hosted a Chinese dinner—”
“Japanese,” Amos said, “not Chinese.”
“What?” Ozzie said.
Amos pointed to the delicate bowls. “Look at the serving pieces, Oz. They’re all exquisite Japanese ceramics, and some are genuine antiques.”
“Whatever ya say, Sherlock... Anyhow, the professor cooked up a Japanese meal, and something musta been tainted ‘cause everyone died after they ate it.”
“Isn’t that unusual?”
“Unusual? What ya driving at, Amos?”
“I never had a professor host a dinner party. They kept their distance from students.”
“Times have changed, Amos, my boy. Our information is that these professors conducted a special seminar for a select group of five hand-picked medical students.”
“These professors?”
“Yeah. Professors Jonathan Greenly and Robert Winston.”
“But there are only five bodies. Who’s missing?”
“Greenly and a student, Chiyoe Hamasaki, but everyone called her Chloe.”
“Where are they?”
“Places unknown,” Ozzie said with a shrug of his shoulders. “But we’re looking for them.”
Amos glanced around the room and saw Mary, who was examining a body.
“Doctor Robbins!”
Mary turned at the sound of his voice. Her eyes lit up when she recognized Amos, and she stood to greet him with a warm smile behind her mask.
“Hi, Amos! What brings you here?”
“Griff asked me to swing by,” Amos said.
“Oh... Uh... If Chief Griffin thinks we need help, who am I to stand in anyone’s way?”
“Play nice, Mary,” Ozzie said. “We’re all friends here.”
Mary hesitated and nodded. “Okay... It appears Professor Winston prepared a Japanese-style meal for himself and four others, most likely students, and something they consumed was tainted, possibly with botulism. Or maybe a deadly mushroom was mixed with the several varieties of mushrooms that he served. Once I get them on the table and conduct some toxicology screens, I’ll know more.”
“Did you notice no one had moved far from where they sat and ate?” Amos said, gesturing toward the lifeless bodies.
“I saw that, too, but—”
“Then, nothing adds up. Isn’t botulism slow-acting, and doesn’t mushroom poisoning cause vomiting?” Without waiting for an answer, Amos continued. “No one took a bathroom break—”
“How’d ya know that?” Ozzie interrupted.
“They relieved themselves after they died.”
Blood rushed to Ozzie’s cheeks. “Oh,” he said.
“Or got out their phones,” Amos said. “And isn’t it odd that there’s no vomitus? Whatever the cause, it happened quickly. Too quickly.”
“Correct, but right now, I don’t have another theory,” Mary said with a sigh of frustration and fatigue.
“Speaking of phones,” Ozzie said, “one student had hers out. She musta been the one who called 911.”
Amos pondered for a moment. “Did you notice the young woman with the phone didn’t have any food nearby? Why is that? And why was she the only one with her phone out and in her hand when everyone else fell ill?”
“Maybe she had time,” Ozzie said, shrugging.
“Or maybe she recorded the dinner party,” Mary said. “When I attend an informal gathering and I’m not particularly hungry, I’ve done that—record everyone. It’s entertaining to watch how silly people can be in a relaxed setting.”
“Your tech guys need to hack into her phone, Oz,” Amos said, “and see if she recorded any of the events leading to these deaths.”
Meanwhile, Andrew had wandered into the kitchen, interested in the ingredients of the Japanese meal. He examined the rice, the steamed vegetables, the wilted mushrooms, the wok still glistening with oil, the arrowroot, and the unlabeled jar of pickled fish livers.
He held the jar to the light and gave it a swirl. His eyes narrowed as he focused on each liver floating into view. Then his eyes popped when he noticed the jar contained livers from two different species of fish. He shook the jar again. After several more drifted into view, his face lit up, and he grinned from ear to ear. He carefully returned the jar to the counter and hurried to find Amos.
“Boss! Boss!” Andrew yelled.
Amos, Ozzie, and Mary turned toward his voice.
“I know what killed these unfortunate people.”
*** End Chapter ***