“Why is she sniffing the ground”

“It’s her process just let her do it”

“Dude she’s smelling the ground”

“Shut up kid, she’s the best at this I promise”

At that, the woman in question shot up from the disease-soaked ground of what can only be described as an equally diseased hobble—it wasn’t of course, it was the home of the currently befuddled Jack Russo, a junior in University—or he would have been a junior in University if he wasn’t too busy running opium for his father--A fact that remained unknown to the police sergeant currently trying to assure the boy now--the man who currently lay dead in the bedroom right next to them. The woman—with her gloved fingers still thoroughly and unconsciously investigating the moist carpet—addressed the Russo boy.

“Jack, does your father have a proclivity for vigorous and somewhat deviant sexual habits?”

The Russo boy spun in the small space eyes wide, “What the fuck”

Not ashamed in the least, she very descriptively continued, "Candles, whips, bondage, Jack that sort of thing oh—you’re disturbed, not at the mention of the practice--the rope burns on your wrist tell quite the opposite, not your eyebrows furrowed and you blinked rapidly; trying to unsee something—ouch you actually witnessed it first-hand, hello trauma, but to whom? The answer is easy enough, easier than figuring out who killed him it’s so astutely obvious. Curious though, the air here is damp, so incredibly damp, fault of the heaters and the carpet which I presume to be a piss pad for whenever your father was too drunk to understand which way was forward, yes very gross--”

“Hold on madam-”

“Chiffon is fine, I’m only 29, might as well have handed me a walking cane”

“Yeah, Chiffon—can you just--” he took a deep breath which was cut short by a gag once he inhaled the suffocating smell of a corpse sitting in a very peculiar amount of heat through his lavender oil-drenched face mask. He is frustrated, grief-stricken, should I console him? Silly idea, Sergeant Dodge knows how to do this, as prophesized Dodge looked pitifully at the boy who seemed to acknowledge his grief no matter how little for the first time since he found his father dead this morning laying naked in a bed of what seemed to be very raw and disgustingly processeed food item one can find in a run-down drug den—cold cuts, American cheese slices, fruit loops, opened cans of beans strewn across a very hairy chest, spoiled milk chunks clinging to decaying flesh, moldy strawberries in the squishy folds of a very ample stomach and cream cheese spread thickly spread over the now greyish bloated man—all used in what was so obviously a perverse manner and all of which were positively smoldering in the waves of heat that made the putrid odor soak into the pores and slathered a thick layer of sweat across the three very much still alive people in the room.

“Hey, kid it’s alright, I know this is hard you must feel like shit right now and that’s fine, but you are going to get through this” Dodge barely managed to choke out through the absolutely gruesome stench Typical speech, not rehearsed but said too almost every aloof naïve victim of chance, not going to be received well the boys obviously not sad--

“I’m not sad” Yup. “He was a piece of shit, he never had one ounce of sympathy for my mother when he beat her to death, to be honest Sergeant Dodge sir, I only wanna’ know what ‘appened so I could think of it whenever I get a lil’ down, I don’t even know if it was murder to be honest, if it was I wanna’ thank the son-of-a-bitch who did it” Dodge doesn’t look concerned, typical, he’s very accustomed to my comfortability in crime scenes, and probably to the feeling of finding your mother dead at the hands of your father. I wonder when he’s going to tell me about that, then I’ll let him know how to not make it so obvious.

Sure enough, Dodge just claps the boy on his back, understanding now that consolation would be unnecessary, but closure would be needed. “Well, that’s easy enough” the sergeant let out pleasantly, ever the people pleaser.

“Ms. Chiffon, ma’am, I need ya’ to tell me what happened ‘ere, I need' a know every bit of it”

“Course Jack, but it would be incredibly informative to learn what you think of the scene, the body, look closely Jack any detail could help monumentally”

Jack looked around the place, well more accurately he turned in place because the tiny living room was enough for two people standing with their arms outstretched to reach either side of the living room and kitchen, the small yellowing bathroom and windowless bedroom somehow even smaller, the latter home to a very unfortunate smelling corpse very clearly visible from the main room whose concentrated odor of rotten food and bodily fluids made a very fascinating blend. Sergeant Dodge was cooped up in front of the fridge, the only floor that didn’t have an excessive number of fluids and trash on it (Suggests that frequent trips to the fridge were made enough to warrant clearing up that space, judging by the stains, mainly alcohol, food of choice was anything dairy and fatty)

Ms. Chiffon was crouching in now hovering by the couch parallel to the fridge and cleaning her leather gloves with a wet wipe that appeared from her small black utility bag that was strapped low on her waist, along with several pearl strings. Fingers have now been removed from the damp carpet that spanned the living room. There was a small tv set that sat in between the kitchen and the fridge by the side wall and the bedroom door directly parallel to the tv set with the bathroom door next to it, the floor was caked with sticky, hair, cigarette ash, remints of food, and an almost endless stream of empty brown alcohol bottles. The raw sticky contents on the floor were almost melted into the wood by the three—now turned off--floor heater units in each corner of the room and really helped bring out the rotting smell of the corpse over the three days before it was found.

“Everything looks the same as it always does Ms. Chiffon” The Russo boy concluded, sounding somewhat put down by the lack of a grizzly murder weapon.

“How sad, but no Jack, I need you to really look, what seems off, if you look at the body-”

“Isha-Chiffon I don’t think that that’s the best idea” Dodge added, apparently doubting the extent of the boy's hatred and therefore his mental capacity to handle the disturbing image of his father, maybe even suspecting him if the Russo boy wasn’t the one to call it in with a few grams of weed in his person, and what would have been a few grams of opium, so obvious, it’s a mystery why people even bother there smuggling drugs just wave a sign right over your head it’s far more convenient-

“Nah it’s okay sarge, I’ll take a look if it helps, might need the closure anyway” The Russo boy chuckles, trying to make light of what he deemed an acceptable and welcome tragedy.

Jack stepped a few meters across the floors towards the bedroom, each step almost a struggle as the soles of his feet stuck to the wood. He stepped into the room that was almost dripping with the putrid rank that seeped out of the body like puss, it made everyone somewhat lightheaded, and their eyes leaked, but the Russo boy only covered his masked nose with his shirt and observed—Impressive, note that—He looked at the body and turned with wide, red eyes “Oh shit”

“What is it Jack” Dodge pushed.

“Strawberries, son of a bitch was allergic to strawberries. He did ALL this shit to me, and he wasn’t even murdered. Just died from yankin’ it with a couple of stupid fuckin’ strawberries, was a fuckin’ joke” Jack pushed past the Sergeant and Chiffon and out the door, outraged with the lack of a proper painful end and obviously done for the day. Chiffon would have felt the same too had the boy not gotten it so incredibly wrong.

“Sergeant? Any add-ons?”

“Why bother? The kid seemed like he solved it” The sergeant said knowingly, if this was what the boy said Chiffon would have never left her apartment.

“Well, I always appreciate what little contribution you give”, Chiffon genuinely did value the officer's opinion, there was always something missing, and on the rare occasions, Chiffon hesitated on an answer Sergeant Dodge was there with something that vaguely resembled being helpful.

“Here’s what I got”--The man slipped his fingers under his notepad, going back several pages to where he started--” Man in his 40’s; Allan Russo, obese, lonely, charged several times for possessions of drugs, assault, aggravated assault, and theft, dies at 2:37 am on a Friday and found on Sunday evening, cause of death unknown, found covered in various foods by son Jack Russo. Due to the frankly upsetting number of bottles here, I suspect that he became extremely inebriated, dipped into his fridge, got naked, for a sexy food rendezvous, and succumbed to a combination of alcohol poisoning, allergy asphyxiation, and a heart attack years in the making”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“That would be the most obvious answer wouldn’t it” Chiffon grinned

Dodge sighed and rolled his eyes “Dazzle me”

“You were right on most parts, he was obese yes—hardly contributed to much--but not lonely, he had a lover. Look at the cigar ash on the ground, specifically on the ground in front of the couch and the bed, a pile of it in front of each, cigar ash is very distinct, very thick and dark but clumped together it’s obvious he didn’t move at all throughout the rest of his house which is incredibly hard given how little of it there is. The stains on his foot correlate to the lack stains leading up to the couch, and the stains on the carpet explain the distinct smell of his pants--which quite obviously suggest that that bathroom wasn’t in constant use either, but the carpet was, therefor no he wasn’t getting around much” Chiffon was directly in her element now, gesturing wildly and moving around frantically, disregarding the appalling effect it would have on the bottom of her new shoes.

“However, he must have gotten the food somehow, maybe it was an employee but there's only Jack and the ashes Sergeant! In the bathroom and the kitchen, distinct grey and fine smoked cigarette ash—why would a cigar man who never leaves the couch or the bedroom be smoking cigarettes in the kitchen? He wasn’t. Someone else was here, someone intimate enough to be here long-term—the ashes in the small pile on the kitchen floor date back to at least three months—a friend? No there was obviously an emotional component to this; a caregiver therefore lover would be the most obvious, he was found naked, and was dead in the middle of the night, so there was a sexual component or at least an intimate one as well, not to mention poor Jack walking in on them, wish I could ask him when he found them. Oh, but it’s so obvious I’m almost quite bored now” She was now hovering over the dead body as if addressing the last line to him and horrifyingly not gagging by the returning smell.

“Ishani, I swear--”

“I’m on the clock Sergeant you know the rules”

“Chiffon--”

“It was an accident, Sergeant. Picture it, a woman in her late 20s hooked on the opium he was selling suddenly finds herself madly in love with him, well at least that’s what she would tell him before she went and used the 1—no 2 and a half pounds of opium that was previously stashed in the floorboard next to the one she piled her cigarette ash on too while she shot up. She was hooked and she did what she had to so she could get her next fix including Allan's perverse food fantasy—he tells her to go to the store and get a specific list of foods that she’ll probably find either on her person or under the cabinet, he fails to mention however that he is extremely allergic to strawberries which she picks out on a whim, she comes back to his extremely inebriated state--he can't even count the number of fingers on his hand--but still pushed for er-fornication, she uses the strawberries in her equally drugged state, he dies, she panics but not enough, she isn't panicked enough Sergeant!”

Dodge is leaning against the fridge now, pen flying across the paper of his notepad as he attempts to detail the musings of New York’s most brilliant and erratic detective, well not officially a detective, not for lack of trying on Dodge’s part, Chiffon just worked better when not restrained by the several protocols of NYPD that she managed to break anyway—of which they were many. Dodge suspected she was just going out of her way to break them now.

Eventually, he just stopped trying to reign her in after the first month of trying--almost five years ago today-- succumbing to the fact that her incredibly brilliant mind and somewhat unconventional (illegal) methods were best suited outside of official documents and as an unofficial liaison, in fact, he wouldn’t be a sergeant if it weren't for the massive human smuggling ring she had brought to him back when they just met and he was still a detective.

Chiffon never wanted or accepted the credit in fact she whole-heartedly denied even being involved, but Dodge made sure to discreetly direct the cases that were always conveniently hushed up straight to the one person in New York he knew would be able to help even if it was just to help her crippling addiction to adrenaline. Her name did eventually become known underground across New York as Chiffon or more ominously; The Consultant. Soon enough he would also eventually come to her doorstep himself, asking if she could look at a particularly complex murder-suicide with him, which then became one of many--if not hundreds--of cases she had consulted (practically solved) with him.

So, it can be said with certainty and truth that Dodge was an expert in all things regarding the absolutely ingenious human currently spinning around in what he hopes to God is just apple juice--

“That should be the end of it, Dodge” The man in question quirked his lips at the slip of title before pausing his writings and glancing up.

“Why turn every heater on? There seems entirely excessive, and nothing suggests a medical or weather-related reason for it, I’ve seen his medical records and it was 23 degrees on Friday it would be madness to turn the heater on Sergeant. Feel the humidity of the room, look at the condensation on the windows and the dust lining the interior of the inside, it’s been turned on since Friday night, early Saturday—around the time of death--so why turn the heaters on? Anaphylactic shock is quite common, and his death however unusual would not be surprising to most, if not for the different ashes it would be virtually inane to even consider a second party let alone a planned murder so what is it hiding? We can assume that the killer wanted to speed the decay of the body but that makes little sense—anaphylactic shock? So common and mundane it’s almost boring, no there’s something else, what are you hiding? she addressed the heaters somewhat psychotically.

At this the Sergeant perks up “Chiffon he was a drunk, possibly high man who got kicks by rolling around in cheese, nothing else could have killed him--”

“Boring-Wait no, Perfect”

Chiffon paced around the room glancing at the array of bottles—all clumped together at the base of the sofa making small mountains and then dropped down on her knees in front of it, hands digging into the pile.

“Dodge you genius, your wrong of course but still, he was allergic to strawberries but that’s not why he died, ‘nothing else could have killed him’ but what if something else had killed him? it all makes sense, caretaker, cigarette, heater don’t you see, the suspect had knowledge of the rate of decay to this exact moment, a nurse, no, a doctor, yes a doctor, they weren't taking the opium they were supplying it from there work, nurses don’t easily have that type of clearance. But the floorboards? Oh Obviously, dropping off the opium not using it. A perfect cover; a lover for the grossly unhealthy old man, the old man who started skimping drug money off the top, blackmailed the doctor—threatened to tell the hospital she worked at—and became a liability.”

She rummaged through the empty glass jars, occasionally picking one up and holding it up against the buzzing white light above, a cacophony of glass echoing her words.

“she staged it, of course, one would assume he was a drunkard who forgot what he was allergic to, and even then only a slightly more intelligent person would deduce a lover, no she was clever and drugged his beer with Strychnine; when inhaled, swallowed, or absorbed through the eyes or mouth, causes poisoning which results in muscular convulsions and eventually death through asphyxia” She let out a pleasant hum and picked up a regular looking brown bottle—identical to the dozens already on the ground

“She seduced him over the months—the only way to keep him quiet--made sure to let the Russo boy see their little escapades so there would at least be cause for the presence of strawberries, poisoned him with the Strychnine, but not before setting up the perfect scene of a debilitated and perverted old man. He eventually succumbed to the poison when his airways contracted at the same moment she slathered him in strawberries making it look like a simple accident so even if it was traced back to her she could always play the frightened accidental BDSM homicide card but she missed one thing-” now grinning like a woman high on life Chiffon sprang up with a brown bottle in hand, holding it like a relic, and looked at the Sergent expectantly.

“The Poison” finished the Sergeant after a minute “After she poisoned him she couldn’t find the bottle with the Strychnine in it, there a shit ton of bottles, would’ve looked incriminatingly suspicious to anyone if there were no bottles so she couldn’t throw them all out” Chiffon smiled broadly at him, satisfied he could keep up by himself (even though it took him an embarrassing amount of time) but urged him to continue “She had to get rid of the evidence, heat up the room, evaporate the liquids”

“Exactly”

“Well, is that it then? How did you know which one it was?” He pointed at the bottle now in a baggie between her fingers

Chiffon brought a flashlight from her belt and shined it under a seemingly innocuous bottle “Strychnine leaves a very specific ochre tint, it’s so similar to the original color of the bottle but quite obvious under light or to an incredibly smart person” The bottom of the bottle did in fact have a sickly dark yellow tint to it.

“The person you're looking for is a female doctor, late 30s, very experienced, employed at Barrymore Hospital—there the only ones within a 250-mile radius to supply strychnine within their facilities—yes, I do keep myself updated on actually important things--She will have a rasping cough—cigarette user--and will be on her lunch break in about 30 minutes where she will no doubt be planning where to stock the opium she took back from the floorboards; I have no doubt she’s working with multiple people so you have the potential for a major drug bust congrats on the raise” Chiffon was now pacing, hands expressively punctuating her deductions, a manic look in her eyes and a smile that allowed the light from the window to shine brightly against a gold tooth.

“The bottle contains her fingerprints ergo connecting her to the crime scene, and in the autopsy of Alan Russo look for traces of strychnine in the stomach walls, and catch her quick--she won't bother wiping down the bottle of strychnine that she stored in her purse until she sees a safe opportunity to put it back, so you should probably run and get her before she manages to find it and bring Jack with you, no doubt he would like to thank her.” She finished with a wistful sigh as if she had just received a very lovely romantic sonnet, decidedly not the most appropriate reaction to a gruesome crime but the Sergeant was gracefully accustomed to this already.

“Oh god okay uh-” The Sergeant has a certain gleam in his eyes—appreciation and awe. “Thanks again Ishani, I’ll update you yeah?” He’s practically racing under the caution tape and past the detectives outside as his feet pound the hallway outside but not before his voice carries out happily “Oh and remember to get some sleep and buy the good coffee beans on your way back, tonight's dinner night and y'know how Diesel gets about that cheap shit you buy on purpose” his voice faded out and left a very satisfied manic detective in its wake