Chapter 65: The Crime Scene
“…We’re sorry, we’ll investigate this as soon as possible!” The customer service operator hung up the phone with a forced smile and sighed.
A curious colleague asked, “Another complaint about the sewers?”
Nodding, the operator jotted the details of the complaint in her logbook. When she finished, she noticed the page already listed more than twenty complaints. She found it odd and mumbled, both to her colleague and herself, “Yes, but… this is strange. These complaints happen every year, but…”
“It’s been unusually frequent the past two days, and all from the same area—Birlington Road in the Imperial District.”
Her colleague shrugged. “Maybe some stray animals died in the sewers. It’s happened before.”
The operator nodded, agreeing it was plausible.
Late September was one of the hottest times of the year. The sweltering heat didn’t just affect people—animals sought refuge in cooler places like sewers. Stray cats and dogs weren’t as selective as humans about shelter. But sewers could be deadly, with hazards like wires and hooks trapping animals.
The intense heat and humidity turned such deaths into biological disasters within a day or two, spreading a foul stench.
- Fewer than five complaints about a public issue? Ignore them.
- Between five and ten? Consider including the issue in the work report.
- Over ten? Write a separate report and prioritize it.
- Over twenty? Call the appropriate department immediately.
She counted the complaints again—definitely over twenty. Quietly motioning for her colleague to keep silent, she dialed the number for the relevant office.
“This is the City Services Complaint Office. We have an urgent matter at 72 Birlington Road. Over twenty people have reported a foul stench in the area—likely a decomposing animal.”
The voice on the other end responded with coarse swearing—probably habitual venting rather than directed at anyone in particular.
“Got it, ma’am. I’ll head there right away,” the worker grumbled, hanging up mid-rant.
“Still cursing people?” her colleague asked, leaning back in his chair.
The operator smiled. “It’s a tough job, crawling into sewers in this heat. I’d probably curse too if I had to do it.”
“Sure, but not as creatively as that guy!”
They laughed it off, planning to go shopping after work, and soon forgot about the matter.
Meanwhile, two municipal workers reluctantly left their air-conditioned office, sweating and grumbling as they drove a pickup truck through the scorching streets.
Ever since the Secretary of State had declared “appropriate attire is the bare minimum respect owed to society,” federal employees were mandated to dress neatly—even in unbearable heat. These two workers had no choice but to wear their summer uniforms, fully covered to avoid pay deductions.
If they weren’t civil servants, they might have quit already. But as government employees, they enjoyed excellent salaries, benefits, and job security, making the rules tolerable.
The truck rumbled toward 72 Birlington Road. Even before stepping out, they were hit by a familiar stench, one they’d dealt with countless times before. ꭆÄΝȰʙÊṣ
Standard protocol required them to don protective gear, including gloves and masks, but they often skipped this step, too accustomed to the job to care.
Finding the source of the smell, they set up a “No Entry” sign and logged their start time in a notebook before lifting the manhole cover. To their surprise, the expected wave of foul odor didn’t greet them.
Sharing a puzzled glance, one worker descended into the sewer. Ten minutes later, he re-emerged.
“Nothing down there except some dead rats.”
Rats dying in sewers was common after heavy rainstorms. But the smell of a few dead rats was far weaker than the overwhelming stench they’d noticed.
“This smell… it’s not coming from the sewer,” one said, sniffing the air.
Following the odor, they discovered it was emanating from the basement of an old building nearby, through a small ventilation window facing the street.
Satisfied that the source wasn’t their responsibility, they packed up and left, leaving the matter to the police.
The complaint reached the local precinct, and soon a patrol car emerged from a shaded alley, heading toward the address.
Seven minutes later, two officers arrived and immediately covered their noses against the overpowering stench.
One officer knelt by the basement window, peering through its grimy glass but seeing nothing. The smell, however, was unmistakable: the distinct odor of decomposing flesh.
The other officer knocked on the building’s ground-floor door, which was answered by an elderly woman.
“Did you handle the smell?” she snapped, unimpressed by the officer’s presence.
He gestured toward his badge. “Ma’am, do you know who occupies the basement? Can we contact the owner?”
The woman scowled but provided a phone number. Within minutes, the landlord arrived and unlocked the door.
The moment the door swung open, the stench poured out, so potent it stung their eyes. The officers immediately called for backup.
Twenty minutes later, four more police cars and a coroner’s van arrived. Even seasoned city coroners were overwhelmed by the smell, despite their experience with countless crime scenes.
It took another thirty minutes for forensic specialists in full hazmat suits to enter the basement.
Inside, eight bodies lay strewn across the floor. Seven had been shot, while one exhibited an unusual cause of death.
After documenting the scene, the bodies were removed. Some officers stayed behind to collect evidence once the stench subsided.
The forensic team explained that the high temperatures in the sealed space had accelerated decomposition. The air was teeming with bacteria, making it advisable to wait before re-entering.
Back at the precinct, the case was handed to Detective Lukar, who was on day shift. Visiting the morgue to review the bodies, he found the stench unbearable even in the sterilized facility.
“Seven shot, one with six bullet wounds,” the coroner reported. “The eighth… was force-fed to death.”
“Force-fed?” Lukar, standing outside the morgue, looked at the coroner incredulously. “You’re saying they were killed by overeating?”
“Yes. His stomach ruptured, causing hemorrhagic shock.”
Lukar smirked. “You know what’s the best part of being a homicide detective? You get to see the strangest ways people die.”
He began skimming the report. “Do we know who they are?”
The coroner shook his head. “Not my department. But judging by the poker tables at the scene, it was likely an underground casino.”