Ch. 1 – Duncan Strauss Mysteries
Duncan Strauss
"When I'm examining a crime scene," Duncan exuberated, "I like to soak in every detail. Anything that is out of the ordinary, every contradiction, every nuance a clue!" Little Danny, a boy of six, sat eagerly listening to his uncle. It was the first time his uncle had been to visit in nearly a month. "But you see Danny, it only matters what you can detect; people say things - a lot of things. But it's the detective's duty to determine the truth! Oh Danny, nothing matters but the truth! Take nothing for granted. Trust your gut. Trust what you see!"
"Oh Duncan, you mustn't worry Danny with such things, he's just a boy!" his sister Kathryn interrupted, hugging Danny from behind. Kathryn kept a neat house. The house was two stories tall with a stairway near the entrance. Duncan and Danny were seated in the den near the back of the house, opposite the entrance. Kathryn choose this house for multiple reasons, but mainly for the housing association that sold it - Bay Realty - the owner, Jean, was a close childhood friend of Kathryn's, and ran a tight exchange.
"Oh honey, he must learn sooner or later!" Daniel said, reclaiming his wife from his suffocating child. "I for one, think this detective's work is fascinating." He said with a wink.
"Yes, it is quite important to take interest in one's occupation; speaking of, how's the accounting business of late, Daniel?" Duncan jabbed.
"It really is as interesting as you'd expect," Daniel chuckled. "But it isn't really accounting, is it? Chief finance officer is a bit more than that, might you deduce?"
"Like I was saying, trust what you see. And I see that you're an accountant," Duncan said smiling, sliding an olive off its perch about a small plastic sword.
"What mystery did you solve last uncle?!" Danny chirped.
"Hmm, let me see. I believe it involved a mute, a prostitute, and a barrel of snakes."
"Okay; let's leave the grown up talk for the grown ups!" Kathryn said with a humorous yet forceful glare.
"Was it the prostitute? No I think it was a brothel clerk. Are brothel clerks also prostitutes?" Duncan quipped, half in smile, half in thought.
"Alright, I think it's time for bed." Kathryn rolled her eyes.
"Ahh but mom!"
"If you don't get to bed early, then you'll waste your whole morning! We'll be to bed too shortly." She kissed the top of his head.
"Alright," Danny conceded. "But what's a prostitute?" He asked while being led by his mom down the hall.
Duncan smiled, and looked at Daniel. "Thanks for coming, Duncan. He really loves seeing you. But you can't bring up adult things like that, not until he's older."
"Yes, yes - it won't happen again. Promise." Standing, he extended his hand. Daniel reciprocated, grasping Duncan's hand.
"When will you be back? We're planning a get-together next weekend to celebrate Peace Day; it starts at..." Before Daniel could finish his invitation, Duncan's processor began to buzz.
"Oh, I'm afraid I must take this." Duncan said, answering. He held the processor up to reveal his assistant, Nicki Varsi who quickly asked, "Are you busy?"
"Yes, I'm quite..." Duncan attempted.
"I think you need to see this boss, four more bags just washed up in Lakeview - one more than last week!" Nicki shouted, almost excited.
"I'll be there soon." He said, ending the call.
"Big case huh?"
"Ah yes, been chipping away at this one for a while," he said making his way to the door.
"Next weekend, yeah?"
"Of course," He said unhesitatingly, and with a sly smile as he quietly shut the door. Daniel was unconvinced.
Nicki greeted him at the door of his sedan. It was an older model, rusted. It was a miracle it still ran. When he bought it, the saleswoman was quite firm that it would last a lifetime. Though he was skeptical at the time, after a decade and a half - nearly sixteen years later it was still running despite its generous 10-year warranty. It was a model year 150, or 150PT for the scholars. It was a special edition, the AT 3x. 3x was for the third semicentennial - an occasion celebrated mostly by companies. The sedan was quite heavy, made out of steel - and required a hefty engine. It was almost iconic, the chief detective of the GBS (Greater Bay Security) drove a rusted hunk of scrap, not incomplete with bullet holes, lengthy scratch marks, and a cracked windshield.
"Are you ever going to get something new?" Nicki asked, almost genuine.
"Maybe, can I get it in steel?"
"Probably not, most of these are aluminum blends - keeps the weight down. And what are you going to do when the refuel stations abandon gasoline entirely?"
"I suppose I'll have to get something new." He started towards the scene, with Nicki close behind.
"By the way, how are those bites?" He asked.
"They're much better," she said as she held out her arm. "The physician said that after the antipoison has been introduced, it shouldn't take but a few hours. And he recommended I stay away from snakes," she grinned.
"I really had no idea they could leap that high."
"Wouldn't it be more a pounce? Or maybe a strike?" She inquired.
Before they could finish their witty exchange, they were interrupted by Nelson - the coroner typically hired by the GBS for such occasions. "You biologists done? I have your results, or at least one result."
"Who is it?" Duncan implored, grabbing the processor out of Nelson's hands.
"Hmmm, I haven't heard of him; have you?" He showed the screen to Nicki.
"Not at all. Do we have any idea why he was so lucky?"
"Probably pissed off the wrong bloke," answered Nelson "went and got himself strangled. There's people that'll dispose of bodies you know. Gives me the chills."
"Wait, he was strangled?" Duncan looked at Nelson.
"Well maybe, I don't know. All I know is he was completely mangled and chopped to bits - might've been strangled, who's to say?"
"Alright Nelson, that'll be all" he said, dismissing the hasty coroner. By this point they had arrived at the pile of bags. There were four bags, each with the same markings:
8/14/9
"Eight, fourteen, nine." He said, jotting the numbers down onto his pad of paper. "What were the last two, Nicki?"
"Let's see," she said pulling the processor out of her pocket. "Five, eleven, four; and seven, thirteen, eight."
Duncan appeared visually puzzled. "Who found these?" He asked.
"A fisherman did," holding her processor up after a few seconds of silence, "Marco Rintz. I think he's still standing at the docs." Nicki replied.
"Alright, I'm going to talk to Marco; Nicki, look around and see if there's anything they missed."
Nicki glanced around, and took a good look at the bags. It smelled terrible; rotting. She noticed that the markings, on three bags, began to drip before they dried; she took a small sample, and shoved it in her bag. Curiously, the fourth bag - the smallest bag - had lettering free from drips.
"Hmm," she noted.
She glanced again at the fourth bag and saw a protrusion. It was a round protrusion. She poked at it, and found that, unlike the rest of the matter inside the bags, this was stiff. "Nelson, hand me some gloves!"
"What do you need gloves for?"
"Just hand me the gloves."
Nelson reluctantly complied.
She immediately dug her knife into the bag to uncover the protrusion lurking within. After being taken aback by the ungodly stench, she noticed that amidst the gore came a single bowling shoe. She gasped. Nelson also gasped; although more at the shock of opening the fragile barrier between him and certain disease.
"Don't be such a baby," Nicki said holding the dripping bowling shoe up to the light.
Duncan approached, shaking his head. "The fisherman is catatonic - went on about some kind of prophecy. Said that peace time is over, and that hell will rain fire on Anther... Wait, did you just open a bag?"
"Yeah! Check it out!" Nicki held the shoe out to him.
"Uh, okay... Nelson, a hand?" He said glancing at Nelson.
Nelson sighed, handing a pair of gloves to Duncan.
Duncan examined the shoe. It was a size ten - a left side shoe - and had a two different markings; one that was a thick and neatly drawn, and another below it that was scribbled more hastily.
Beyer
C. B.
The sole of the shoe had an indentation just below the place for the big toe, and had scuffs all around the outside. But these weren't just scuffs - the shoe also bore minor abrasions like gashes in the rubber.
"Well this obviously belonged to our victim," Duncan noted, "But where is the other?"
Duncan and Nicki looked at the bags, at each other, and then at Nelson. They laughed. Nelson gulped.
As Duncan was about to leave he asked Nicki, "You need a ride?"
"No, I called my boyfriend - he's on his way."
"Alright, I have a good feeling about this shoe - it's going to take us places. Great find, Nicki."
"Thanks boss," she smiled.
Sitting in his car, Duncan pulled out his processor and dialed a number. His brother-in-law answered, "Dunk, what time is it?"
"Daniel, I have a clue that might be related to Beyer Dynamic."
Daniel seemed notably more alert, "What is it?"
"You wouldn't happen to know anybody by the name of Cane Blithes?"