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The room was obnoxiously loud with a police investigator and a couple of officers drinking coffee to the side of it not bothering to look at the surrounding area. The carpet being white made it impossibly hard to miss the rather large red stain on the carpet accompanied by a Caucasian man in his late forties, gray hair, and a tailored suit. One of the police officers chose this moment while eating a bagel to look up at the door right as Malcom entered.
The officer chose his words carefully wanting to impress all of his colleagues, “Hey Canine come to sniff out another case?” A couple of the other officers around the room laughed, but Malcom didn’t seem to be aware of this ridicule as he took in the scene becoming quickly familiar with the surroundings and the man lying on the floor.
Malcom went up to the man smoothly bending down closer and taking a sniff of the man eventually working his way down to the stain. “There were at least three people in this room within the last three days,” Malcom said leaning down closer to the man.
“There were African Americans, Caucasians and one female,” Malcom concluded looking up at the officer giving him a cold stare. “And how would you know there was a female?” the officer who had harassed him earlier asked. “Easily enough done,” Malcom replied casually. “She was on her menstrual cycle you can smell it all through this apartment. She was wearing extensive eyeliner and lipstick. I believe magenta lipstick by > the root they use to compound that specific color.” The officer stared at Malcom dumbfounded, “And you can tell all of this from smell. What kind of a freak are you?”
“I’m not a freak, I just can smell things the way you see them. Your version of shades, well come to think of it my vision is the same exact way. I can smell things like picking up different colors in a stained glass window,” Malcom replied coolly.
“Well if you’re so smart why was he killed?” the inspector, speaking to Malcom for the first time, asked, turning to the dead man on the carpet.
“I can pick up a specific smell coming from around him I know I’ve smelled it before but I can’t put my finger on it,” Malcom said. The inspector leaned down and took a whiff only cringing from the smell of the dead man, “Well what does it smell like?”
Malcom rolled his eyes to the ceiling, “It would be about as useless for me to explain what it smelled like to you as it would be for you to explain a rainbow to a blind man.” “And why’s that?” the inspector said moving away from the dead man.
“Let me give you an example. Lets say you and I walked > into an old apartment building with some books in it. Your first thoughts on the smell are it’s a musty old apartment. I on the other hand would smell the kind of carpet cleaner that had been used. The last thing they ate for dinner. Or even what kind of wood they used in their fireplace. In truth it’s hard to tell you all the things I could smell because it’s a totally new plain of existence,” Malcom said leveling his eyes on the investigator.
“What I can tell you about this apartment is that it was built in the twenties the insulation they used during that time is evident. The whole place reeks of wassail that is usually served with sushi; there’s also baked chicken, and mashed potatoes and gravy, which would conclude his last meal. The interior of the apartment has been repainted three times each in a different brand of paint and color. Last I feel it’s important to note that the perpetrator entered and exited through the west window,” Malcom said pointing to an open window about two meters from the dead body. “Incredible,” the police inspector said staring at Malcom in awe.
Malcom walked over to the window and looked down then in confusion said, “This doesn’t make any sense. There’s nothing here to climb and it’s fifty feet up?” > Confusion started to enter the room when another police officer entered with a blond man in his early forties who looked like he hadn’t showered for a couple of weeks.
“And who is this?” the inspector asked as Malcom covered his nose. “It’s one of the tenants in the apartment just below, he said he saw the murderer,” the police officer responded. The inspector turned to the tenant, “And what did you see?”
“Around 9:20 p.m. last night I was just minding myself and looking out the window when this maniac jumped out on the floor above me. I’m not saying I saw anything, but I looked out and he landed with his feet on the ground and without any broken bones seeable because guy ran away after that,” the man said talking in a suspicious manner with a slight southern accent. “Can you tell us what he looked like?” the police inspector said, motioning towards another man in the corner.
“I didn’t get a good look at him but he had black hair and wore a red jacket with some weirdo markings on the back I didn’t have enough time to make out the symbol,” the man said squinting his eyes as if thinking hard. “Can you tell us anything else about him?” the police > inspector said motioning the man who had been coming over back again.
“No, couldn’t make out anything in the light,” the man said.
“Ok, fine, fine thank you for your assistance; we might need to call on you again,” the police inspector said in an angry dismissive way letting the officer who had brought him in take him back out. “We’re no closer to finding him then we were before,” the police inspector said angrily to Malcom after the man had left the room.
“I’d have to disagree I think were a lot closer to catching him, what man could jump fifty feet off a building without breaking a single bone?” Malcom said, thinking aloud to himself.
“A bloody good jumper. Oh well we’ll have to see what we get from the lab about the knife before we jump to any conclusions,” the police inspector said moving towards the door.
“Where are you going?” Malcom asked as the police inspector was walking out the door.
“To get something to eat. I suggest you do the same. Don’t worry about the dead body it isn’t going anywhere and there’s no more we can learn here. Thank you for your help and if you come up with anything else please tell me, I’ll do the same in return,” the police inspector said, leaving Malcom with some people collecting samples and of course the dead body.
Smokey’s Under was especially crowded tonight with Fridays crowd there. Malcom walked in and immediately picked up all of the wonderful smells of food coming from the kitchen. It was almost overpowering but Malcom had learned how to cope with the overpowering smells through the years by ignoring it. There were certain things that he still couldn’t get the handle on like the smell of cats. Garlic also was an overpowering smell to cope with. Malcom went and sat down across from a man in his late thirties who still looked like he had the flamboyance of a kid about him.
“How you doing Malcom I hear they’ve hired you for another case,” the man whispered leaning in closer to the table.
“Yes, I have been, and we don’t have to whisper the news is all over the story,” Malcom said, casually waving over one of the busy waiters.
“What will it be for you tonight Peter,” a tall man wearing black leather gloves, baggy pants and the restaurant’s vest said glancing at the man across the table from Malcom.
“Oh,” Peter said distractedly, “I’ll have the salmon special; what will you have Malcom?”
“I think the steak with a baked potato and a salad,” Malcom said to the waiter handing him his menu. “I’ll have that for you right away,” the waiter said, leaving the table. >
“One of the negatives of having very sensitive smell is you can always tell what people had for lunch and that man always has sushi. It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t so overpowering,” Malcom said somewhat stirred. “Who cares? So what happened to the man who was murdered? Who did it?” Peter asked, leaning in again. “It’s only my first day,” Malcom said taking a drink of his water, “But there is something oddly peculiar about the murderer.”
“And what’s that?” Peter asked, leaning in even closer.
“He jumped off a fifty foot building with out breaking anything and landed on his feet,? Malcom said. Peter leaned back in his chair and thought for a couple minutes before speaking, ?To do that he would either need a parachute, wings, or a tail.? “Wait how did you know that?” Malcom asked, a little stunned by his friend’s sudden knowledge. “Oh simple I almost chose physics as my major,” Peter replied.
Malcom thought to himself. His friend Peter had been going to college for the past thirteen years because he would never choose a major. It helped that he was extremely rich of course but thirteen years in a college was a bit extreme to Malcom.
“When are you ever going to decide on a major you’re going to actually stick with?” Malcom asked.
“Oh I don’t know I want to keep my options open, you know?” Peter replied coolly as the waiter gracefully brought the food to their table.
Malcom opened the door of his apartment and was quickly greeted by the happy barking of his German shepherd.
“How have you been today Butch, I brought you something,” Malcom said, sticking his hand in a paper bag and took out a partially eaten steak and giving it to his dog.
Now it was interesting that Peter had said that the only way he could have done it was with a parachute, wings, or a tail because the man who had jumped did not have a parachute or wings. But that would only leave one explanation according to Peter and that was the man had a tail.
Malcom grabbed a couple of the other paper bags and began putting away groceries in his cabinets and fridge.
“How could a man have a tail?” Malcom said thinking out loud. Butch in the corner gave him a quizzical look before eating the rest of the steak. The phone rang and Malcom put down the peanut butter he had in his hand and picked up the phone, “Hello.” > “Malcom glad I caught hold of you,” the police inspectors voice said over the phone, “We have a positive identification on the dead body.” “And he is?” Malcom said trying to push the conversation.
“Gregory Hopkins,” the inspector said triumphantly, “He just recently came back to the states we don’t know from where but he had that apartment for less than a week and had put it under some bogus name, Timothy or something.” “Hmm thanks. Ill look into it” What was your name again?” Malcom asked. “Names Marcus and Ill update you if I get more information,” the inspector said hanging up the phone. Malcom grabbed the last three paper bags and headed out the door again.
Malcom walked up to an older house on the edge of town and knocked on the door while balancing the other three paper bags in his arms. An eye looked at him through the peephole before slowly opening the door. “Malcom,” said a much older woman probably in her seventies, “I didn’t know you were coming over today.” The lady beckoned him in while mumbling about how her house was messy which was untrue. The house was spotless. It was always clean though because Julia as he knew her was agoraphobic. She never left her house and she couldn’t stand having things out of order. “I brought you groceries, thought you might need them and all,” Malcom said walking towards her kitchen. “Oh I’ll take those dear,” she said putting the items in her pantry in perfect symmetry. “I also came to ask you about someone, a Gregory Hopkins?” Malcom said looking at her.
“Haven’t heard that name in awhile,” she said finishing up neatly folding the paper bags and stacking them, “Twenty years ago he was part of an organization in the United States called Genos. Genos was the agency the government used to shut down all genetic altering programs in the United States and then they got more ambitious. They decided to shut down the largest one of all. They wanted to turn off the lights so to speak on Korea’s Genetic Perfection facilities. Needless to say it was much easier said then done. Korea was the largest genetic altering program in the business and many Americans would have their baby’s altered and then bring them back to the states. Now since the United States believed that everybody should have an equal start, they decided to shut down the biggest advantage. That’s where Gregory came in he was sent to shut them down. It was all over the news, but after he got there nothing happened and in a couple of years everybody forgot he existed. Kind of funny you should bring up that name now,” she finished, now sitting down thinking to herself. “He was just murdered,” Malcom said, looking at her. “Was he now? I suppose there would be some bad blood between him and other agencies but I don’t know why they would kill him. I mean he could know all kinds of things about the altered,” she said, looking at him now.
Her seeming fountain of knowledge didn’t surprise Malcom. Julia had been the editor for the New York Times and Newsweek for forty years. Her phobia made her pay attention to detail also letting her remember all of those forty years of editing. Malcom had always brought her groceries since she was afraid to leave her house but he knew he was the more blessed one just from hearing her wisdom.
“Is it possible that Gregory got some information on the altered that someone wanted?” Malcom asked. “Who knows; but I can say one thing for sure, genetic alterations are illegal in the United States. If information came out about one of the altered it could ruin their reputation and develop a discrimination worse than one could imagine. People are afraid of those that are better than them and genetics will only lead to another minority. The rich will have major advantages over the poor and leaders will be chosen before they’re out of the womb,” Julia finished, looking at the neatly stacked papers on her desk by her computer, “Where are my manners; cookies?” Malcom walked out of the house an hour later and walked down the stairs. His apartment was only a couple of blocks away so he decided to walk. This neighborhood wasn’t the nicest in St. Louis but it wasn’t bad compared to the worst ones. He was lucky to have gotten an apartment in this nice of a neighborhood, but due to considerable amounts of money left to him from his parents he had a much easier time.
Malcom was walking along still thinking to himself when it hit him. That smell, the one he had smelled in the apartment. He turned and looked down the alley; nothing there but a stray cat.
“I’ve got it Peter I know how he did it. He did have a tail,” Malcom said practically ecstatic. They were both in Smokey’s Under Peter looking tired and Malcom trying to contain his enthusiasm. “That’s why the man murdered him, he was genetically altered in Korea and brought back to the states by his parents. If it got out he would be disgraced and that’s why he killed Gregory,” Malcom summarized.
“Wait, so your saying the man who killed him is some kind of freak?” Peter questioned, starting to get interested.
“Yes, that’s exactly it. I bet Gregory was blackmailing him,” Malcom said, starting to calm down a bit.
“That would make sense, I mean he would need some kind of claws to climb up the wall,” Peter said, starting to take on Malcom?s excitement.
“But that still leaves one problem: Finding him,” Malcom said now in a sullen mood.
Flight of the Valkaries started playing in the restaurant making Malcom make a quick dash for his cell phone.
“Hello?” Malcom said into the phone hesitantly, waiting for a response.
“Hello Malcom. This is Marcus again we got the tests back from the lab on the knife and weren’t able to > find anything significant. I thought you might as well come down and see it,” Marcus replied back into the phone.
?Sure I’ll be right down there,” Malcom said into the phone, getting up to leave.
?Ok I’ll keep the lights on for you,? Marcus said, hanging up. Marcus spotted their waiter, “Check please.” “Will that be all for you today are you sure you don’t want some of our desserts?” the waiter asked.
“No, thank you, that will be all,” Malcom said, reaching and grabbing the check from the waiter?s gloved hand.
“Ouch,” Malcom said pulling back his hand and watching blood running down from a little spot in his finger.
Malcom quickly paid the check and left the restaurant walking briskly towards the station only briefly pausing to say goodbye to his dear friend Peter and apologizing for having to leave.
Malcom entered the police station walked up to the front desk and asked for Marcus.
Malcom was showed back to the crime room investigation with a few people in lab coats but the rest wearing regular uniforms. Malcom went deeper into the crime lab until they were standing near a small cubicle named “chemical testing area” and was showed in.
Marcus was standing in the corner looking at a piece of paper next to a bloodstained knife. Marcus looked up and said, “Not much to see but your welcome to it.”
Malcom came close to the blade and could already smell the peculiar smell coming from it. There was something else there though, something familiar. Sirloin Steak, and Allfredo Perperchini, which was only served at Smokey’s Under.
Malcom turned around and started walking out of the room. Marcus turned to him, ?Where are you going you just got here??
“I know who did it! Have some officers meet me at Smokey?s Under in twenty minutes. I’ll have conclusive evidence and the killer,” Malcom said, walking out of the room leaving Marcus with a confounded stare.
Craven Ross walked into the storage room carefully removing his gloves from his clawed and padded hands.
“I thought you would have to have claws to climb the building,” a voice said coming from a behind him.
Craven went rigid, slowly turning around to face his accuser.
Malcom walked out of the shadows to face the waiter for the second time that night, “You really had us going jumping out of that fifty foot building but you were definitely way to sloppy when committing the crime. I should have caught you a while ago,” Malcom said, fidgeting with something in his pocket.
“But one thing had escaped me in the beginning. Why did you need to kill him? Why did you need to shut him up? The answer came to me quite simply,” Malcom looked at the man more closely now, “You had been genetically altered yourself.”
“Very good Mr. Malcom,” Craven said speaking for the first time, “But I don’t understand what led you to me.”
“Well at first when I smelled wassail in the house from sushi I had thought simply he had eaten sushi last night for dinner. Then when I smelled the knife and realized it had prepared the one and only Smokey’s Under special I put two and two together. Who always had been eating sushi and worked at Smokey’s Under? I only came here and waited to confirm that you had been the one genetically altered and you showed me that by taking off the glove,” Malcom said finishing coolly and taking out his cell phone.
“Very good Malcom,” Craven said, “When Gregory Hopkins went to Korea he got a list of all the people who had been genetically altered in that program. I have that list in my possession now but he was using it to blackmail all the people who were on the list. If it had come out I would have been shunned if not lynched. But are you sure you want to arrest me?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Malcom said, flipping open his cell phone.
Craven stared at him, “Your name was at the top of the list.”