79
Detective Brian Hubble walked carefully through the convention center crime scene where the massive die off of America’s highest paid opinion experts had occurred. Their bodies lay scattered about in contorted positions. Their unusual posture was caused by the poisons they had ingested. The key to determining it was cyanide was the way their bodies were contorted backwards. This was because one of the major symptoms of cyanide poisoning was the cramping of the body’s largest muscles. This was the reason that cyanide gas execution chambers in America always had to strap prisoners to chairs with strong legs and backs. In this way their bones could not be broken by the immense forces exerted by their large leg and back muscles as they cramped from the paralyzing effect of the cyanide.
Some of the bodies at the convention center in Cincinnati were bent backward so massively that their spinal bones were shattered. Almost all of the dead suffered at least partially if not awesomely from this symptom. Their backbones were literally ripped apart as their long back muscles cramped under the poison’s deadly influence. In addition, some of the victims’ arms were broken from the immense muscular strain. Others’ legs cramped so badly that their bones of their other extremities gave way and broke backwards under the severe muscular tightening.
Detective Brian Hubble stopped for a moment and spoke into his cell phone. “Hello, Cathy. District needs to know this and stat. This is Brian Hubble. The dead are all over the place. The federal government has taken over jurisdiction in this case under the commerce clause of the constitution. The feds claim to have credible evidence that the deaths were part of a protest against the federal Obama Care act. Evidence has been given supporting this claim.”
“Yes, sir,” Cathy said. “I will relay that message to the usual persons.”
“I’d like four or five additional detectives on this case to carry out my orders and to keep things tight here in the convention center. We need twenty men at the front and back of the center to insure that relatives do not cross the police lines in an attempt to reach their loved ones. That’s a total of twenty five persons, and that may not be the end of it. We may need a lot more officers, but that’s enough for starters. Get them down here in the next twenty-five minutes at the latest. Let’s not screw this up any more than it has been already. Over and out for now.”
“Over and out. Thank you, sir. I am ordering additional forces for you now, Detective Hubble,” the voice said. “Be careful, Detective. Don’t let those feds get your goat, sir.”
“Thanks Cathy. Later.”
Cathy was one of Hubble’s favorite police persons. She knew her stuff, and he could count on her to do things right and on time. She was a natural organizer. She was dedicated to police excellence. If Hubble had three more of Cathy the station would straighten up and fly right. Instead, it was generally stumbling along on a crash course. Detective Hubble never knew where the next crash was coming from, only that it was on the way and that nothing could stop it. The entire department had been gutted so much to save money. For this reason, the detective expected nothing less than a total police cluster fuck on any given day or night. And he usually got it in quadruplicate.
Working through the crime scene, Detective Brian Hubble took eighteen megabyte photos one after the other. Brian had never seen so many nicely dressed people inside any tourist trap in Cincinnati in his entire life. These men and women of advertising were well coiffed right down to their finger tips. Not one follicle was out of place. Not one speck of dirt peeked out at him from beneath a single nail in the entire room. One thing for certain. These people lived an entirely different lifestyle than did his usual murder victims. Brian didn’t know where to even begin to make forensic sense inside this crowded room of dead rich upstarts.
He had not yet wrapped his arms around the event properly, but he knew he would eventually if he only persisted in his investigation. That was his job. Setting things straight. Using clues to correctly solve crimes. Never stopping until he had discovered all of the probable motives, the evidence, and, of course, the perpetrators. These were among his personal investigatory specialties.
Brian already knew that poisoned chicken was the agent that was used to send these rich capitalist advertising specialists to their untimely ruin. He also knew that it was in retaliation for the deficiencies of the Obama medical plan. Evidently someone’s mother or son died as a result of government and/or insurance company shenanigans.
It was his job to find out just whom it was who committed this horrendous mass murder. Detective Hubble chewed on the idea for a few seconds. It was so immense, it nearly choked him. Didn’t this person or persons responsible understand that America was all about the rich? Was this perp not aware that the government only spoke to the poor and middle class to keep up appearances? The lad must be naive as heck to think otherwise. Hubble wondered what the world would be like if the cops like himself were rich and not piss poor? If that were the case, the detective knew exactly what he’d be doing. He’d be retiring on some tropical island filled with exotic women who would spend their lives smiling at him and messing his hair, all of it done in their racy attempts to get at some of his money. Money was the American way. If everyone had the stuff, no one would ever work. The nation would languish in a filthy mud stye of pungent reactionary sloth, floating like a wallowing pig and getting nothing done. Hubble felt sorry for the simpletons and other dolts who thought otherwise.
Brian fumbled through the wallets of the dead, writing down their names and addresses, then carefully placing the wallet, keys, and whatever else was in each one’s pockets into a zip-lock bag which he carefully labeled. He attached a number to each corpse and placed a copy of that number inside the victim’s personal evidence bag on a special and easily observable card so it would be identified with him. It was a cheap trick, one that had been used for several hundred years. However, the use of a zip-lock bag to keep each person’s belongings from harm was quite new as was the soft and clear plastic of which it was manufactured. Back in the day, they used paper envelopes for these belongings. The see-through zip-lock bag was a far better solution. No one had to even open it to see the belongings found inside the pants and purses of each crime scene’s victims.
When detective Brian Hubble got to Knowles, he could tell the guy was a big timer. After all the man was dressed immaculately as were his staff. Those immediately surrounding him wore clothes that were a cut or two above everyone else's in the room even though they, too, were not coiffed quite well as Mister Big was. Nonetheless, his minions were adorned in their expensive and quite suave fashion statements. Detective Hubble reached for his phone. It buzzed a few select musical chords until Cathy answered from his station office.
“Cathy Ward, here.”
“Listen, Cathy. I found Mr. Knowles and his entourage of well attired advertising stoolies. They are all dead. What else would they be? I mean, really. Anyway, I want you to call the Rassmussen advertising agency.”
“Do we have their number?” Cathy asked. If not, she’d have to look it up. She hated it when that happened. Life should be so much easier. Stress was nothing but a useless put down that detracted from the general happiness she sought.
“No. I texted you the numbers. There’s also a number for the white house and the senate committee that worked with Rassmussen to pass the constitutional support bill that Knowles was pushing for the feds to pass. Anyway, those offices need to be advised. National policy is involved. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know why, and I’m going to keep my nose out of their business up there in Washington. I want as little to do with them as possible. However, I can assure you they will be pounding me down for the duration of this investigation. It’s theirs and not ours. I’ve been advised to do everything their way, so keep your head up and make sure those federal pricks are advised of absolutely everything we are doing if you know what’s good for you.”
“I know what’s good for me,” Cathy said, “and it’s not the feds. It’s local men with great abs and en
ough cash to feed me beers before they try to lay me down next to their lumpy britches.”
“I hear ya.”
“I’ll do whatever these feds want. But, remember, you told me to share with them, so don’t cut off my head if I do what you just told me to do. I’ll do it, but if it comes back to bite us on the butt, I’m out of it. I’m just doing what you ordered me to. Understood?”
“Sure,” detective Hubble said. “But if it doesn’t work out, I’ll kick your ass anyway. You know that. So, shut up, Cathy.”
He hung up. The disconnect tones were perfect nonsense. It sounded like a musical water drop.
Cathy smiled. No matter what happened, she was always at fault. Whatever. She was perfectly used to it and had been for years. It was simple. Cathy was always wrong. Detective Hubble was always right. She mentally wrapped her pie hole around it. She sometimes did this by pretending she could chew Hubble’s head off and spit it into the street whenever she wanted. It didn’t help all that much, but at least it was something she could hold onto.
Life was a bitch no matter which way you cut it. You just had to go with it. Even false visualizations about how you were going to kill your boss were a godsend to the low lives in Cathy’s position.
Cathy called the senate committee that worked with Mr. Knowles. She asked for the chairman and was switched to him only after she verified her code with his secretary.
“This is Cathy in Cincinnati,” she said. “I’m giving you a courtesy call as my boss asked. Mr. Knowles of Rassmussen, LLC, and his staff were killed in Cincinnati along with hundreds of other experts in public relations. My boss is Detective Brian Hubble. He is with the homicide division of the local police. In addition, the FBI has taken over jurisdiction on the case.”
“What else can you tell us?”
“We found evidence that this was an Obama Care murder, sir.”
“A conspiracy, eh?”
“If that’s what you want to call it, you can. However, I can assure you that we know very little, except the case is so bizarre.”
“How’s that?”
“They were poisoned. More than a thousand men and women were poisoned at a banquet. Strips of paper were found both near and in the food indicating it was an Obama Care operation. We think it was a relative of someone whom the health care plan rejected. He went ballistic when he found out just how affordable it was.”
“How’s that, Cathy?”
“Easy question.”
“Then give it to me. Stop beating the bush. Speak.”
“Whoever it was, we figure the insurance refused to pay for her treatment. They explained to the family how they crunched they numbers and discovered it wasn’t profitable enough to approve treatment for whatever she had.”
“Sweet deal if you can get it.”
“That’s right,” Cathy said. “It’s sweet for the insurance companies. This way they didn’t have to spend a dime. So, the district insurance executives got promoted. The victims who paid their salaries found themselves dying for no reason except it is more profitable to refuse the patient’s expensive treatment. In some cases it saves upwards of fifty to eighty thousand dollars per rejection. Sometimes it even saves millions. That means profit for the insurance carrier.”
“Makes sense.”
“Yes, it does. But only in America.”
Cathy reported to Hubble that the deed was done. The Rassmussen Company had been told.
Hubble wanted to tell her he was pissed about everything, but he didn’t. He guessed Cathy had figured that out the first day she was working there. He also figured anyone stupid enough to work for him and not know the best way to remain sane was to become the type of person who knew how ignore insults from whatever quarter they came. Just smile and get the job done and no mistakes. Whatever you do. Just don’t botch things up.
“See ya, babe,” Hubble said.
“Sweetie.” The phone clicked off.
Cathy and Hubble had been partners in crime so to speak for twenty or more years.
Hubble smirked and grabbed another number card and zip-lock bag. Then, he started rifling through the next victim’s pockets. Wallet, keys, change, cell phone, and whatever the feds wanted to take. It was theirs.
Anything to keep their stinking federal noses out of his festering puss and give him plenty of personal wiggle room to go on living for awhile.