A Shoulder to Cry On

"What was your first meeting?" I ask.

"Murder case, double homicide that looked like a murder suicide at first glance. I corrected him in front of your boss Leo, and he called me a cunt."

"No fucking way," I say.

"Oh yeah. Queen fucking destroyed him. Tore his ass down to size. He ended up catching my son shop lifting, and when I didn't know what to say, Chase talked to Jesse for me. I don't know what he said, but Jesse really opened up to us after that. Chase has a weird relationship with his family, so I think he related to him because of it. That's when I reevaluated Chase, and I'm glad I did."

"How bad was the cop he turned into IA?" I ask.

"The worst I've ever seen in nearly twenty years. You see the person he turned in; you don't see the people he didn't. He could have burned Lieutenant Eastland, and Will, and pretty much the entire SI and Narcotics Departments. He didn't, because they are good cops, who made a mistake. Even he sees the difference."

I need to look Chase differently next time I see him. Maybe the blue wall does need to come down from time to time. Cops looking after cops needs to draw a line in the sand on who is worth protecting.

"Does he always come off like a douche?" I ask.

"He's definitely an acquired taste. If you get an opportunity to work with him, give him a chance. His instincts are on point, and he is a pit bull of an investigator. Say what you will about the guy, but when he's on a case he's in the office past midnight and sleeps three hours if he sleeps. Chase is abrasive, but he's dedicated."

"He's our cultural advisor on this one," I say, and Jill smiles.

"Is he keeping his distance and letting you two run it?" Jill asks.

"He forgets what his job is a few times, but Will reminds him, and he accepts it," I say. Come to think of it, Chase has been keeping his distance considering how close he is to this. "The murder victim was his friend."

"That's rough for a guy like Chase," Jill says, and I nod after a few seconds. I think about what it would feel like if I got sidelined if my family or Shane was hurt. I'd probably lose my shit.

"Married?" Jill asks, and I nod. "Wife?"

"Gianna. I bagged a hot red head," I say, and she giggles.

"Kids?"

"Three, from her last marriage," I say. "You got three as well?"

"Jesse, from Derek's ex, and our twins," Jill says, smiling just thinking about them.

"When did you know you wanted them?" I ask, and she thinks.

"One day you don't, and the next you do. It was that fast. He had always said he was ready when I was, so I didn't even tell him I stopped my birth control. Gave him the ultrasound picture for his birthday," Jill says. That's awesome. "You want your own?"

"I have three..."

"...You know what I mean. You love the shit out of them, but something is different when the baby is yours. I don't like to think I love the girls more than Jesse, but it's different. I carried them myself, and that maternal instinct is much more potent. I can't help it."

I think about what I need to tell Gianna. This could be a good test run.

"So, I'm obviously gay," I say, and she laughs, "But I have a friend, a guy, probably my best friend. If I wasn't gay, I'd probably be bouncing off his dick right now to be honest. I asked him, and he said yes, to be a sperm donor for me."

"Wow," Jill says, and I sigh. "What was that?"

"I haven't told my wife I want to do that yet," I say, and she looks at me, then back to the road. "We already have three, and I'm just so worried she'll say no. I really want to do this. I know the mantra of my body my choice, but it doesn't feel like that. These things don't just affect me anymore."

"I can understand that. You should have this conversation with you wife though," Jill says, and I ensure her I was planning to.

–

Jill pulls into the parking lot outside of the medical center of the University. In her left hand is the carrying case for the samples. Meeting us in the parking lot is the dean of the school, a Ms. Theodora Phillips dressed rather dapper in a pencil dress suit.

"We are always willing to aid authorities anyway our expertise can help. Right this way," Theodora says after brief introductions. "She's in a lecture right now, but it should be over momentarily."

We sit across the hall from the door of the auditorium which opens a few minutes later. There are two exits, and students flood out from both sides and the hallway becomes alive in conversation and movement. Once it dies down, we enter the auditorium from the left side. There are ten rows, each one slightly higher than the last of ten seats with pull out desktops. Three students are finishing up some notes or putting their schoolwork away, and we wait until they finish before we start talking to the woman at the front of the hall.

"This is Dr. Madison Somerton," Theodora says to introduce us. "Madison, this is Detective Appletree, and Jill Whitaker, crime scene investigator."

"Please, just Mads," she says as we all shake hands.

A college professor with hair not much longer than mine and a tattoo of a scorpion on her neck. I see at the cuffs of her shirt she likely has arm sleeves as well. I am getting a lesbian aura from her, and I like it. She has similar curves to Jill, but she appears more athletic.

"Midge," I say, and she smiles at me, then points to the case Jill is carrying.

"That the sample?" Mads asks, and Jill nods. "We'll head to the lab, start some tests. Dr. Grant said he ruled out Ricin. There aren't many things that cause this, so it shouldn't take long."

"Let's get started," Jill says, and we follow Mads to the labs on the other side of the building. It looks like the crime lab, but when we enter the botany farm that changes entirely. Students and researchers and working on various plants in multiple rooms. Some areas smell very earthy, others very sweet.

Mads stops at a woman in a lab coat and asks, "Reginia, could you get me a few Rosary Peas?"

"Why?" Regina asks.

"Testing a toxin for police," she says, and Regina turns to us.

"Abrin? Who the hell uses Abrin?" Regina asks.

"No one, it's why it's kind of brilliant," Mads says, and Regina shrugs and says she'll be back shortly with the plant.

"What is Abrin exactly?" I ask.

"It's a toxin that naturally occurs in the seed of a plant. The seed is colloquially known as the Rosary Pea," Mads says before we keep walking to another lab where she takes a seat at her desk and asks Jill to put the sample on the counter.

"Rare?" I ask.

"Use as an intentional poison, exceedingly. Otherwise it's so common it's considered an invasive species," Mads says. A minute later Regina enters the room and drops off the plant Mads requested. Regina touches her shoulder and Mads smiles, and I get another lesbian feeling between the two of them. Regina leaves a moment later, the door shutting behind her.

The plant Regina dropped is a skinny brown stick with a single stem. Thin green leaves grow out from both sides parallel to each other. On the end of the stick is a brown husk with red seeds inside of it. Mads snaps on a pair of gloves and pulls off a few of the seeds, and I see they have a black back to them. Now I get why they are called Rosary Peas. They look very similar to prayer beads.

"I'm going to tell you right now, if you even think about touching these seeds, you will wear gloves," Mads says, and hands both Jill and I some gloves which we both take. "Some people develop rashes on their skin, but the shell of the seed is not particularly toxic. Do not smell it, do not lick it. You think I wouldn't have to say that, but I have grad students who ate tide pods."

"What is so toxic about this seed?" Jill asks, picking one up with a gloved hand.

"There is a protein dimer called Abrin inside of it. It's a lot like another toxin you might have actually heard of; Ricin," Mads explains.

"What's the difference?" I ask.

"Abrin is way more toxic. There are a few cases of intentional poisonings, but the symptoms occur fast and can be treated if detected early. The big problem is that some people don't show symptoms up to three days later. By then, it's more often than not too late," Mads explains, then asks Jill to open the case and give her the sample.

Inside of the case are a few petri dishes and several vials filled with blood and other fluids. Mads takes the sample in a petri dish labeled 'liver tissue' and rolls over to a large microscope. She makes some adjustments and rolls back to the case and takes a blood sample and checks that next.

"Is there a lab report in that case?" Mads asks, and Jill pulls the file from a pocket on the top half of the case. "Thank you." Mads looks that over for a minute, looking for something specific. "White blood cells are certainly elevated. Definite cellular decay in the liver from failure of protein synthesis."

Mads then looks over more of the file, rolls back to the case to retrieve the 'stomach tissue' sample then rolls back to the microscope.

"No intact or partial rosary pea was found in his stomach. These things don't digest easily so someone could eat it and it goes right through them. Maybe some upset stomach but it'll pass. Dr. Grant says it was likely cultivated into a powered form. The damage started in the intestinal tract then stomach, liver, spleen, etcetera," Mads says, but almost like she's thinking out loud.

I look over at Jill who is looking around Mads work area. There are several framed pictures on a shelf which feature Mads with children. One is of a girl posing for what looks like a school picture. Another is of a young boy and girl with Santa for Christmas. One is with a man who has a thick mustache, likely in his early sixties. I'll assume that's grandpa.

"These your kids?" Jill asks, and Mads looks over her shoulder to see what Jill is asking about.

"Yes. I have three," Mads says, then returns to her work.

"Me too. I have a stepson from my husband, and I had twin girls about six months ago," Jill says. "What ages are yours?"

"My oldest is nine, Maxine, we call her Max. Our son Monroe is almost six. My youngest daughter Reagan is fourteen months," Mads explains.

"What's your wife's name?" I ask, and Mads slowly looks over at me, then laughs a little. My gaydar is spot on.

"Kourtney," she replies, and returns to the microscope. I knew it. "He prefers going by his middle name, York."

"Wait what?" I ask.

"My husband's name is York," Mads says, and I stand there frozen. "I understand the assumption, but I went dick ten years ago."

"Went dick?" I can't help but ask.

"It's exactly how it sounds. My husband and I moved here two years ago when I got offered a job. Regina who you just saw is the one who recommended me, and she's also my ex. My husband York runs a private medical practice downtown," Mads says, and points to a picture on the shelf I somehow ignored. Her husband and her oldest daughter are holding up medals from a 10K race. York looks incredibly fit and appears to be a doting and attentive father.

"You got any kids?" Mads asks me.

"I have three as well. Not mine, they're from my wife's prior marriage," I reply.

Mads spins away from the samples and removes her gloves with an audible snap when it releases her fingers. She stands up then walks over to a waste bin, opening it with a pedal and tossing the gloves in. She then washes her hands in the sink.

"I'm going with Abrin as well," Mads says while drying her hands. "Ricin and Abrin are very identical but activate entirely different types of antibodies. His blood work shows those antibodies, but I'll double check that work. I'll do a few more tests to see if I can determine how much he was given. It's one hundred percent Abrin, just a matter of how much."

That's all I need to know. Murder weapon confirmed.

"I need to forward these results and some samples to the CDC, but I should be able to get them to Dr. Grant this time tomorrow. If anything changes, I'll let you know," Mads says, and we all shake hands again and prepare to leave.

–

Tuesday – March 10, 2026

-William Kaiser-

CSI lab techs have gone through exhaustive work of taking samples of the food in Laurel's apartment and the drinking containers. Her trash is taken for examination, as is the bottles of water in the refrigerator, open or otherwise. I am looking for any indication of the cultivation of poison.

The apartment is clean and tidy with the faint smell of pine from a candle wax melter on a side table. Pictures on the wall of both Laurel and Omar, and their respective families. Some pictures are from what I'll assume is his trip to Saudi Arabia. The living room has a matching three cushion couch and chair facing a large flat screen television on a table with several drawers and a sound bar. To the left and right are large bookshelves top to bottom with movies and seasons of television shows.

There are two bedrooms, the spare room is just an office with a desk and computer. The walls have more pictures carrying the same theme as the living room. The master bedroom has a king-sized bed with end tables on both sides, and a long dresser with two columns of three rows of drawers. More pictures.

An hour into the search, I receive a text message from Midge.

'Dr. Somerton at the University confirms Abrin poisoning.' She then sends me a picture of a plant and another with red and black seeds.

I tuck my phone into my pocket and step outside of the apartment. I see Laurel leaning against the wall, waiting until she can get into her home again. She has been cooperative but looks irritated.

"What was Omar's Friday routine again?" I ask.

Laurel looks to me, and sighs. "I already told you."

"Refresh my memory, it could help narrow the focus of what we're looking for," I say, and she exhales deeply.

"He gets up really early on Friday to go to the gym before prayer at the mosque," Laurel says, and I pull out my notebook again.

"Times?" I ask.

"He was out the door at about five, back by six, then headed to the mosque for prayer at seven. He stayed for the second prayer at eight thirty then went home," Laurel explains, and I write those times down.

"Imam Masri said he didn't eat at the mosque," I say.

"He doesn't usually. He had a protein drink after his workout. He typically drank it on his way home," Laurel says. Every time she interchanges her tenses it's like a gut punch to her. Like part of her still can't accept it.

"What did he drink it in?" I ask.

"One of those blender shake bottle things. You know, with the metallic balls," Laurel explains, and I nod. Then I have a thought.

"What protein mix does he use?" I ask.

"Whey protein, I'm not sure on the brand he used. Vanilla flavor, I think," she replies. "It has a detachable compartment on the bottom. I fill it for him the night before." Her tenses are starting to bother me.

"Where is his bottle?" I ask. Laurel thinks for a moment, then shrugs.

"I don't know. Dishwasher maybe," she replies.

I excuse myself and enter the apartment again. Cutting straight through, I go to the kitchen and pull open the dishwasher. There is no blender bottle, and I ask the techs if they found one in the shelves. They didn't find one in the kitchen, or the entire apartment.

"Where is this thing?" I ask himself, then ask a tech in the bathroom. "Have you guys found a gym bag?"

"No, nothing like that," he replies.

"Who is downstairs with his car?" I ask.

"Heath should be leading that search," the tech replies.

I grab my radio and ask, "Team two, get me Heath," I say, and wait for a reply.

"Heath here."

"Is there a gym bag in the car?" I ask.

"Sure is. Smells like it's been here a few days," Heath replies.

"Is there a bottle in it? Protein mixer variety?" I ask and wait a few seconds.

"Black bottle with a detachable bottom. Recently used, still smells like rotten vanilla," Heath says.

"Prioritize that bottle. I think it's the delivery method for the toxin," I say, and Heath lets me know he is labeling it a priority as he speaks. I walk into the office again, and one of the techs is taking pictures in drawers as he removes items. On the wall behind the desk is a picture with Omar in Saudi Arabia, posing with a man and a little girl. Hanging off a nail next to the picture, is a string of prayer beads. All the beads are red and black.

–

I get authorization to put surveillance on Laurel in the event she attempts to flee. In the meantime, I'm waiting for the techs to get back with information on the blender bottle and the rosary. While I wait, I'm looking over Laurel's movements going back the last six months. She took a business trip to Panama five months ago. The Rosary Pea can be found in Panama.

The moment I get word of anything conclusive on the blender bottle, I'm making the arrest.

My desk phone rings. "Kaiser, homicide."

"Detective, there is a mister Masri here who wishes to speak with you," the officer at the reception desk says. "Do you want someone to escort him up?"

"Don't worry about it, I'll be right down," I say and hang up the phone. What could the Imam want? I leave my desk and take the elevator downstairs where I see the Imam sitting in a chair near the entrance.

"Detective, I apologize for the sudden visit," Imam Masri says, standing up to meet me.

"Not a problem. Let's talk in private," I say, directed him past the desk and down the hall. I pick one of the larger conference rooms to make him feel comfortable. "Can I offer you some tea or..."

"...no thank you. I wanted to talk to Chase, but he ensured me you can be trusted. I will take his word on faith," the Imam says, and we both take seats. I sit next to him instead of sitting on the other side of the table.

"What do you want to talk about?" I ask.

"You had asked if the mosque had recently been visited. I wasn't comfortable talking at the mosque. We have had a recent visit," he says, and I pull my notebook out. "A man named Mohammad Mohammad Abdulaziz. A Saudi Prince, and Omar's first cousin from his father."

"So, his name has two Mohammads in it?" I ask, and he nods. "Could you confirm if Omar was also a Saudi Prince?"

"Omar was not, technically. His father was however, until he fled the country in the early two thousands and was excommunicated. Not before putting money in accounts first. He wasn't stupid," Imam Masri explains.

"Why did he flee. His immigration record says he applied for asylum," I say.

"Justified, he fled the country after speaking out against the government. He died a few years ago sadly. Cancer. Good man," Imam Masri says, looking down in legitimate sadness.

"Why was Omar's cousin at the mosque?" I ask.

"Mohammad and Omar met during Omar's hajj to Saudi Arabia. They became very close. Mohammad was visiting, and like any Prince he has his own entourage. One member of the entourage, a few things he said in the mosque, has me incredibly worried."

"What things?" I ask.

"How I teach a heretical form of Islam, not true to the faith. How Omar was not a true believer. I'm not sure if it's related to his murder, but I feel it is something I needed to say," Imam Masri says. "I fear this man may have bugged the mosque, hence why I didn't feel comfortable earlier."

"What's his name?" I ask.

"Wasim Abdul Khan," he replies, and I have him help me with the spelling.

"Do you have anything else you need to tell me?" I ask.

"No, that is all."

"Thank you for your time. If you feel it is necessary, I can request to put a patrol on you for your protection," I say.

"I wish to be proud and say no, but I will accept this offer. Thank you, detective," Imam Masri says, standing up, and shaking my hand with a slight bow. I ask him to stay around for a moment while I make the call for the protective detail.