"Yo, Belden. We got one." The distinct Brooklyn accent broke through Brian's concentration on the paperwork he was reviewing. They called it paperwork, but it was on a computer. Computerwork just didn't have the same cachet of the grind of filling out endless forms.

"What's up, Vargo?" Brian glanced at the man bobbing by his side. Mitch Vargo was short and stocky, with crow-black hair and laugh lines around his eyes.

He was also the best medical investigator in the office, and Brian was happy to be assigned to him for his two weeks of ride-along.

"Neighbors smelled something rotten in Denmark, a.k.a. The van Bremer Apartments. Super used his key and came out horking."

"Hazmat?"

"I would definitely agree with that."

The van Bremer Apartments were much like any old building in Manhattan. Kinda grimy, no doorman; but there were a bunch of cop cars blocking the street much to the consternation of other vehicles.

Brian and Mitch Vargo were nodded in by a cop at the door. "Stinky," he mouthed, looking slightly green at the gills.

xxxxx

As the two men climbed the stairs to the fourth floor, the odor of decomposition mixed with onions frying became stronger. "You okay, Belden?" Vargo queried. He'd seen even the most stoic rookie M.E. overcome by the sickening scent of rotting flesh.

"I'm okay." He was, too. He didn't mention that this wasn't the first time he'd been around a decaying body, thanks to his wife and sister. Growing up next to a vast nature preserve helped, too. There were many times they stumbled upon dead creatures returning to the earth.

Another police officer stood outside the door to the apartment. "Good luck. Looks like the body has been there for a while."

xxxxx

The two men were dressed in hazmat suits without the head covering. Before they moved the decedent, they need to view the scene without the distraction of a helmet covering their faces.

The sickly-sweet odor grew stronger by the second. Vargo went straight through to the bedroom, but Brian lingered a millisecond behind him. The apartment was a typical miniscule New York flat, carved out of this pre-war building to get the most rabbit warrens in there as was legally permissible.

The living area was tiny but clean. The kitchen area was spotless, gleaming with carefully tended wooden cabinets from a bygone era. Just beyond was a bathroom and the bedroom.

The decedent was male, or so they were told. Brian surveyed the scene with his practiced eyes. Well, maybe not yet a full-fledged M.E. – after all, he was only there in a fellowship – but those of a detective, one trained by two of the best detectives in the world.

One glance revealed that the small room was as immaculate as the rest of the flat, except for the glassine bags and used syringes scattered on the floor.

And, of course, the deceased.

Brian stepped closer and heard a loud crunch. "Casings from the insect pupae," Vargo remarked as if every day a person stepped on the shells of thousands of hatched flies.

The body was squirming with insect activity, although the room was cold. "Been here a while," Brian remarked to no-one. Body fluids had leaked onto the rug and seemed dry.

"Can't tell anything right now, other than Ivan Cherensky is most certainly deceased. It appears to be an overdose. He'll be autopsied back at the morgue."

"I don't know about that," Brian said slowly.

Vargo glanced up. "What do you mean? I don't usually jump to conclusions, but…" he waved a hand, indicating the drug paraphernalia.

"It just doesn't fit," Brian said. "This apartment is squeaky clean. Look, the bed is made, no dirty dishes, even Cherensky's clothes are immaculate. All these syringes and envelopes… it doesn't add up."

Vargo rolled his eyes. Heaven help him with rookies who watch too many CSI reruns.

"Some of the nicest people are drug addicts, Belden."

"Yeah, they are," Brian agreed. "But this just does not fit."

"Look around, Belden. See if you can find a suicide note or empty pill bottles, more drugs. Donovan and I need to bag Mr. Cherensky here."

Brian knew he was being dismissed, but something about the death felt… hinky, as Honey would say. He began a systematic search of the apartment, from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom through the dust bunnies under the IKEA-built chest; the stuff spoiling in the fridge, right down to what was under his sink.

Nothing popped out. There were no other drugs, no syringes. Hell, there wasn't even a bottle of aspirin.

There wasn't a wallet, either.

Now that was strange.

"Hey Vargo, does Mr. Cherensky have his wallet on him?" Brian asked. Vargo and Donovan were wrapping towels around the extremities before the prepared to move him.

"No, he doesn't. It might be underneath the body."

"Why the towels?"

"It's easier to lift the body with towels rather grab them by the ankles or arms. With decomps, the skin gets loose and can slough off in your hands."

The two men, used to this, worked in harmony and lifted the body, placing it gently in the body bag. Brian stared at the large pool of body fluids, now the color of the oil he put in his car back home. There were tons of insects squirming underneath, but no wallet.

A few minutes later, they were finally free of the sad scene and putrid stench. As they rode back to the morgue, Vargo turned to Brian. "Why do you think it was something other than a run-of-the-mill OD, Belden?"

Brian shrugged. "A little intuition, a little observation. As I said, the apartment was immaculate. The decedent didn't even have so much as a bottle of Bayer. All healthy foods in the fridge and in the cabinets. No liquor, just a can of craft beer."

"You're a scientist. Intuition has no part in this."

"The bedroom was small. You would think if he fell off the bed or passed out after overdosing, he would have hit the nightstand. His phone, lamp, and alarm clock, and remote would be scattered on the floor. Maybe even the table would be titled or over on its side. There was none of that. But it did look like it had been moved."

"The table? How do you know that?"

"There were grooves in the carpet where it used to be. Now, Mr. Cherensky seems like he was an OCD sort. A place for everything, everything in its place. I think the table was moved by someone."

Vargo began to chuckle. "You think this is a homicide?"

"I do," Brian said, deadly serious.

"Oh, Belden, you got a lot to learn."

xxxxxxx

A few weeks later, Vargo came again to grab Brian for a ride-along. Floater, this time. It would be a good experience for the kid. They'd had a few routine deaths. The odd ones were the real learning experience.

Vargo observed Brian, the other man's face intently focused on the computer screen.

"Belden, we have another one. East River."

Brian looked up. "Okay. Just let me finish this sentence." He typed quickly and saved.

Vargo knew he had to tell Belden. "You were right, you know."

"I was? About what?"

"About the homicide in the van Bremer Apartments. Mr., ah, Cherensky. Tox revealed no drugs in the body. The hyoid bone was broken, indicating he was strangled."

"Really?"

"Yeah. The scene was staged. How did you figure that out?"

Brian smiled and began walking to the waiting van. "Ever hear of a place called The Locard Society?"