Braeburn sipped his coffee and stared blankly at the wall. He had pored over the data in his head all night, but there was little to conclude so far. The death of the dinosaurs was a huge change that had benefited many different creatures, so in a way, nearly everyone had a reason to want them dead.
Devereux entered the coffee shop and sat down opposite. "You're supposed to be relaxing."
"I can only relax when murderers are caught and put away for good," Braeburn said.
"And you're fine with what happened with Lancaster? I mean, he was once your partner...and your friend."
"Friends don't become assassins for criminal cabals and use their CSI knowledge to cover their tracks." He smiled at Devereux. "And now I have a new partner...and friend."
Devereux narrowed her eyes. "Really? What's my first name?"
Braeburn shrugged. "That would only be relevant if I knew another Devereux that I needed to distinguish you from." He sank back into thought. "Still, I wonder what those blueprints were about, the ones we found at Lancaster's hideout."
Devereux leaned back in her chair. "Something sinister, no doubt. But it's all over now."
Braeburn placed a dollar on the table and got up. "I haven't heard from Graham, but we might as well go back to the university and see what else we can find."
They headed to Braeburn's car, a simple sedan that was a lot like him--practical, unassuming, able to hold multiple cups. When they were a little way down the road, his phone rang. Braeburn put it on speaker. "Cortland, do you have something for me?"
"Well, I received the mass chromatogram," Cortland said. "That's a graphic representation of mass spectrometry data, where the x-axis is time and the y-axis is--"
"We know what a chromatogram is, Cortland!" Devereux snapped. "Just tell us what you make of it!"
"Well, most of what you sent me appears to be keratin," Cortland said. "That's the material found in the hair and nails of many vertebrates and is also part of the outer layer of--"
Devereux sighed loudly. "We know what keratin is! Anything else?"
"I also found traces of numerous toxins. Toxins are poisonous substances found in--"
"Dammit, Cortland, we know what toxins are!"
"Which toxins did you find?" Braeburn asked.
"Tetrodotoxin. Tyramine. Dopamine. Maybe a few others."
"Any guesses at what this thing was?"
"Not really," Cortland said. "Sounds like some sort of poisoned claw, but I can't think of any animal like that. Keratin is found in invertebrates, but the few that are poisonous deliver venom through their teeth. But I found one other oddity. There was just a trace of chitin, which is what makes up the hard parts of many invertebrates, such as the shells of clams and the exoskeletons of insects."
"Wow, I didn't know that," Devereux said sarcastically. "That was very interesting."
"Really?" Cortland asked.
"NO!" Devereux yelled and pressed "end" on Braeburn's phone. "Grah! He annoys me so much! So what do you think it means?"
"Can't be sure," Braeburn said. "But if Graham found something else, maybe we can put this all together."
There were police cars near the paleontology building with their lights flashing and doors open. "What's going on?" Devereux exclaimed as they got out of the car.
Braeburn recognized the large figure of Detective Kowalski, who was talking to a very distraught-looking Carl Stayman on the lawn. Behind them, police were rolling a body bag on a stretcher out of the building. A young-looking cop was vomiting by some bushes.
"Rookies," Kowalski chuckled as he pointlessly tried to straighten his rumpled suit with his sausage-like fingers. "We always warn them about the discount sushi restaurant next to the station, but they never listen. So what are you doing here, Braeburn?"
Braeburn glanced uneasily at the covered body. "We were working with a Dr. Graham Smith here in the paleontology department."
"Graham shot himself!" Carl cried. "I found him in the lab. He wrote a note on his computer saying that he faked data, and...I guess he took his life over it."
"Suicide?" Braeburn looked at Kowalski. "You sure?"
Kowalski shrugged. "Seems pretty clear-cut, but we have some of you science guys looking at the scene." He rolled his eyes. "Never understood all this DNA stuff. Back in the day, we used to just find the most likely suspect and beat him with a phonebook until he confessed."
Devereux looked shocked. "I don't think you're supposed to beat people with phonebooks."
"Then why do they keep sending them?" Kowalski asked. "I use the internet to look up phone numbers like everyone else, toots."
"I've told you not to call me that!" Devereux yelled. "And how do you even know my middle name?"
"Can we look at the crime scene?" Braeburn asked.
Kowalski shrugged. "I guess. But since you've recently been working with the guy, we have to treat you like a suspect. So don't go tampering with any incriminating evidence while you're in there."
It wasn't easy for Braeburn losing a friend--though it had happened to him many, many times. And his friends almost always died in very dramatic fashion--often necessitating the need for vengeance afterward.
They found two CSIs processing the scene. "Oh, no," Devereux grumbled. "Not them."
It was VanHoose and Desdemona. Vanhoose had slicked-back hair and was wearing a light suit with a pastel pink shirt and smoking a cigarette. Desdemona, with dyed black hair, black nails, and black lipstick, was in her usual black corset and was raiding the lab's cabinets for snacks.
VanHoose waved his iPhone around the crime scene. "Beep. Beep. Huh. I'm suddenly detecting a trace of loser." He looked at Braeburn with one of the expressions that had earned him the award for "Most Punchable Face" in high school.
The woman giggled as she opened a bag of Fritos. Desdemona cultivated a look somewhere between sexy and scary and adjacent to disturbing. "And it's the bleached blonde CSI cheerleader." Desdemona waved invisible pom-poms, spilling some of her corn chips on the ground. "Go team! Solve that murder!"
Devereux clenched her fists. "They shouldn't dismiss me as a cheerleader just because I try to motivate people with rhyming chants and choreographed dances when we're stuck on a case," she muttered.
Braeburn looked at the two CSIs. "Hello VanHoose. Desdemona. What have you found?"
"We already solved this one, because we're awesome," VanHoose said. "It looks like he was murdered..." He put on sunglasses. "...by himself."
"You mean suicide?"
"I call it self-murder, and it counts as a murder solved! All the evidence--" VanHoose turned and walked into a table. "I shouldn't wear sunglasses inside," he mumbled as he took off his glasses. "Anyway, all the evidence points to suicide--gunpowder burns and whatnot. Plus he left a note on the computer over there..." He pointed to a computer next to a chalk outline on the floor. Blood splatter was on the desk. "...saying he was going to kill himself--also consistent with suicide. So...murder solved!"
He turned to Desdemona and high-fived her. "That puts us way ahead of you two jokers in the annual murder-solving competition."
"That's not actually a thing," Braeburn said.
"That's loser talk, loser! Anyway, I think we're done here."
Desdemona opened a can of soda and held it away from her as it overflowed and spilled onto the floor. "We'll call this one 'the case of the dumb dinosaur guy who offed himself because dinosaurs are dumb and stupid and dead.'"
"Please be more respectful," Braeburn said. "He was a friend of mine."
Desdemona giggled. "Guess we have a motive for suicide, then."
"Oh! Burn!" VanHoose exclaimed. "You got him good! High-five!" He slapped Desdemona's hand in another ritualistic display.
"You're not supposed to high-five at crime scenes," Braeburn said. "It can cause contamination of the evidence."
"Yeah, we play by our own rules!" VanHoose shouted. "Because we're awesome!"
"Sometimes I pick up evidence with my mouth," Desdemona said.
"And because you don't play by the rules," Braeburn explained, "you often get your evidence thrown out in court."
VanHoose rolled his eyes. "Who cares? It's not like anything is going to happen to us; we're union. Anyway, we just got called about a new case. They found a dead body at Covington Estates, but get this--the guy's eyes were exploded. Sounds awesome."
"Oh, that does sound good," Devereux said.
"Yeah!" VanHoose exclaimed. "And we're going to solve the hell out of it!" He high-fived Desdemona again.
"I just love murder," Desdemona said. "One day, I think I'm going to commit some."
"As long as these two idiots are assigned to your case..." VanHoose gestured to Braeburn and Devereux. "...you'll never get caught."
Desdemona laughed. "Unless I commit a murder that can be solved with pole dancing."
"Hey!" Devereux exclaimed. "I only posed as a stripper to help with a case! Sure, the strip joint ended up having nothing to do with the murder, but I used the money I made to buy the office a new espresso machine!"
The two just laughed. Then VanHoose's face turned grave. "Seriously, though, I'm sorry about your friend, Braeburn."
"Thanks. He--"
VanHoose laughed. "Just kidding! I don't care!" He turned to Desdemona. "Ha! Got him good!" They high-fived and left the lab.
Devereux turned to Braeburn. "Those two are the worst human beings in the history of everything."
"They can rub people the wrong way."
She looked at him with concern. "Hey, does it ever get weird for you, being around Desdemona?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, she's the twin sister of your ex-wife, who turned out to be a foreign spy who betrayed you to the Russian mob and then apparently died in a plane crash."
Braeburn shrugged. "I never think about it." He walked over to the computer.
"I'm really sorry about your friend," Devereux said, looking over the blood-splattered desk. "So was this murder-of-the-dinosaurs thing really just a hoax?"
"I wouldn't think Graham would do such a thing, but I guess it's a more plausible explanation than that there really is an animal out there that's been hiding its intelligence for millions of years." A Glock 17 lay on the ground, also splattered in blood. Next to the computer was a pad of paper; a pen lay on it, and a few unintelligible words were scribbled at the top.
"Guess he started to go the traditional route on the suicide note," Devereux said, "but changed his mind. No one handwrites a letter anymore."
Braeburn tried to discern what Graham had started to write, but the ink was too smudged. He looked at the note onscreen and read it aloud. "'I'm a fraud. I wanted to finally make a famous discovery, so I started faking evidence. That's when I realized how pointless my life has been. I apologize to all those I hurt.'"
"So is he saying the thing encased in amber is fake?" Devereux asked.
"It would be hard to fake petrified amber."
"Maybe it really is just something simple, then," Devereux said. "Just a weird claw...that maybe crushed a poisonous bug, which is why the other trace is there."
Braeburn rubbed his chin. "You said you're sure it was machine-tooled and had been fired through a rifled barrel."
"Well yes..." Devereux looked around the room to make sure no one else was there and then whispered, "but I'm wrong all the time."
*
The atmosphere at Applebees was drearier than usual. Devereux worked quietly at her salad while Braeburn sat in thought, not even touching his Bourbon Street Chicken & Shrimp.
"Know what might cheer you up?" Devereux said. "Let's grab some pipes, lead VanHoose and Desdemona into a dark alley, and totally go to town on them."
"Assault doesn't usually cheer me up. Only solving crimes."
"We'll have a new one to solve soon," Devereux said. "I bet you'll be cleared on the Lancaster thing by next week. You should be happy about that. He was nearly perfect at covering his tracks, but luckily you found that small trace of soil that led us right to his hideout by the river."
"Yeah, lucky I guess. Luckier would have been bringing him in alive."
Devereux frowned. "He deserved what he got. At least one of his booby-trapped crime scenes didn't take us out."
Her phone rang. She grimaced as she answered it. "It's Dumbleton. What do you want, Chief? We're in the middle of some important work right now."
"Oh...well...I just wanted to check on you two. See...uh...Braeburn is supposed to be taking time off because of the...um...shooting, but I heard he tasked Cortland to analyze something and...and now he was at a crime scene this morning."
Devereux sighed loudly."We don't have to explain to you what we're doing on our own personal time, so why don't you not be the world's biggest nazi douchebag and stop questioning us about it."
"Oh...well...uh...that's another thing. Braeburn is on administrative leave, but you aren't, so you're really supposed to be working an assigned case right now..."
"Are you done rambling?" Devereux demanded. "Because you're really boring me, and I want to get back to my meal."
"I thought...um...you said you were in the middle of important work."
"Eating is important!" Devereux shouted. "If you don't eat, you starve to death! How do you not know this? You have to be the dumbest human being that ever lived. No wonder your wife left you." Devereux hung up. "Grah! I hate our boss!" She fumed at Braeburn. "He's always..." She twirled her finger in the air as if it were a loading icon for her brain. "...talking to us."
"You need to show more respect for authority," Braeburn said.
"Hey, I come from a time when everyone questioned authority."
Braeburn raised an eyebrow. "When was that?"
Devereux thought for a moment. "The '90s."
They ate quietly for a few more moments. Braeburn then asked, "So what did you think of this whole dinosaur case?"
Devereux shrugged. "I thought it was nonsense from the start. I mean... killers from 65 million years ago? The earth is only thousands of years old."
"You're a young earth creationist? But you work with science every day."
"Hey, I've worked tons of murder cases. This is the first one where the age of the earth came up. Anyway, I just don't believe it all; maybe everything isn't really old but just looks it."
Devereux went back to her salad while Braeburn continued to stare at nothing quietly. Devereux broke the silence. "Maybe it's time we finally address the obvious sexual tension between us."
Braeburn suddenly rose to his feet. "I know who the killer is."
"Oh...did my comment about how things aren't old but might only look old help put everything into place?"
Braeburn shook his head. "No. I wasn't listening to you. Let's get back to the university." He headed for the exit.
Devereux idly moved a leaf of lettuce with her fork. "I guess I'll pay, then."
*
"Um...hey again," Carl said as they marched into the biology department.
"Did you tell anyone or anything about the case we were working on?" Braeburn demanded.
Carl stood up from his desk. "Oh, come on. You're still on that? It was a little funny before; now it's just depressing."
"Just answer the question."
"I told Sally, the boa constrictor. You think she murdered the dinosaurs?"
Devereux drew her gun. "It does make sense." She slowly approached the large case in which the boa lay curled up. "Snakes have been thought of as evil forever. Maybe that's because they really are secret schemers--something people knew long ago but have since forgotten."
Carl walked over toward the case and gestured at Sally. "How is a snake going to do anything? It doesn't have any limbs. Please don't shoot my snake."
"Not the snake," Braeburn said as he approached the aquarium opposite the boa. He peered inside, but what he was looking for was no longer there. All he saw was the label on the glass: Mr. Squishy.
Suddenly he heard a loud thud behind him. He quickly turned and drew his weapon. Carl lay unconscious on the ground. Above him stood Devereux. An octopus had wrapped two of its arms around her waist and two more around each of her arms. In another of its arms, it had Devereux's gun, easily identified by the pink rubberized grip, pointed at her head, and in yet another was a second gun pointed at Braeburn. Its last two arms were doing a slow clap. "So you silly little apes figured it out?" the octopus said, its mantle and eyes peeking out from behind Devereux's head.
Braeburn kept his gun pointed at the large, dark eyes of Mr. Squishy. "I assume Graham was on the right path, too, which is why you killed him. You were too cutesy, though, in trying to cover up the note he was writing. A modern ballpoint pen has quick-drying ink and is hard to smudge like that...unlike the ink of a cephalopod."
Mr. Squishy chuckled. "So you realized an octopus has ink--good detective work, Encyclopedia Brown."
"I always said I wasn't going to be that woman," Devereux muttered to herself, "the one who gets captured and has to be rescued by her male partner."
"It wasn't just the ink," Braeburn continued, holding his gun steady. "The rest of the evidence fit as well. Octopuses have been around since the time of dinosaurs and haven't evolved much since then, and the versatility of your arms makes it plausible you would be able to craft and use weaponry."
"People think it's all about opposable thumbs," Mr. Squishy said, "but octopus arms are even more adaptable. They make your stupid little hands look like children's toys."
Braeburn moved sideways, keeping his gun aimed at the octopus's head. "And the suction cups on your arms contain tiny, chitinous teeth, hence the chitin trace on the bullet. I'll bet we find some on the gun that killed Graham."
Mr. Squishy narrowed his eyes. "I guess someone has been watching Animal Planet."
"Plus, Carl mentioned something about tool use in cephalopods, and I remembered seeing a YouTube video of an octopus carrying around coconut shells to use as shelter," Braeburn said.
"Everyone thinks vertebrates are the be-all, end-all of intelligence," Mr. Squishy said. "But some of us took different evolutionary paths and are better for it. I assure you we can do a lot more than schlep around coconuts. But as you've probably figured out, we like to keep our abilities hidden."
"And that's the only part I haven't figured out," Braeburn said. "Why kill the dinosaurs? If you're so intent on being left alone, why take a large, obvious action like that?"
Mr. Squishy laughed. "Yes, I can see you little monkeys furrowing your brows, but let me explain it this way: Kill one, it's a murder. Wipe out thousands of species entirely, and it's a normal mass extinction. It wasn't even the dinosaurs we were really after."
"Is there any way this squid could get off me and you guys could continue this discussion elsewhere?" Devereux asked.
"I'm not a squid!" Mr. Squishy shouted, pressing the one gun closer to Devereux's temple. "That's like me referring to you as a tarsier."
"I don't even know what that is!" Devereux yelled.
"It's a big-eyed monkey," Braeburn explained.
"He called me a big-eyed monkey?" Devereux looked angry now. "If I weren't Caucasian, that would be really racist!"
"Calm down, Devereux," Braeburn said softly. "Let the octopus explain himself. You said it wasn't the dinosaurs you meant to kill?"
"No, they just got in the way. We were after the large marine reptiles, like the plesiosaur. They were becoming too dominant, and we decided it was time to cull them."
"Wait, a plesiosaur isn't a dinosaur?" Devereux said. "But it has a long neck like a brontosaurus and has 'saur' in its name!"
"It just isn't, okay?" Mr. Squishy said sharply. "And brontosaurus isn't considered an actual dinosaur name. What you're thinking of is called an apatosaurus."
"Whatever!" Devereux yelled. "Just get your stupid tentacles off me!"
"I don't have tentacles!" Mr. Squishy jammed the gun against her head again. "I have arms. A squid has tentacles."
"Let's calm down here," Braeburn said. "We only want to understand."
"I'm not sure your little mammal brains are developed enough for that," Mr. Squishy said. "We octopuses like to live an existence free from interference--especially from anything on land. So when we decided to eliminate some species that were in our way, we figured the best way to do it was to kill lots of species and time it with the impending meteor impact. That way, if some future intelligent creature arose and looked into the earth's history, it would just seem like a normal mass extinction event. We specifically designed our poison bullets so they'd fragment on impact, and if any of them were preserved, it would look like a piece of a claw or something innocuous. The only problem was, we didn't realize how much future generations of young primates would love reading about dinosaurs, and thus how much attention they would receive. So we made plans to continue the cover-up."
Braeburn tried to keep a bead on the octopus, but he kept shifting his position behind Devereux. "Really? You're going to kill humans to help cover up your original crime? More murder to cover murder?"
Mr. Squishy laughed. "Many of us are abyssal creatures, so you don't know how low we can go. And don't think you'll be only the second time this has happened. There were a few other times we decided certain species had to go. Let's just say sloths should be a certain size and no larger."
"I don't think this is a path you want to go down," Braeburn said. "Humans will put up much more of a fight than dinosaurs."
"On the contrary, I think you'll die even easier." Mr. Squishy's eyes squinted as if he were smiling. "Our plan has already been in effect for decades, and you people haven't caught on yet. It's so diabolical that it's hard not to be the talking villain and tell everyone about it. For it's the perfect murder, as the victims will blame themselves for their own deaths."
Braeburn frowned. "What have you done?"
"We're the ones behind climate change!" Mr. Squishy exclaimed. "It's a slow way to kill you, but it will do. And if, millions of years from now, some new intelligent creature evolves and looks into the extinction of humanity, he'll only find a cautionary tale about caring for the environment."
"I don't believe in global warming," Devereux said. "It's a bunch of made-up nonsense."
"We call it 'climate change' now!" Mr. Squishy emphasized his words by tapping the gun barrel against Devereux's temple. "And the science indisputably points to it being man-made--I know, because I helped plant the evidence! Oh, it will be so nice to be rid of you humans; you've been nothing but trouble since you descended from the trees."
"Are you implying we evolved from apes?" Devereux asked. "Because I don't believe in that either."
"Shut up!" Mr. Squishy pressed the gun harder to Devereux's temple.
"So what now, Mr. Squishy?" Braeburn asked.
"Well, I was entertaining the idea of shooting you both and the scientist here." He motioned with a free arm to the unconscious Carl. "I'd make it look like he blamed you for Dr. Smith's death and then killed you before taking his own life."
Braeburn carefully looked at the octopus through his gun sights. "You try something like that, and it will not end well. Just so you know, I have nothing against shooting animals. I once shot a monkey."
"Twice," Devereux corrected him.
"The second wasn't a clean shooting," Braeburn said. "I don't like to talk about it."
Mr. Squishy scoffed. "Like you know enough biology to know where the kill shot is on an octopus. Still, another 'suicide' seems sloppy, so I'll make you a deal. Get me that bullet in amber, and if I leave with that, you two are free to go. With that piece of evidence destroyed, you'll just be two nutballs ranting about a talking octopus. And the whole climate change thing most likely won't get really bad until after your lifetimes anyway."
"You'll let my partner go?"
"Don't give in to him!" Devereux said. "He's weird and slimy, and I think he's wrong about global warming!"
"Or I could just shoot you both." He waved one gun at Braeburn while pressing the other into Devereux's head. "People will get suspicious, but they probably won't suspect dinosaur-murdering octopuses. And I'll be long gone before anyone knows to look for me. We octopuses are masters of disguise." With a free arm he put on a fake mustache and a black wig. "So just do as I say and don't try me, Braeburn. We octopuses like to live fast and die young."
"Okay. I'll get the amber. It's in Dr. Stayman's office." Braeburn headed to the office, keeping his eyes and gun on Mr. Squishy, who forced Devereux to follow. Once inside, they moved to the locker with the padlock.
"Open it!" Mr. Squishy demanded.
"Let me get the combination." Braeburn pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and looked at it, still keeping a gun on the octopus. "Apparently for extra security, Graham wrote down the combination in the form of a riddle. 'Three pie-men came down Mulberry Way, each with a sack of...'"
"Just shoot the lock," Devereux sighed.
"It might be fun to solve," Braeburn said.
"Just shoot it. I want Squishy-Gropey off me."
"I'm not taking my gun off him," Braeburn said.
"You have two guns," Devereux told Mr. Squishy. "Just keep one on me and shoot the lock with the other."
The octopus hesitated. "I saw on Mythbusters that shooting locks doesn't work."
"I've shot locks many times," Devereux said.
"Someone could hear the gunshot," Mr. Squishy said.
"If someone comes in I'll just tell him I saw a bug and got scared and shot at it. Then I'll bat my eyes and giggle, and that will be that."
"It could deflect."
Devereux rolled her eyes. "If you're going to be an octopussy about it, just give me the gun and I'll do it."
"Fine. But one false move, and you go the way of the dinosaurs."
Mr. Squishy loosened his grip on Devereux's arms and handed her the gun, keeping the other at her head. Braeburn stood back quietly, keeping careful aim on the octopus.
"I want my own gun." She motioned to the gun with the pink grip Mr. Squishy was pointing at her.
"That gun is fine. Just shoot the lock."
Devereux held the gun loosely, pointing it upward and looking at its side. "Is there a safety?"
"The safety is off!" the octopus shouted. "Just point it and--"
The gun went off in Devereux's hand, firing upward. The emergency sprinkler over her head shattered, spraying water down on top of them. As the water doused the octopus, he screamed and fell off Devereux. She turned, stripped the gun from his arm, and proceeded to punch Mr. Squishy repeatedly in the mantle.
"That's it!" she screamed. "You've released the kraken!"
Braeburn put a hand on her shoulder. "I think he's had enough."
"But he's so soft and squishy," Devereux said. "I could punch him all day."
Mr. Squishy jolted up and sprayed ink into Devereux's face. She shrieked and fell backward as the octopus tried to squirm away. Braeburn was quickly over him, though, and pointed his gun down at the cephalopod.
"I don't think so," Braeburn said. "Your first mistake was murdering the dinosaurs. Your second was murdering my friend and making it personal. Now I'm just looking for an excuse to turn you into rubbery sushi." He glanced at Devereux, who was rubbing her ink-covered face. "Good thinking there, Devereux. Being a saltwater creature, getting soaked in fresh water would shock his system, as he'd absorb it too fast."
Devereux smiled. "People think I'm dumb because I'm pretty, but I'm actually of average intelligence." She looked at the quivering octopus. "And how are these guys supposed to defeat us when they have the same vulnerability as those aliens from Signs?" She thought for a moment. "Maybe the ending of that movie wasn't as dumb as I thought."
"I wouldn't go that far," Braeburn said.
"By the way, I thought of something!" Devereux looked excited. "While you two were going on and on about the dinosaurs, I was thinking about Lancaster. That bit of soil we found, the one that led us to his hideout--it was almost too perfect. And Lancaster knew exactly where to plant it so it would seem like we were lucky to find it. He wanted us to find him, and he purposely forced you to shoot him--that was his plan! And we won't find his body in the river, because he's alive! And I know what he's up to.
"The body with the exploded eyes was found at Covington Estates--where many of the workers of the Hillman Corporation live. And why were the eyes exploded? To cover up the fact that Lancaster stole one to get through a retinal scanner. I bet if we DNA-check those eyes, one of them isn't the victim's. But I think it's too late, and Lancaster has already gotten into the Hillman Corporation headquarters and stolen the HX-7 device. That's what the blueprints were about!"
Devereux was quiet for a moment. "And if the body with exploded eyes was Lancaster's work, he may have booby-trapped the crime scene again. That means he could have already murdered VanHoose and Desdemona--which would be awesome, because then they would be dead, and I already solved their murders. So good for me."
Braeburn nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, that does all fit together. Good work, Devereux...but it's not that important right now, considering that humanity faces the threat of being wiped out by hostile marine life."
Devereux frowned. "Of course, when I finally crack open a big case, it's rendered irrelevant by murderous octopi!"
"I think the plural is 'octopuses,'" Braeburn said.
"'Octopodes' is also accepted," Carl said, walking in clutching his head. He looked at his drenched office, the soaked CSIs, and the gun still pointed at the octopus which lay shivering on the ground. He looked quizzically at Devereux. "Are you in blackface?"
"It's octopus ink, jackass."
"And did you glue a mustache to the octopus?"
"It was the octopuses who murdered the dinosaurs," Braeburn explained. "This one murdered Graham--and pistol-whipped you. The octopuses also plan to wipe out all of humanity and are using climate change to do it. Isn't that right, Mr. Squishy?"
The octopus just lay there, barely moving.
Carl was quiet for a few seconds. "Can one of you drive me to the hospital? I'm pretty sure I have a concussion."
"Can't you drive yourself?" Devereux asked. "We're pretty busy here."
"No, because I have a concussion."
Devereux rolled her eyes. "I drive with concussions all the time."
Carl was silent again. "Can you just put Mr. Squishy back in his tank before he dies?" He walked off.
Braeburn looked at the shaking octopus. "That probably is a good idea."
"And we probably should change before we take this to federal authorities." Devereux looked at her wet blouse. "This reminds me of that case where I entered the wet t-shirt competition."
"That wasn't a case."
Devereux smiled proudly. "And I won it." Her expression turned more serious as she looked at Mr. Squishy. "Yeah, we'll definitely need the octopus alive and the amber to prove this to the government so they don't just think we're crazy. You think we can convince people?"
Braeburn nodded. "I'm sure we can. After all, we did catch the suspect red-handed..." Braeburn adjusted his wet tie. "...times eight."
"Good one!" Devereux pulled a black book out of her pocket. "That's going in the quip book!"
*
