American forensics, but the gourmet system

Criminal Investigation Center.

The snake plant outside the interrogation room, having escaped Jesse's torment, regained its glossy, vibrant appearance, trembling slightly like freshly cut subcutaneous fat.

Russell walked over and poured a glass of water into the flowerpot. He glanced at Marty, who was threatening the thief with harsh words in the interrogation room, Diaz, who was threatening the thief without saying a word, and Jesse, who was threatening the thief with a dark face, and then turned and walked into Captain Hansen's office.

"Russell?" Captain Hansen looked up at him in surprise. "I thought you were off work... Is there something you need?"

"Hmm..." Russell scratched his head, organizing his thoughts. "It's like this, Captain. There's a $30,000 reward for that unsolved leg amputation case..."

Captain Hansen immediately understood Russell's meaning. He sat up straight and asked Russell with a smile:

"You want to ask me how to allocate this money?"

"Yes." Russell nodded. "I feel that everyone on the team has contributed to solving the case, but I don't have similar experience and don't know how to allocate resources..."

"Have you calculated how much tax you should pay on this money?" Captain Hansen asked. "You need to file your taxes first—federal tax, state tax, New York City tax—and also take into account your annual income..."

Russell blinked:

"not yet……"

Captain Hansen continued to ask:

"Of course, and as you said, everyone made contributions. Besides the team members, would you consider sharing some of the money with the crime scene technician, the police dog handler, the police dog Luodor, and that beagle named Kay?"

Russell gradually understood what Captain Hansen meant:

"Captain, you mean...?"

“You don’t need to share the money with anyone.” Captain Hansen shrugged. “I’ve seen the bounty. The condition is that you can get the $30,000 if you help the NYPD or the New York Medical Examiner’s Office identify the deceased. You did it all by yourself… Oh, Jesse might have helped a little, but he received a team commendation, which is more than enough to reward his efforts.”

Russell was surprised to hear Captain Hansen's opinion.

But upon closer reflection, what he said seems to make a lot of sense.

If we were to actually allocate this money, there would be too many trivial matters to consider.

There's an old American saying: "It's not that I'm afraid of getting too few dollars, it's that I'm afraid of getting dollars unevenly."

If this money is not distributed equally, some people might complain.

If this money is distributed equally, how can it reflect the different contributions made by each person?

Russell thanked Captain Hansen and walked out of the office with a relaxed air, ready to pack up and leave work.

He had just received a message from Aina asking when he would be home; they had arranged to go to the gym together after get off work today.

A week has passed since the arrest of the silicone doll, and in that week, Russell and Aina went to the gym together three times.

According to the system's statistics on "Practice Makes Perfect," Russell's physical fitness is slowly improving. Russell himself doesn't feel much difference, but at least his sleep quality improves after training...

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Russell slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed towards the elevator.

In the interrogation room, the three musketeers were still scaring the thief, completely unaware that several thousand dollars had approached them and then slipped away.

Russell decided that at the next celebration party, he would also treat them to a round of drinks as compensation.

……

At the gym.

Aina was wearing light brown tight shorts and a cropped T-shirt, sweating profusely on the treadmill.

Russell had just finished a set of shoulder presses and sat on the bench, a little exhausted, watching Aina's back.

Her long, deep red hair was tied in a ponytail, swaying behind her; sweat beaded on her slender waist, soaking the top of her tight pants; her round, pert buttocks…

Hey, bro.

A muscular, dark-skinned man with arms as thick as Russell's calves approached, interrupting Russell's daydreams.

Russell looked at him with displeasure.

But this dark-skinned man was clearly not good at reading people; he said to Russell in a mysterious tone:

"I've noticed you've been coming here a lot for strength training lately, bro... I know you're a fitness newbie, looking to build muscle? I have some really effective supplements here. If you use them, along with just a little effort, you can build muscles like mine..."

The black man flexed his biceps, stretching the Christ image on his arm out of shape.

"Steroids?"

Russell frowned and asked.

"You know your stuff." The burly man quietly gave Russell a thumbs up. "Of course, if you want, there's also testosterone, clobutrazol, growth hormone... Just a few injections a day and you can build huge muscles... What girl wouldn't like that?"

Russell recalled that the third body he dissected after joining the medical examiner's office was a bodybuilder who had overdosed on drugs...

The man's heart had swelled to twice its normal size due to medication, and his blood vessels were severely narrowed, with fresh blood clots visible everywhere.

The liver and kidneys were also abnormally enlarged; the liver turned a nauseating yellowish-green, and the surface of the kidneys showed obvious granular hardening changes.

However, not all organs swell; his testicles, on the other hand, shrank.

Even if some girl did like him, he'd probably be powerless to win her over...

Russell would certainly not use his own body as a guinea pig for drug testing.

He cleared his throat and said to the dark-skinned man:

"I am a Forensic Pathologist."

The dark-skinned man blinked innocently and asked:

"What is that?"

These two words seemed a bit too profound for him.

Russell took a deep breath:

"I cooperate with the police..."

The burly man jumped up as if he'd been electrocuted, his innocent expression turning to terror.

"Just pretend I didn't say anything... Sorry, bro. I just wanted to make a little money..."

He walked away quickly, leaving behind a lingering, unpleasant stench of sweat.

Russell thought for a moment, but did not take out his phone to call the police.

Although the United States passed the Steroid Control Act in the 1990s, classifying the sale of steroids as a felony of drug trafficking.

In reality, these steroid sellers usually escape punishment unless they are caught red-handed by patrol officers.

Even the fitness enthusiasts within the police department are using these things to help build muscle...

Russell certainly wouldn't want to cause trouble for himself.

He just needs to use his status to deter these people; otherwise, every time Russell comes to the gym, he gets bombarded with drug sales pitches by these guys. That's really annoying.

"What did that muscular guy say to you?"

Aina walked over from the treadmill, wiping her sweat with a towel as she asked Russell.

Perhaps due to her partly Chinese ancestry, Aina doesn't have the body odor commonly found on Caucasians, but she still has the habit of wearing perfume.

Especially before going out, she always sprays on some nice-smelling perfume.

This meant that Russell could always smell a charming little fragrance around Aina...

The gentle breeze from the perfume washed away the stench of sweat left by the dark-skinned man, making Russell feel refreshed and relaxed.

"He admires my muscles and wants to learn fitness from me."

Russell said in a serious tone, showing off his ordinary biceps.

Aina laughed so hard she bent over.

While muttering to himself about not looking at what is improper, Russell instinctively feasted his eyes on the sights.

It really is instinct; you have to trust an honest forensic pathologist.