American forensics, but the gourmet system

The apartment kitchen was filled with thick white steam late at night.

After thanking Russell, the blue-eyed girl unceremoniously took the bowl and chopsticks, picked up a slice of mutton from the bowl, and put it in her mouth to chew.

She swayed happily, her eyes narrowing into slits.

Before she could even swallow the piece of meat in her mouth, she eagerly picked up another piece of raw mutton and put it into the pot to cook.

To Russell's surprise, she was actually quite skilled with chopsticks.

"You're a good person," the girl said sincerely, but her eyes remained fixed on the lamb slices in the pot. "I smelled it in my bedroom, and my drool soaked my pillow... My name is Aina, Aina Calado. Are you my roommate? The landlord told me, um..."

She gasped for breath, and the boiling water from the pot splashed onto the back of her hand. Even so, she didn't put down her chopsticks. Instead, she picked up the cooked mutton slices and put them into her bowl before blowing a few breaths on the back of her hand.

"My name is Russell." Russell didn't have a bad impression of this girl who was essentially a foodie, but he sped up the stirring of the dipping sauce so he wouldn't miss out on the remaining lamb slices. "Welcome to stay here, but my schedule is a bit irregular, and I might occasionally be a bit of a germaphobe..."

"Great!" Aina jumped up and down lightly, smiling as she picked up the third slice of lamb and put it into the pot. "I also like to draw at night, and my last roommate was Indian. She was really... I don't mean any discrimination, I just complained that she wasn't very clean..."

"Are you a painter?"

Russell finally finished mixing his seasoning, and a third of the first plate of hand-cut mutton slices had already disappeared.

He quickly picked up a slice of mutton, silently counting as he cooked it:

...Three, two, one...

The mutton was blanched, then coated with a dipping sauce. The aroma of the meat mingled with the flavor of the sauce, bursting in Russell's mouth, making his stomach seem to groan with pleasure...

"Illustrator." Aina's answer was noticeably shorter. She stared intently at Russell's lamb slices, which had been cooked late but taken out of the pot early, and asked, "Why did you only cook that piece of meat for a dozen seconds? Was it cooked?"

"Just right."

Russell was also concise and to the point.

……

  

The two pounds of lamb slices were quickly devoured by the two men. Russell ate a few less slices, but overall they were about evenly matched.

"You're quite adept with chopsticks," Russell said to Aina as he poured cabbage and enoki mushrooms into the pot. "Do you often eat Chinese food, Aina?"

Aina's attention finally shifted from the pot to Russell's face.

She smiled brightly:

"My grandfather was from Hebei, China... When I was little, he often cooked Chinese food for me. The dish I remember most vividly is..."

Aina pointed to the hot pot and said in fluent Chinese:

"Hot pot lamb".

"Wow, your Chinese is excellent." Russell was a little surprised. "But we don't usually call this a dish."

"Well, I don't know much about it," Aina shrugged, "but I remember the taste vividly... it tasted exactly like I remember it, even better..."

Before Aina could finish speaking, a light screen popped out in front of Russell.

[Detection indicates the host has received genuine praise from a customer]

[Reward: Recipe "Braised Beef" - The beef is a glossy, dark reddish-brown color throughout. When sliced, the meat is a deep brown, with translucent amber-colored connective tissue and distinct layers of marbling. The flavor is predominantly rich and savory, with a prominent natural beef aroma. Achieving optimal texture and flavor requires strong control over the cooking time and temperature.]

A deluge of information relentlessly enters the brain.

Russell paused for a moment.

But Aina didn't notice anything amiss because she started taking the cooked vegetables out of the hot pot.

After finishing the pot of food, the two were still a little unsatisfied, so Russell took out a bag of dried bean curd left by his roommate from the refrigerator and cooked it in the same pot.

Food tastes better when you're fighting over it.

This conclusion was drawn by Russell when he was raising mice during his master's studies at Johns Hopkins University.

After finishing the late-night snack, Aina rubbed her hands a little shyly and asked Russell how much money he should give her.

Russell generously stated that Aina didn't need to pay; she just needed to clean the dishes.

"No problem, it's what I should do."

Aina snapped her fingers and went to wash the pots while humming a song.

Russell went back to his room to sleep with a clear conscience.

……

Nine o'clock, North Brooklyn, third floor of the NYPD Criminal Investigation Complex.

Russell yawned as he stepped off the elevator and bumped into a middle-aged white agent in his forties. He had a fairly thick head of brown curly hair, unlike Captain Hansen, who had lost his hair at a young age.

"Good morning, Marty..."

Russell nodded to him.

This is Marty Cohen, a senior detective and one of the members of the Major Crimes Unit. He has a noticeable scar on his cheek, a mark left by a bullet.

The assailant's 9mm bullet entered Marty's cheek, passed through his tongue and jaw, and exited just short of his carotid artery.

The unfortunate thing is that the bullet made Marty's speech somewhat slurred.

In Marty's own words, his tongue is now as stiff as a stone.

Good morning, Dr. Lasso.

Marty pronounced Russell's name as "laso," but Russell was already used to it.

However, Russell couldn't hear Marty's next words clearly, and could only guess that the suspect arrested last night was now in the interrogation room, along with Captain Hansen and two other detectives.

"We've been up all night," Marty concluded wearily. "But he still won't say why he killed someone... I need to get another coffee. Do you want some, Lasso? I can get you one."

"Thank you, Marty." Russell waved the paper bag in his hand. "I brought you all coffee."

Russell asked Marty to bring the coffee to the interrogation room, then sat down at his desk against the wall and turned on his computer.

The interrogation had little to do with Russell; his current task was to write and compile a complete set of forensic reports, which would serve as evidence to convict the criminal in the interrogation room.

Soon, a bunch of photos that would need to be blurred if shown in public appeared on Russell's computer screen.

Russell carefully selected from them, annotated them in detail, and wrote a report on them meticulously.

For forensic pathologists, the most complicated task is not autopsies, but dealing with the complex paperwork and reports that follow.

Russell desperately wanted the system to pop up at this moment and give him a skill to quickly handle paperwork.

But the system seemed to have vanished into thin air, remaining silent.

It probably doesn't like writing reports either.

After what seemed like an eternity, Russell finally looked up from his computer, his neck and shoulders cracking. As he turned his neck to ease his muscles, he saw Jesse emerge from the interrogation room.

Jesse's eyes were vacant, and his legs were unsteady, like a male stray cat that had spent the whole night out.

It's still a black cat.

"I don't understand..." Jesse shrugged at Russell. "That guy admitted to killing Joey, but he won't say a word about why he did it... I can't take it anymore, I need to go to my car and sleep..."

"Good night."

Russell nodded to Jesse.