American forensics, but the gourmet system

The Ford Transit T350 long-wheelbase, mid-roof modified prison van arrived with a whine, then departed with another whine, taking with it the furrowed brows of Carey Rupert and Captain Hansen.

Captain Hansen looked like he finally breathed a sigh of relief.

"Something's weird," Jesse remarked, watching the departing prison van. "We still haven't figured out the two suicide notes... The handwriting analysis shows both notes were written by Joey himself. This case gives me this feeling like I haven't rinsed off all the shower gel after taking a shower..."

"I think it's highly likely that Carey Rupert forced Joey to write those two suicide notes," Captain Hansen shrugged. "However, if Rupert admits to killing Joey, he'll definitely be spending the rest of his life in Sin Sin Prison."

"Fortunately."

"It's another senior detective in the Major Crimes Unit, Diaz Santos, who said with a grim expression."

Diaz is of Mexican descent, but his family has lived in Brooklyn since his grandfather's generation.

Captain Hansen nodded in agreement, then turned to Jesse and said:

"Same as always, meet at the Irish pub after get off work tonight."

A smile bloomed on Jesse's dark face:

"Okay, boss. I'll go tell Russell and Marty. Hopefully, Marty's palate will allow him a few more whiskeys..."

"Dr. Beckman should also be notified," Captain Hansen added, "but he definitely won't come, I know."

……

At 8 p.m., two middle-aged white men, a young black man, and a serious-looking Mexican man walked into an Irish pub two blocks away from the Brooklyn Criminal Investigation Center.

They were all dressed casually, and Jesse had a shiny metal chain hanging from his jeans.

Captain Hansen glanced around habitually, then led his men to sit down at the bar.

"I'm exhausted." Jesse stretched. "I'd rather catch ten murderers than write a bunch of damn case reports... and I have to keep writing them tomorrow. I really hope the Criminal Investigation Center disappears when I go to work tomorrow."

"Where's our young forensic pathologist?" Marty asked, his words slightly slurred. "He's a key figure in solving the case... How can we raise a glass without Lasso?"

"really."

Diaz expressed his agreement seriously.

  

"Russell texted me saying he'll be there soon," Captain Hansen said, glancing at his phone. "He also said he has a surprise for us..."

"A surprise? Could it be that he cracked a cold case that had been unsolved for over a decade while we were writing our report?"

Although Marty's speech is unclear, he has a strong desire to express himself.

"Unlikely."

Diaz remained as taciturn as ever.

"I hope Russell can blow up the criminal investigation center; that would be the biggest surprise for me."

"Jesse said hopefully."

Marty burst into laughter, and Captain Hansen also smiled. Diaz twitched the corner of his mouth as a sign of respect.

This is the tradition of the Major Crimes Unit: after solving a murder case, they always come to this bar to get together. Captain Hansen treats everyone to the first round of drinks, and the rest of the bill is split among the others.

However, Dr. Beckman doesn't usually attend such events, and his elitist style doesn't quite fit the vibe of this Irish pub.

"Five glasses of Jameson whiskey, on the rocks," Captain Hansen tapped the bar and said to the bartender. "And a plate of fries, and a plate of onion rings..."

"Six glasses of whiskey on the rocks, Captain Carter Hansen."

A calm and soothing voice came from behind the four men, followed by the sound of leather shoes tapping on the floor. The four officers turned around in surprise and saw Russell and Beckman standing side by side behind them.

Russell looked somewhat reserved, wearing a New York Yankees baseball jersey paired with faded jeans.

He greeted everyone and sat down in the empty seat to Jesse's right.

Dr. Beckman, still dressed in his formal suit, stood in the bar like a giraffe that had wandered into a monkey mountain.

"So this is the surprise." Captain Hansen stood up and shook hands with Dr. Beckman. "I thought you would go back to your family as usual, Lorne."

"I sat in my office the whole time, doing almost nothing, and you guys solved the case. Of course I have to celebrate, Carter, and thank you all... The first drink tonight is on me."

Dr. Beckman patted his trousers and sat down on the high stool in front of the bar.

"Then I won't fight you for the bill, Lorne." Captain Hansen nodded with a smile. "But honestly, you should thank Russell the most..."

The bartender brought out six glasses of whiskey on the rocks and placed them in front of everyone, and then brought out a serving of fries and a plate of fried onion rings from the kitchen's food service window.

They were overcooked; they were fried for at least half a minute longer at 180 degrees Celsius oil temperature...

Russell glanced at the plate of brown onion rings and immediately drew a conclusion.

Russell's masterful control of heat was almost instinctive; he could judge the condition of ingredients during heating by observing their appearance, smell, and taste.

He picked up a slice of onion ring with his fork and put it in his mouth.

This time he came to an even more precise conclusion:

This is a plate of onion rings that were fried twice; the oil temperature was too high during the second frying.

To speed up the service, bars like this often pre-fry a large batch of side dishes like onion rings, then refry them after the customer orders them.

Consequently, controlling the heat becomes very difficult, and the taste and texture are not very appealing.

This onion died for nothing...

"This is a complimentary side dish for everyone; it's not included in the menu price."

The bartender pointed to the plate of onion rings and said.

What else is there to say?

Bad onion rings are bad in their own way, but the best onion rings are always the free ones.

Russell's opinion of the bar immediately vanished.

"Gentlemen," Captain Hansen raised his glass to the crowd, "we've worked together to solve another murder case, and everyone has made a unique contribution. Of course, Dr. Russell was the most crucial one. So... let's toast to the case's closure and to the deceased."

"I also respect Bertrand Russell."

Dr. Beckman added.

"Respect for the closed case, respect for the deceased, and respect for Bertrand Russell."

Everyone raised their glasses and clinked them together lightly.

Russell blushed slightly, took a sip of the spicy golden liquid in his glass. He didn't like drinking much, nor did he like the feeling of losing control after drinking.

Of course, he quite liked the feeling of being praised by everyone.

Jesse downed his whiskey in one gulp and let out a soft burp.

"I'm here today to participate in the celebration, and I also want to take this opportunity to announce some good news to everyone."

Dr. Beckman swirled the wine in his glass, the ice cubes clinking softly inside.

"Any more good news?" Marty's speech became even more slurred after his heavy drinking. "There's quite a lot of good news tonight."

Dr. Beckman smiled and continued:

"I submitted an application to the New York City Medical Examiner's Office headquarters. Dr. Russell completed his internship with outstanding performance and is about to become a full-fledged medical examiner at the OCME. Of course, this wasn't a difficult decision, but I must admit that Dr. Russell's excellent performance in this case convinced me that he was fully prepared to become an excellent full-fledged medical examiner..."

There was a moment of silence at the bar as everyone turned to look at Russell, who was sitting on the far right.

"I'll still be stationed at the Criminal Investigation Center and working with you all," Russell said with a grin. "Don't look at me like that. I've just been promoted, not resigned. Don't be too sad, everyone."