Life in North America, you call this an autopsy officer?!
Chapter 340 - 217: Gift Ability Upgrade, Female Celebrity Death Case_3

Chapter 340: Chapter 217: Gift Ability Upgrade, Female Celebrity Death Case_3

People here report false alarms like it’s going out of style, not to mention the petty stuff, drunken rambles, drug-induced harassment calls, and the likes, with complaints coming just as easily.

It makes these operators’ shifts akin to attending a funeral every day.

They’re among the few who work twenty-four-hour shifts, and aside from dealing with callers, they’re not known for their sunny dispositions.

Facing the operators’ roaring rants, old Hardenn helplessly turned to Brian with an inquiring look.

Brian nodded, "Ask what the case is about, will you? And let’s hope it’s not another body pick-up job—those lack challenge."

Old Hardenn nodded and mumbled into the phone.

A moment later.

His gaze shifted toward Brian with an odd expression, "It’s from Beverly, a case where a somewhat famous actress was found drowned in a manor swimming pool, naked..."

At that, Brian whistled, "Too bad Glenn and Green aren’t here; they’d be thrilled."

As for Ivan, he would only be excited if it were a male star, naked.

...

Luckily, Tom was already in.

So, early in the morning, they made their way to the crime scene, against the flow of rush-hour traffic, driving the hearse.

Beverly had high-end apartments and hilltop manor estates, clearly demarcating the same place into residences priced in the millions, five millions, tens of millions, and so on.

At this hour, the area’s security was still quite good, with 24-hour patrolling guards.

However, because it attracted actors, athletes, singers, and such—thanks to Hollywood, the big stadiums, and other factors—the place often swarmed with tourists and undercover paparazzi.

Such environs, actually, didn’t sit well with the truly socially established.

They considered the so-called celebrities to have brought down the class of their living community.

To avoid the heavy traffic,

Tom took back roads and eventually reached near Franklin Canyon Park.

It was even farther from the Beverly estates, a good twenty kilometers away.

The surrounding areas were also pretty decent residential zones.

Not too far off was Los Angeles’ commercial hub, Rodeo Drive.

The roads here were numerous and less congested.

The air was quite pleasant.

Brian rolled down the window, drawing in a deep breath.

The next moment,

He nearly retched.

Seeing this, Tom let out a weird cackling laugh, "Buddy, you must seldom come around here. Though it looks nice, people often urinate and defecate in the greenbelts—you must’ve caught a fresh whiff."

His voice was unpleasant to hear, marred by a past injury.

"No, it’s that shark meat smell, rotting shark meat, sour pickled cabbage pit, definitely some damned Icelander’s leftover food trashed in the bin!"

Brian swore inelegantly.

The stench was unbearable.

He had encountered it once before, almost forming a psychological scar; its imprint was so deep that he instantly recognized the smell.

How did such maggot-infested stuff ever become part of human cuisine???

If only he hadn’t been half-utilizing his miraculous ’combination perception.’

Half-use was a technique Brian had figured out for himself, allowing his sense of smell, vision, touch—everything but hearing—to be keen without interfering with daily life or demanding too much energy.

And yet, he fell victim to it.

The odor that their hearse accumulated was nothing compared to that rotting shark meat smell, not even one-tenth as bad.

Truly nauseating!

With a sullen mood,

Brian rode along as they passed through community security and drove into the villa estate where the incident occurred.

The place was basically a detached villa perched atop a hill with a large pool, a dozen-plus rooms inside, with structures both above and below ground, the actual estate size not all too expansive.

When they arrived, the vicinity was cordoned off by police tapes, and numerous journalists and paparazzi with cameras were standing around.

Passing through them,

The two men, with toolkits in hand and after verification of their identity, were led by a female patrol officer to finally see a stunningly gorgeous body that was in excellent shape by the swimming pool.

Crucially, the body was in a backstroke position.

Describing the visual impact of that scene was challenging,

It kindled an impulsive physiological reaction.

Even Tom, who had been physically frail and indifferent to women’s allure after many injuries, swallowed reflexively and got distracted at the sight of the body.

Brian spared a glance and curled his lip.

Fake.

All of it was fake.

Only her face was worth looking at.

He nudged Tom, "Fool, aren’t you curious why she’s not face down?"

"Why?"

Tom instinctively responded.

Brian smiled but didn’t answer, simply stepping forward.

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