Sylvie – Yes, I am very concerned about Ivers taking away my toys. We just got out of yet another Cost Effective Forensics meeting, and before long I’ll be using a Fisher Price camera, an abacus, and my old Commodore 64.

Nina – I know what you mean! Lily and Bug would make a smashing couple, but it’s complicated with Brandau, and the baby, and everything going on at the morgue. You know the old saying: if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.

Punk – I vehemently deny having a crush on Kate. Vehemently, vehemently, vehemently. That being said…she does smell quite nice.

Mr. “Hangman” – I grow tired of your taunting, and should make you aware that I can easily track you down through your ISP address -- and many other ways, I assure you. Of course I remember Lincoln Park, it was a colossal waste of time and money. As of this moment, I am only slightly annoyed and have chosen to ignore you. I recommend you heed this warning.

Alright, now back to sushi – more specifically, Fugu. Otherwise known as Takifugu, a genus of the pufferfish, highly toxic, and considered a delicacy. Each year a number of people die due to underestimating the amount of poison they ingest. It’s also quite pricey, meaning that only the wealthy can afford to be so careless. Like our old “friend,” Shelly Levine.

I hate to say that he had it coming…but he really had it coming! Not that Fugu ended up killing him -- yours truly was the one to discover he had consumed potentially lethal amounts of poison tetrodotoxin (a potent neurotoxin), and fortunately, we were able to save him. Even after he tried to have me deported. Which, by the way, was not an easy situation to fix! He’s lucky I don’t hold a grudge. Although, after being in the middle of a deadly shooting spree, consuming toxic sushi, and finally getting hit by a speeding ambulance…I don’t know if “lucky” is the appropriate term.

So, brave reader, if after all of this you still insist on trying Fugu, let me leave you with one very important piece of advice -- Make sure your sushi chef is certified.

Sweet Nancy, try saying that five times fast.

It was a very tragic week in the morgue. I worked with Woody on an investigation involving a drug dealer. The initial report incorrectly accused our young decedent of being a drug addict, however, the tox results came back clean. Using segmental hair analysis we were able to determine that our victim quit marijuana six months earlier -- though he never should have started. It breaks my heart to see children in our crypt whose lives were cut short because of drugs.

Kate the Terrible has now taken to listening to classical music at decibels so loud, little mice all over Boston have been seen throwing themselves into the Charles River. I’m beginning to wonder if she might not be just a tad bit deaf.

She’s been in the morgue for months now and we are still no closer to learning anything more about her than the first day she arrived in her smart Calvin Klein suit and Manolos. Maybe her father is a spy. Maybe she has a husband and a house full of children adopted from third world countries. Maybe she performs in an underground heavy metal band!?

I imagine her going home every night, settling down with a TV dinner, watching the soaps she taped during the day, while her Dandie Dinmont Terrier, Binky, sits in her lap.

Now, to address some of your comments…

Sam Lover, thank you for your kind comments about me and DeLinda. But alas, as I mentioned above, there will be no trips to Vegas in my future. Nothing like Valentine’s Day to make the hopelessly single feel even more hopeless.

Thanks everyone for your brilliant music suggestions. However, Andrea, I must say…what’s wrong with the Spice Girls? I’m actually a long time fan. Sure, I know it’s been many years since they’ve had a hit (oh, Geri, why did you ever have to leave?)…but Spice World is always a good listen.

And to The Hangman - You’ve asked this question before, there is no such thing as the perfect murder, and if there was, I probably wouldn’t know about it, now would I?

That’s all for now. As I mentioned, Ivers is in the office breathing down our necks. Literally, breathing down our necks. Right now I’m alphabetizing tissue samples, and he keeps sneaking up behind me to make sure I’m not doing... well...this. How do you politely offer someone a breath mint? “Here, have a hint?”

Parting is such sweet sorrow, my bloggers.

Hello bloggers! I’ve just met the future Mrs. Nigel Townsend. It’s not every day a goddess asks to see your ion spectrometer! She’s beautiful! She eats! She’s intelligent! She’s PERFECT!

Some may say, “But, Nigel, she lives in Las Vegas.” Some may even point out that she has a live-in boyfriend. But need I point out he works as a security guard at a casino and I’M a criminologist? He doesn’t stand a chance.

This past week my work included a decedent with Pugilistic Dementia. Let me break it down in simple terms: when a boxer takes too many hits to the head, over time, the brain begins to atrophy and shrink. H S Marland documented many boxers in the 1920’s and called the disorder “punch drunk,” which was a term used by boxing managers and fans to describe the imbalance and "slight flopping of one foot or leg in walking" of boxers.

But it wasn’t the pugilistic dementia that killed him. It was murder! He was poisoned (by his wife, no less). Tox came back with results of 10 milligrams of fentanyl in his system. Deadly.

If anyone has any music suggestions, now is the time to send them. Cruella Kate has this extremely annoying habit of blasting the most inappropriate music during autopsy! And there are only so many times you can hear “You Had a Bad Day” before you pick up a nine blade and begin slamming it into your eye socket again and again.

Please leave music suggestions in the comments section, along with any other questions you may have...

Say it soft and it’s almost like praying. DeLinda. I’ll never stop saying: DeLinda.

Sorry to keep you waiting for so long in anticipation of another post, but things have been pretty hectic around the morgue lately. I spent the bulk of last week cleaning up the site. Please ignore all posts in the comments section regarding social networking sites, or magical diet pills – these blasted spybots are getting harder and harder to deflect. However, they are no match for my superior computer skills, and I have successfully removed them from our presence.

I’m afraid I have to keep this short, as we have an uptight Special Prosecutor, William Ivers, scrutinizing our every move, as well as a new Medical Examiner, Dr. Kate Switzer, in the morgue. It seems every five minutes she has another question for yours truly – like just now! She literally just poked her head in to ask, “Why are you sitting there with that stupid smile on your face when there’s work to be done?” Clearly, she needs my help.

Come back soon for riveting discussions on cases I’m in the process of solving.

Until then, loyal reader, I leave you with the recipe for my mum’s famous kidney pie.

Enjoy!

Steak and Kidney Pie Recipe:
2 Beef Kidneys
¾ lb. Round Steak
1 1/3 cups flour
Sea Salt
Freshly cracked Black Pepper
3 tablespoons Vegetable Oil
2 chopped Onions
10 ounces Mushrooms
1 Bay Leaf
1 Celery leaf top
3 Sprigs of fresh Thyme
10 ounces freshly chopped Parsley
10 ounces finely chopped Carrots
1 pint Beef Stock
1 cup Water
1 Pastry

Cut the beef into one-inch cubes. Combine the flour, salt, and pepper. Roll the cubes into the flour mixture. Put oil in a heavy pot and sauté onions. Add beef, brown lightly by turning. Add mushrooms, bay leaf, celery leaf top, thyme, parsley, carrots, and beef stock. Stir, then cover and simmer for approximately 1 hour, until meat is tender. If liquid is too thin, add flour, if too thick, add water.

Grease a baking dish and insert pastry, adjusting to fit. Turn the beef mixture and pour into dish, covering with pastry top, sealing edges (cutting vents into pastry top to allow steam to escape). Bake at 450 F for 8-10 minutes, then lower to 375 F for an additional 15-18 minutes, or until crust turns golden brown. Serve hot.

The Victims:
Victim #1:  Leigh Chasa, age 30, found murdered on 3-5-02. Owner of a Beacon Hill coffee shop with her husband, Mike Chasa. Mother of a five-year old daughter.

Victim #2:  Clotilde Eames, age 25, found murdered on 3-14-02. Single graduate student at Finchley College. Works as a research assistant to a Classics Scholar, Professor Putnam Cowley.

Victim #3:  Dr. Amy Tropos, age 34, found murdered on 3-21-02. Family practice physician at Boston General Hospital. Married to neurologist Dr. Derek Douglas.

Questions I've pondered three murders within three weeks, with the numeral '3' painted on each victim? Serial killer? No further murders were committed, so I'm not so sure. What do you think?

Sweet, handsome, intelligent, Entomologist seeks intelligent, open-minded, caring soul who's more than just a pretty flower. ;-) She must have a good sense of humor, be able to stand up for what she believes is right,...Oh, and she must be able to stand such squirmish subjects as dead bodies and the extremely fascinating mating habits of dung beetles.
Emily Hoyt - March 19, 8:10 pm