Dr. Walsh swept through the laboratory doors. Rainwater dripped from her coat. Inspector Grey had urgently requested her expertise to analyze a suspicious parcel. After drying off, Walsh set about the business of familiarizing herself with the unfamiliar lab. The well-proportioned Dr. Anne Freeman, the forensic pathologist in charge, walked in from the neighboring room. Walsh noticed right away her pink chipped nail polish, pattering sensible flat shoes, and ginger-wavy hair.
“Alright there, Dr. Walsh?”
She rolled up the dial-up on her preferred Beatles album, Revolver.
“I hope you don’t mind the music. It can half get tedious some days down 'ere’.”
Dr. Walsh smiled at Dr. Freeman’s informal candor and thick Scouse accent.
“It’s no problem for me. Thank you for letting me share your lab. I was getting tired of walking around in the mud all day.”
“We crime-solving puzzlers must band together! Now, shall we crack on?”
The inner workings of the Merseyside Police forensics lab was well stocked with equipment. UV lamps illuminated the windowless room in a sterile purple glow. Workbenches lined the walls, topped with microscopes, computers, centrifuges, and other forensic tools. The air carried the distinct chemical smells lingering from the various reagents and solvents routinely used within the lab.
Dr. Freeman gestured to a side bench. “We keep extra PPE there for our guests. For someone of your, shall we say, ‘petite’ stature, I’m sure you’ll swim in those coveralls.”
Dr. Walsh donned the protective gear: shoe covers, a mask, and gloves before approaching the evidence bag. She shrugged her shoulders in the oversized coverall.
“It’s not my most stylish ensemble, but it does the job. Safety first, fashion second! I guess.”
Dr. Freeman gave her a cheeky wink. “Hear, hear! The case of the baffling barn blob begins.”
Dr. Walsh nodded in agreement. “Let’s get to work then.”
With a fresh pair of gloves and trusty tweezers, Dr. Freeman inspected the package. She then carefully extracted the supplement and sealed the bag. She looked at Dr. Walsh.
“I read your autopsy reports. Weirdly, you didn’t find any clear causes of death, right?”
“Yeah, it was pretty strange. However, after further testing, we found that the horse’s adrenal glands were enlarged and congested, and their cortisol and adrenaline levels were extremely elevated.”
“Those symptoms suggest prolonged physiological distress—or an artificial stimulant of some kind.”
“There was also slight hemorrhaging in muscle tissue, indicating extreme physical exertion.”
“That certainly sounds suspicious. Healthy animals don’t just suddenly go crazy and drop dead, especially multiple competitors from different stables,” quizzed Dr. Freeman.
Noticing a sticky yellow residue coating part of the inner surface of the package. Dr. Freeman picked up a slide. “Let’s collect a sample, but we need to document the supplement first.”
She retrieved a camera and macro lens from a side shelf.
“We’ll need detailed photos to document any clues. Here, why don’t you photograph the evidence?”
“Sure!”
Dr. Walsh secured the camera, attached the macro lens, and peered through the viewfinder. The macro lens enabled her to zoom in on the package. She photographed the strange barcodes, text, edges, and seams from various angles. Once she had photographed every millimeter of the supplement, Dr. Walsh powered off the camera, satisfied.
“These photos will serve as an excellent baseline!”
Dr. Freeman scooped up the contaminated bag, reviewing it as she held it up to the light.
“The residue is an amber-colored gel drop of around 3 centimeters wide.”
“Anything distinctive about it?” Dr. Walsh inquired.
“From what I can see. I think a liquid of some sort’s evaporated, leaving this residue. There are no solid particles or separation of components, suggesting it was a homogeneous liquid, leaving this uniform gel deposit!”
“A supplement for horses would likely be in a liquid solution for easy dosing,” Dr. Walsh stated.
“Indeed,” Dr. Freeman concurred.
“There are no detectable leaks or spills beyond this single residual drop.”
“And the markings—any clues there?” Dr. Walsh asked.
Dr. Freeman examined the barcode. “Just this label; apart from that, the surface is featureless save for minor abrasions.”
“Our next step should be weighing the supplement,” Dr. Freeman said.
“Good idea.”
While Dr. Freeman retrieved an analytic scale, she noticed Dr. Walsh’s sense of unease.
“Is something on your mind, Dr. Walsh?”
“I know it’s your lab and all. But would you mind switching the music to something slower, or turning it down a notch? The lively tempo makes it hard for me to focus.”
“Of course! We, pathologists, absorb the surrounding energy, don’t we?”
She killed off the Beatles, tuning the radio to a classical music station at slightly lower decibels this time. Vivaldi’s Four Seasons spread through the lab with soothing strings.
“That’s much better. I hope you’re not offended?”
“I get it. When I need to focus in, my trusty Philharmonic Symphony Orchestra playlist keeps me going. I’ve got over twelve hours of the Beatle’s back catalog in orchestral form. Do you fancy some of that instead?”
Dr. Walsh laughed. “I swear you’re obsessed. I was more of a Rolling Stones fan when I was growing up.”
“You can take the girl out of Liverpool, but you can’t take the Scouser out of me! Right, you are!”
Dr. Freeman lifted a secondary bag, placing it on the calibrated metal pan of the analytical balance, securing it with clamp clips. She crouched over the digital display, recording the reading: ‘0.349 grams’.
“Is that within the accuracy tolerance?” asked Dr. Walsh.
“Give or take a milligram; the results should be reliable enough!”
The duo then performed a battery of chemical tests, revealing specific compounds within the residue and how they interacted. The tests revealed the residue contained various stimulants, preservatives, and compounds that would produce effects like enlarged adrenal glands and elevated cortisol when consumed. After running every possible analysis, the scientists arrived at an inescapable conclusion. The gel compound was purposefully designed to push horses beyond their natural limits, illegally enhancing performance through physiological effects that ultimately proved deadly. Now they had to determine just how deadly. They both removed their PPE, dropping them in the laundry hamper.
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“Blimey, what a day! I could kill for some fish and chips.”
“Some nourishment would be most welcome, though seafood tends to give me hives.” Dr. Walsh admitted.
“I apologize; I didn’t realize. How about pizza instead?”
“Perfect,” replied Dr. Walsh. “While we wait, a cup of tea would hit the spot, too.”
Dr. Walsh paused in quiet contemplation. “As unpleasant as it sounds, we need to know the residue’s effects in vivo before proceeding further. Animal studies using laboratory rats could provide insight into the substance’s physiological and toxicity profiles.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” Dr. Freeman hypothesized. “We could at least try to simulate the doses given to those racehorses.”
“It’s better than nothing. It would at least assist us in monitoring for vital signs, and we can collect organ specimens for detailed analysis.”
“Fortunately, we have laboratory rats readily available. Why don’t we take a short break while I arrange for their delivery? And as a bonus, I will get the guys to order the pizza for us as well.”
“Now you’re talking,” Dr. Walsh said.
“Dr. Freeman, after you!”
They retreated to the break room. Rain thumped against the windows. The street lamps overlooking the staff car park cast a pearlescent glow upon the green walls of the staff room, upon which diagrams of human anatomy hung on framed sheets. Dr. Freeman set the kettle to boil, making her famous Tiffen tea, passing one to Dr. Walsh in a chipped ceramic mug. They sank into comfortably upholstered chairs arranged around a scarred wooden coffee table. A crackling radio in the corner played tinny tunes. When the pizza arrived, the scientists enjoyed several slices in companionable silence before the radio abruptly cut the music.
“We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news. Chief Inspector Thomas Sanderson of Scotland Yard has been found dead in the late afternoon.”
They both looked up sharply at the radio. Pizza slices paused in midair.
“Official reports indicate his body was discovered in Staple Brook, near his country home. Police are now investigating the incident as a suspected murder investigation.”
“Oh, dear, poor Sanderson. I knew him from my time working in the Yard. A good man,” Dr. Freeman gasped.
Dr. Walsh slowly shook her head, her eyes darkening. “Why such barbarity for an honorable man like Sanderson?”
The announcer reported Scotland Yard has launched a full-scale manhunt, describing him as a distinguished officer with an impeccable record, leaving behind a wife and two grandchildren. The announcer’s words hit hard.
“Chief Sanderson’s brutal murder has shocked the entire Metropolitan Police force. Police describe his tragic death as both a personal tragedy and a professional setback!”
Dr. Walsh switched to her colleague, a troubled look on her dimpled face. “Things are changing. And not for the better!”
Dr. Freeman got up and turned off the radio, an uneasy silence filled the room. After a moment, she said gingerly. “This feels somehow connected. The timing is too coincidental.”
“I fear you’re right. Sanderson must have been close to uncovering something explosive. This is going to right put a fly in the ointment of Inspector Grey’s investigation.”
Dr. Freeman looked at the rain-streaked windows. “You know Dr. Walsh. If something like this can happen to Sanderson. What about others getting too close to the investigation?”
“You mean others, like us?”
“It doesn’t bear thinking about!,” said Dr. Freeman.
“It’s not something I want to think about Dr. Freeman!”
Dr. Walsh set her mug down, considering if Grey would meet the same fate if he got too close to the truth too. A lab technician knocked on the door.
“Pardon the interruption, Dr. Freeman. The testing equipment has been prepared and the samples have been collected, as you requested.”
Dr. Freeman swallowed the last slice of her slices. “Thank you. We’ll be along shortly. Let’s get suited up then and give Inspector Grey something to work with.”
“For the horses and Sanderson’s sake!” said Dr. Walsh.
While the case had grown murkier, their resolve to discover the facts had only strengthened. The lab tech had divided twenty-four rats into two cages, isolating them in environmentally controlled conditions. Rat chow had been prepared with different residue concentrations: 0.5% for cage A and 1% for cage B.
“I’ll administer the initial doses,” Dr. Walsh said firmly.
She inspected the syringes aligned in the racks, each dosed to match a corresponding solution. “I will start with the equivalent amounts by weight, starting with the lowest concentration, and work my way up the range.”
“Agreed,” Dr. Freeman said.
Dr. Walsh picked up the micropipette filled with the lowest concentration. The slim tip felt cold and smooth against her gloved hands. Its precise calibration marks ran from 0.1 to 10 mL. She squeezed the rubber bulb, depositing the measured solution into a sterile micro-centrifuge tube. She then filled a sterile syringe with the residue solution and attached it to a thin gavage needle.
“How about you monitor the rats and document any observable reactions; changes in behavior, movements, or vital signs, that kind of thing.”
Dr. Freeman walked to the video camera and tripod. “I’ll get the camera set up.”
She wiped the lens, checking the SD card. Then she adjusted the focus wheel with its ridged dial that spun under her hand as she panned the viewfinder across the two stainless steel cages.
“The camera’s ready. We can begin wherever you are.”
The rodent’s nervous twitching whiskers and shaking furry bodies, elicited empathy from both scientists. Yet, they needed to determine how much of the residue would pose harm when ingested. Dr. Walsh squeezed the rubber bulb, releasing a drop into the rat chow. The rats sniffed curiously, one bold rodent licked a droplet.
Walsh noted: ‘Time 0. Rats appear curious but unaffected’. Minutes ticked by. The rats settled into their usual routine of gnawing blocks, drinking from feeder bottles, and running on their exercise wheel.
Dr. Walsh wrote: ‘5 minutes elapsed. No visible effects’. Dr. Walsh then dosed cage B with a slightly higher concentration. The rats repeated the same process: sniffing, licking, and grooming. Suddenly, one rat in cage B began darting frenetically around the cage, crashing into bars and roughly dominating its cage mates. The others grew agitated, biting and fighting each other in a rage. Dr. Walsh frowned and made another note: ‘The rats in cage B are, hyper and aggressive.’
The rats charged at the cage bars, whiskers quivering, eyes with frenzied ferocity, ripping, mauling. Dr. Walsh’s gloved hand tightened around her notepad, her pulse quickening; watching the rats turning into frenzied killers.
She wrote: ‘Previously, a docile cage of rats transformed within minutes. Becoming ruthless, bloodthirsty’.
The experiment had spiraled out of control. They both watched in disgust. Dr. Freeman shuddered, feeling like she was watching a snuff film unfold.
“Bare traces of the residue have transformed them into vicious little killing machines,” she said, appalled.
“The residue appears to have activated the amygdala, intensifying aggression and emotional responses. It seems to be overwhelming their prefrontal cortex,” Dr. Walsh said through a wavering voice.
“A diabolical formula,” said Dr. Freeman. “A diabolical formula that subverts the very essence of what makes a creature civilized.”
They watched the gruesome scene unfold with growing dismay as theory gave way to chilling reality. The lab was abuzz with ululations, snarls of pure savagery as rats attacked anew. Shredded flesh and crushed bones littered the cage floor. After minutes of clawing, biting, and trampling, cage A and cage B fell silent.
Dr. Walsh trembled. “We need to isolate the active compound and devise a treatment!”
She grabbed her mobile phone; detailing their key results to Inspector Grey. Dr. Freeman accessed the video files from the experiment to compress and send along with the report.
After ending the call, Dr. Walsh said, “Inspector Grey sounded both alarmed and grateful. He’ll be following up on our results.”
“The video files have been attached. I hit send a few moments ago.”
Both of the cages held only one dominant rat, fur matted with the blood of its fallen cagemates. Dr. Freeman was in disbelief. “We’ve done all we can for now.”
“I hate that we had to do this,” Dr. Walsh admitted quietly. “But at least now we know what we’re dealing with.”
“Come, let’s have another cup of my famous Tiffen tea.”
Dr. Walsh had one final look at the last two rats, biting the bars of their cage, their eyes staring back at her in the purple haze of the UV lamps.
“Splendid idea; I am beaten.”
The scientists left the lab, their discovery solving one piece of the puzzle, but the larger mystery remained as dark and dangerous as ever.
