Richard’s car screeched to a halt; the other people in the church’s parking lot flinched at the sound. As he jumped out of his vehicle, a squad car pulled up nearby and parked; two patrolmen got out. Richard trotted over to them.

One handed him a small wireless button. “Now, as soon as you press that, we’ll come running.”

“Got it!” he assured. “And thanks. I really appreciate the backup.”

“Anything for you, little brother!” the other chimed. “We’re all rooting for you!”

“Thanks,” he replied. For the first time in a long time, maybe ever, “little brother” didn’t feel like an insult.

He flashed a bright smile as he turned to leave. “See you soon!” They pumped their fists once.

He passed by Eustace, sitting in a chair near the parking lot, beholding Richard calmly. “Sorry about using your parking lot,” he muttered, “but the street was full, and besides, I have the cops with me.”

Eustace dismissed his concerns with a wave. “Not at all. This looks like a momentous occasion!”

“It is!” Richard confirmed. “Wish me luck!”

“Best of luck to you, good sir,” Eustace declared as he watched Richard run into the building.

The members of Harmony were engaged in a spirited discussion when he burst through the door. “Detective Schmutz?” he heard Alexandra say. “I thought we were meeting you after the rally.”

“You were,” he agreed, as he stopped to catch his breath. “But I had to see you first.”

“I’m sure you did,” she chimed, batting her eyelashes.

“No, not that…I mean…” He took a deep breath and exhaled, then swept his gaze over the room. All eyes were on him.

“I’ve figured out who the killer is,” he announced triumphantly.

He heard several audible gasps; all froze where they were, looking at him with anticipation.

Several members threw dirty looks in Darian’s direction; he reacted with indignation after he noticed. “Hey! Why are you all staring at me like that? I resent the insinuation!”

“You freaking creep,” George snarled. “We know the sorts of things you’re into.”

“Schmutz?” Darian protested. “If you told them what you saw, so help me, I’ll…”

J.R.’s face curled into a sneer. “Sounds like a confession to me!” he shouted at Darian. “I knew it was you all along!” Several of them advanced on him; he retreated to a corner and cowered.

“No! Stop!” Richard commanded; they all turned to look at him, some of them shivering, most of them seething. “I was about to say that it couldn’t have been Darian. My investigation cleared him completely.”

Darian visibly relaxed, and risked sporting a small smile, though his eyes still showed confusion. The others looked at him sheepishly and backed off, returning to where they had been standing. He silently mouthed words to Richard: “Thank you.”

Richard nodded toward him, then addressed the group again. “The coroner determined that Saint died from a massive fentanyl overdose. It’s not important where it came from, though I suspect the supplier was Yuguti. What is important, however, is how it was delivered.” He looked around the room. “Where do you keep your umbrellas?”

Fabian pointed to a tall cabinet in the corner; Richard strode there and opened the door. He removed each umbrella in turn, looking at the tip. “No…no…no…oh, come on, I can’t be wrong about this…no…no…that’s the one!” He triumphantly pulled out a newer-looking umbrella and showed its tip. “This is not a mere umbrella; it’s a giant needle. Look at the tip! Not only is it pointed…but it’s hollow!” They crowded around, making impressed sounds as they confirmed his observation.

He pulled back a small slider on the handle. “And this is how you fire it.” He released the slider; the umbrella made a snapping sound. He looked around uncomfortably. “If it had been filled with anything, you would see what I mean.”

“Will this work?” Darian asked, approaching him, an opened can of energy drink in his hand.

Richard pointed the umbrella’s tip upward and moved the slider back again. “It usually needs to be thicker, but that’ll work for a demonstration.”

Darian smiled as he carefully poured some of the energy drink into the tip, spilling very little. Richard pointed it upwards and tripped the slider; the energy drink shot out and splattered on the ceiling. Richard beamed proudly. “This is called a ‘Bulgarian special’; it was used by the Soviet Bloc for assassinations. You just stick it into someone and fire. It doesn’t have to be poison; the KGB preferred to use little radioactive balls, so their target would die slowly.”

“So one of us murdered Saint?” George trilled in anguish. “Who could do that?”

“Yes, it was one of you,” Richard revealed, putting the umbrella back into the cabinet. “I regret to inform you that the triggerman…was Racer X.”

They all turned to face the killer; he reacted by assuming a martial arts pose. “I always knew you were a creep!” Darian whined.

“But you can’t blame him!” Richard announced as he approached Racer X slowly from behind. “Because…he’s not in control of his actions!” With a flourish, Richard grabbed Racer X’s ski mask and pulled it off his head; everyone gasped at what they saw.

Standing before them was a very pale youth, with completely bloodshot eyes and a fixed stare. He didn’t move; he didn’t change his stance at all. Richard snapped his fingers in front of Racer X’s eyes; he didn’t react. His head was covered with short hair, interspersed frequently with bald patches and infected lesions, some of them filled with fluid. Pools of solidified grime filled the lower parts of his outer ears.

“This man is a zombie,” Richard declared. “A chemically-induced zombie. The recipe involves blowfish poison, Datura, and several other ingredients. And he was put into this state by the one among you who’s not only highly skilled with chemistry and medicine, but has a pet blowfish.” He looked sadly at Kelly. “I’m sorry, miss; I’m deeply grateful for the night you patched me up…but you’re the culprit. Although I’m still unclear on your motive.”

She stared at him fiercely, her eyes plainly revealing her upset, not moving a muscle. Several tense seconds passed. George walked over to Kelly and put his hand on her shoulder. “Are you OK? Do you need a moment?”