Detroit Math Detectives, First Casebook

By Alonso Delarte

At the Major Crimes Unit of the Detroit Police Department, Detective Lopez and Detective Washington often call on Prof. Charles S. Grantham from Oakland University to help them out on their cases with his mathematical expertise.
The strange cases include the robbery of a garbage truck, a serial killer who demands the life stories of his victims, a paycheck theft led astray by a failure to observe the proper arithmetic operator precedence, an unexpected pistol expert, a cult that kidnaps people from escape rooms, etc.
The stories may be read in order or you may skip around, much as I have through the Sherlock Holmes stories. Though there are little references to a case that is not solved until very close to the end.
High school algebra should be enough to understand the mathematical concepts presented. Not recommended for children on account of occasional violence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alonso Delarte
• Release date: Jul 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370467761

Alonso Delarte

Composer of music for string quartet and orchestra, the first composer ever commissioned to write a concerto and a symphony through eBay. Finalist in the Knight Arts Challenge Detroit 2013 for a project to run an ice cream truck around town playing classical music, including Anton Bruckner's March in E-flat major.

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Detroit Math Detectives: First Casebook

Alonso Delarte

Published by Alonso Delarte at Smashwords

Copyright 2017 Alonso Delarte

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Many thanks to Desiree Cooper and Charles R Greathouse IV for their advice on these stories. When I have followed their advice, the stories are better for it. But whatever in these stories is unrealistic or incorrect is entirely my own fault.

The stories in this book are fictional, as are the characters. No similarity to real living persons nor recent events should be inferred. References to real historical persons and events, and references to real institutions and products are used in a fictional manner. The mathematical concepts mentioned, however, are real, and the author has made an effort to present them in a correct manner.

Table of contents

Introduction

The Case of the Garbage Truck Robbery

The Case of the Arrogant Graffiti Artist

The Case of the Electronic Thief

The Case of the Screenwriting Hack

The Case of the Greedy Museum Director

The Case of the Murderous Drummer

The Case of the Dumb DJ

The Death Penalty Case

The Case of the Faulty Compression Algorithm

The Case of the Pro-Life Hypocrite

The Case of the Presumptuous Jury

The Case of the Checks Missing Cents

The Case of the Dead Grandson

The Case of the Addiction Doctor

The Case Our Protagonists Couldn't Get On

The Case of the Crowdfunding Hell

The Casting Call

The Case of the Right-Handed Painter

Encounter with a Bomb

The Sabotaged Case

The Case of the Wrong Escape

The Case of the Missing Guns

The Coding Boot Camp Interviews

About the Author

Introduction

Young Professor Grantham was at home watching TV with his girlfriend, Melissa. An episode of Numb3rs had just finished rerunning. What did you think? Melissa asked.

It was alright.

Don't you like how they used math to solve the case?

Did they really use math to solve the case? It seems to me that the math was just an afterthought and didn't really have anything to do with the case. The professor got up. I've got some papers to grade.

Doesn't anyone at the university consult with the FBI?

I think there's a couple of guys from the Biology Department who consult with the Michigan State Police.

What about your department?

No, I don't think so. That was the truth at the time he spoke it. The professor didn't know that a couple of cases later, the Detroit Police would come asking for his help on a case, and several more cases after that. He pulled some papers out of a briefcase and set them on a table.

Come on, come to bed, grow your hair out like Charlie on the show.

That's an illogically connected... The professor saw his girlfriend put on his sweater, which was too big for her. But tempting proposition... the papers can wait. They retired to the bedroom.

Like Dr. Mortimer's wife in The Hound of the Baskervilles, we're probably not going to hear about Melissa again in this book.

These stories mostly take place in late 2014 and early 2015.

The Case of the Garbage Truck Robbery

Clank, clank.

Jimmy almost threw up on the lid of the glove compartment. Bill was driving the truck. You okay there, new guy? Bill asked.

Yeah, it's just it hit me all of a sudden, Jim said. He took a deep breath. It's gone. I'm gonna be good.

Good, because we still have a block left to do. Here's the next one.

The truck parked in front of a house with a melting snowman. The mechanical arms gripped the garbage container, lifted it up, threw the contents into the back, then set it down and let it go.

Beautiful, Nigel Kennedy couldn't have done it better, Bill said.

What? Jim asked, befuddled by the strange compliment. The truck went past a couple of burned down houses, then stopped in front of a house with Christmas decorations still out. The dumpster was so full the lid wasn't even closed. And yet nothing fell anywhere except in the back of the truck.

Another flawless execution, maestro, Bill said.

Um, thanks.

At the next house, a man was throwing some vacuum bags in his neighbor's dumpster.

Some people in this neighborhood sure are trifling, Bill said.

Your own trash is one thing, but your neighbor's trash too?

It's all trash, Bill said.

Would you invite your neighbor to crap in your toilet?

No, of course not, but that's different.

"How?

It's in the house, not on the curb.

The principle is the same. Just because it's a receptacle for things that—

Bill and Jim became aware of men in masks on both sides of the truck, pointing guns at them. Do as we say and you'll be fine, said one of the masked men.

I've got sixty dollars on me, you want more we'll have to go to the ATM, Bill said.

And I've only got the ten he gave me for lunch, Jim said. I'm new and I'm still waiting on my first paycheck.

Shut up! We don't want your money.

What do you want? Bill asked.

For you to put the truck in park, put your hands up and sit pretty for the next couple of minutes.

Okay. Bill put the truck in park, shut off the engine and put his hands up.

One of the masked took out a walkie-talkie and just said Go.

The truck started shaking as if someone was rocking it. Then the rocking stopped. The masked men left. Both Bill and Jim got out of the truck and looked at the back of the truck. Aside from a couple of empty potato chip bags and streaks of a disgusting, tar-like substance, the back was empty. Bill got out his cellphone and dialed 9-1-1.

We've been, um... robbed, Bill said.

Theme music goes here.

Sgt. Mills was taking the victims' statements as Detective Lopez and Detective Washington listened. How long did it take the thieves to relieve you of your, ahem, cargo? Mills asked.

Two, three, maybe five minutes, tops, Bill said.

Lopez and Washington took a few steps back. I don't see a crime here, let alone a major crime, Washington whispered.

Interfering with a city worker? Lopez suggested.

That's like punching a bus driver.

That's assault, but they, pointing to the garbagemen, count as city workers, too. Look, I don't know what we're dealing with here, but as soon as we have some questions answered, we'll toss it to the appropriate department.

Okay.

The crime scene people took some photos and some scrapings from the back of the truck. The detectives followed them back to the crime lab. The detectives were unusually quiet at first. What are you thinking? Lopez asked his partner.

I'm thinking identity thieves, but I'm thinking it doesn't make any sense, Washington said. Why would an identity thief steal trash from the truck in broad daylight when it would be much easier to steal it from the dumpster at night?

Why does anyone do anything? Last month in Livonia, a four-man team stole parking stops from an antique store, and the month before that, a man with a rifle went into a bank in Ferndale and stole the coffee pot with the coffee, but didn't take any cash.

So what are you thinking here?

Drugs. It has something to do with drugs. And then he was silent.

That's your big insight?

Lopez didn't say anything as he steered into the parking lot of the crime lab. Inside, Dr. Smith gave them her preliminary findings. I'm no expert on garbage trucks, but what I found is pretty consistent with what I would expect, except that there seems to be too much human matter, Smith said.

But isn't that normal? Washington asked. If I clip my toenails, I'm not going to keep them in my—

I would expect any garbage truck load to contain some human matter, like your toenail clippings, Smith explained. But here, just in this small sample, I'm seeing a lot of human matter, and a lot of it seems to come from one man, one male.

What are you saying, doctor?

I'm saying there was a complete human body in that truck, and we were meant to find it.

Any idea whose body? Lopez asked.

Give me a week to sort the samples and run them through the system.

In the meantime, we'll see if we can figure out where the body was picked up, Lopez said.

Back on the street, Bill and Jim walked their route along with the detectives. Anything that seems out of the ordinary? Washington asked. Bill and Jim were silent. Until they got to a house that looked pretty much like the others.

Their can was much heavier than usual, Bill said. A lot of the time, the can was almost empty, and some weeks they didn't even put it out. But this week, it was very heavy.

Lopez went to the can and lifted the lid, and was greeted by a foul stench. Get this to Crime Scene, Lopez said and shut the lid forcefully.

A week later, Dr. Smith had a name for the detectives. Peter Drosian. Without his body, I can only tell you that he died some time in the past month.

From his rap sheet, he looks like a run-of-the-mill low-level thug in the Armenian mob in New York, Washington said after looking over the screen.

I heard they were looking to expand their operation to the Midwest, Lopez said.

The human material in the dumpster you brought over also has Peter Drosian's DNA, Dr. Smith added.

Captain Matthews walked into the lab. The address is a suspected mob hide-out, and we're in luck, we have an undercover coming in for a briefing who might shed some light on this.

An hour later, the detectives and their captain dropped in on Detective Beck getting a dagger wound from one of his colleagues on purpose. That's part of your cover? Matthews asked.

Yeah, but I can't tell you anything more about that, Beck said.

Your handler tells me you were at the address last night, Matthews said. Did you ever see this man there? Matthews asked, showing a picture of Peter Drosian.

Yeah, he was supposed to call off some dealers in Corktown, but he didn't listen so Big Mike told 'Ears' to get rid of him. 'Ears' shot him once in the neck, and then Louie kept insisting we throw the body in the trash, with the rest of the trash, he said, like it was very important to him for some reason, Beck said.

How much more time do you need on your assignment?

Just another month. The big plan is going down in about three weeks, but not even the Boss's son knows exactly when that's gonna be.

Well, Captain, said Lopez turning to Matthews, I think we can hand this one off to Homicide for them to deal with in a month or so.

Sounds good, Matthews said.

Wait a minute, said Washington. There are still a lot of unanswered questions.

Such as?

Where is Peter Drosian's body now? Who took it and why?

Matthews thought for a little bit. Alright, see if you can get some answers to those questions, but if you don't turn anything up soon, I want you back on the weapons heist.

Will do, captain, Lopez said, then he looked to Washington as if he was about to ask him why he had changed his mind about the case.

Can you show me Louie's picture? Washington asked Beck.

Yeah, sure.

Washington looked as if he had seen a ghost. A visit to the garbage truck depot convinced him of his hunch. Who makes the trash compactors on these trucks? he asked the Garbage Commissioner.

Why? Paltech. They've had the contract with the City for twenty years now and kept it during the re-bid, the commissioner said almost nonchalantly.

And who were the other contractors?

There were a few, but WastePlus was the only one I thought had any chance of taking the contract away from Paltech.

The detectives stepped away from the commissioner. This case is not the simple homicide of some unimportant scumbag, it's a case of corporate espionage and corporate entanglements with organized crime, Washington explained.

So where do we go next? Lopez asked.

To WastePlus.

The receptionist at the WastePlus office in Troy seemed unusually cagey, but it was even more surprising to see one of the suits come out to the lobby to greet the detectives. John Waldbauer, assistant VP in charge of research and development, he said extending his hand for a handshake. What can I do for Detroit's finest?

They shook hands. We have some questions about your bid for a city contract, Lopez said.

Oh yes, that, let's go in my office, John said. Susie, get us some coffee.

In the VP's office, John sat down and loosened his tie a little bit. I thought our system was the best one offered to the city, and we were asking for only a tiny bit more than Paltech, Waldbauer recalled.

Paltech is the company that did win the bid, Lopez said, playing dumb as Washington dropped a pen on the floor.

Yes, well, what can you do, other than work even harder when the next re-bid comes up?

Thank you very much, you've been very helpful.

Once in the parking lot, Washington turned on a receiver. Louie, your plan backfired completely, they heard Waldbauer say through the device. The pigs were supposed to be looking at Paltech, not at us. Now you clean up your mess, get rid of the body and burn the pigeons.

You don't suppose he'll tell us where the body is going to be dumped? Lopez asked.

Probably not, but I have a hunch, Washington answered.

His hunch was right. That night they caught two flunkies on the riverfront trying to dump Peter Drosian's body into the water. Louie eluded them though. At the morgue, Peter Drosian's widow identified her late husband's body, and Matthews congratulated his detectives.

Good work. Hopefully this will bring closure to the Drosian family. But now, I must have you back on the weapons heist. There's been a break in the case, but, as you know, the ATF is powerless to act on cases like this.

So it's up to us to track down enough assault rifles to arm a battalion, Lopez said.

End credits go here.

The Case of the Arrogant Graffiti Artist

Clank, clank.

So the shipment of guns came here first, Detective Lopez said, pointing to a map. Then, Detroit was just a skip and a hop away.

But what I don't get is how they got past air traffic control, Detective Washington said, taking a sip of coffee.

I can't explain that part yet, Lopez said.

Then Captain Matthews came into the squad room. Lopez, Washington, you're going to investigate a pornographic mural on Gratiot Avenue, Matthews ordered.

Since when is graffiti a Major Crimes Unit case? Washington asked.

Since the mayor said so, Matthews said. Crime Scene Services are on route, you'll rendezvous with them.

Aye, captain, Washington said a bit annoyed.

Once at the scene, Lopez and Washington couldn't agree that the mural is pornographic. It's ugly, is what it is, Washington said.

Some people get off on that, Lopez said. That part on the left, that's what has people complaining about pornography. Apparently, that's a young transgender activist who was killed in Chicago last year. And I'm sorry, I'm going to be politically incorrect, I don't know what pronoun to use.

It's not your fault, the muralist is not helping you in that department at all, Washington said. But what do you make of those two German guys and Chinese guy he painted on the right side? Did they kill the transgender person?

Lopez pulled out his phone and used the Web to look up the first German guy. Heinrich died before the transgender activist was even born, so I'm at a loss as to what, if anything, he has to do with the transgender activist.

It was not really a nice neighborhood, but at least the wall the mural was on was a wall of a nice building, one that had fairly recently began to receive regular maintenance.

Lopez noticed that the Crime Scene people weren't taking pictures. Another graffiti artist had shown up and started to put down primer to cover up the mural and paint his own creation over it. Lopez approached the Crime Scene people. Excuse me, why aren't you documenting this before he paints it over?

You don't know who that is? asked Sergeant Shirley McEntyre, who was in charge of the Crime Scene detail. That's Gramophone, the notorious graffiti artist who's pulled a gun on other graffiti artists.

Lopez went over to the scaffold Gramophone was on. Excuse me, sir, can we have a word?

No time, I've got to paint over this crap, Gramophone said.

Believe me, I want this painted over as much as you do, but we need to take evidence photos so we can put the bastard who did this in jail, Lopez explained.

Why didn't you say so sooner? Gramophone got off the scaffold. Go ahead.

Lopez gestured to the Crime Scene detail, and they started taking pictures and collecting evidence. By chance do you know who painted this so-called art?

I know alright who this was, Gramophone said. J. P. Andors, goes by Truthom, a spoiled white boy from Seattle. He was invited by Matt Caslon, who owns a few buildings like this one. Supposedly Truthom was going to paint a tribute to Tricia, a transgender activist from Chicago who died in a hate crime three years ago.

Washington had approached them. Don't you graffiti writers have a code that you don't paint over each other?

Truthom painted over my mural! Gramophone pointed out indignantly. But hey, I was going to give him the benefit of the doubt and wait to see what he painted. Tricia deserves a memorial, but this is disrespectful, like, hey, look at what she did to herself down there. Also, I don't know, shouldn't he have painted this in, like, I don't know, Chicago? Here he comes now.

Truthom? Washington asked.

No, Matt.

Matt Caslon was a short white guy with a big attitude, wearing his cap backwards. He was followed by his assistant Jessica, who carried a laundry bag full of microphones. Shouldn't you pigs be investigating more serious crimes, like, I don't know, murder? Caslon asked, microphone in hand. Then he put his arm forward and dropped a microphone.

So you're Matthew Caslon? Lopez asked.

Yes, that's right, Caslon said, then dropped another microphone.

And you own this building? Washington asked.

That's right, Caslon said, then dropped yet another microphone.

A beggar came by. Can someone give me twenty-seven cents for the bus?

Hold on, Caslon said, dropped a microphone, got out his wallet, then gave the beggar a quarter and two pennies.

Thank you, thank you very much, the beggar said.

You're welcome, Caslon said and dropped a microphone.

Jessica got a phone call. Hi, Janice... I'll ask him. Jessica handed Caslon a microphone. It's Janice from the symposium, she says you didn't fill out your RSVP completely, you need to specify whether you want chicken, beef or vegan for lunch.

Beef, Caslon said and dropped the microphone Jessica had just handed him, and she handed him another one.

He said beef, Jessica told Janice on the phone.

I hope he's not the keynote speaker, Lopez said to Washington.

Thank you, bye, Jessica said to Janice on the phone. Oh, another call, Jesse from the letterpress. Hi, Jesse... we're up the street, we can be there in five minutes, depending on traffic... I'll ask him...

I don't want to keep him waiting, let's go, Caslon said, dropped another microphone, and went towards a Mercedes Benz that was parked nearby. Jessica picked up the dropped microphones, put them back in the bag, and went after Caslon.

Theme music goes here.

When Caslon came back, Gramophone had already painted an entire new mural to replace the dubious tribute to Tricia. Caslon wanted to give Gramophone a piece of his mind. But Lopez and Washington had some questions. Do you know where J. P. Andors is staying? Washington asked.

Truthom? I put him up at the Red Inn Roof in Troy. Now, if you'll excuse me, Caslon dropped another microphone and headed towards Gramophone.

That's probably the most information we're going to get out of that guy, Lopez said.

You're probably right, Washington said. McEntyre's almost done with the Crime Scene stuff, so we can go pretty soon.

They followed Caslon as he walked in a huff to confront Gramophone, who was painting the RCA Victor logo on the bottom right corner of the new mural, though with a Rottweiler, instead of a terrier, faithfully listening to his master's voice on the gramophone.

Who gave you permission to paint over Truthom's mural? Caslon asked angrily, dropping a microphone.

Who gave Truthom permission to paint over my mural? Gramophone asked, miming a microphone drop. I'm tired of all these clueless out-of-town artists coming in and acting like Detroit is their blank canvas to do whatever with it. No more, I forbid it! Gramophone said, and again mimed dropping a microphone.

Well, in that case, let's go over to the DIA and protest the Diego Rivera murals! Caslon said and dropped a microphone.

Don't put Diego Rivera in the same category as that Truthom clown, Lopez said and started walking away with Washington.

Hey, wait up, Caslon said, dropped a microphone and ran after the cops. Can you guys arrest me? I need some street cred, he said and dropped another microphone.

Would it get you to stop dropping microphones? Washington asked.

Only until my lawyer got down to the station with Jessica, Caslon said and dropped another microphone.

Nah! Lopez exclaimed. "We gotta go back to the precinct and ask our captain to please assign us a homicide. That's gotta be a lot