Chapter 47: Sherlock's Deduction
Hank's face was burning with embarrassment. Ron felt like he lacked experience dealing with such a sharp-tongued genius, but Sherlock's verbal abuse was like a gentle spring breeze to him - causing virtually no damage.
How else do you think Ron survived growing up with Sheldon without strangling that insufferable know-it-all?
"The criminal was right under my nose? Who are you talking about?" Hank rubbed his increasingly receding hairline, wracking his brain, but he couldn't figure out which of his contacts had that kind of capability.
"First, let's discuss the meth cook. It's your brother-in-law, the guy named Walter White."
Hank was thunderstruck. "That's impossible! You've got to be bullshitting me! I know Walter inside and out - he's absolutely not that type of person!"
"Which proves you're a moron," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.
Ron finally jumped in to play peacekeeper. "Sorry, Sherlock, my guy here isn't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. Could you walk us through your reasoning?"
Whether out of boredom or simple amusement, Sherlock seemed willing to enlighten Hank with an explanation.
"You must have investigated the market for equipment and precursor chemicals needed to cook this stuff, correct? The drug flow might be hard to trace, but those specialized chemicals aren't exactly hot sellers at Home Depot, so their movement is easy to track. I'm guessing nobody purchased them commercially - they went missing from a school, am I right?"
"Yeah, that's exactly right." Hank was slowly recovering from his shock. He hadn't mentioned that detail in his briefing, so how could Sherlock possibly know?
Could there really be, as Ron claimed, a genius who could reconstruct an entire case without ever visiting the scene?
"Let's connect the dots on this meth operation. First, you mentioned the product has over 90% purity. That's definitely not something some dropout from public school could whip up in a trailer. It requires advanced chemistry knowledge and serious lab experience.
And nobody has easier access to steal from a school laboratory than the teacher who holds the keys.
Also, I took the liberty of researching Mr. Walter's background. Turns out he was quite the chemistry prodigy back in the day. Even co-founded a chemical company with a partner and handled virtually all the R&D single-handedly. The equipment that went missing from the school happens to perfectly match what's needed for methamphetamine production."
"Second, regarding the connection between the drug-dealing punk you've been tracking and this chemistry teacher - I have to say, using amnesia to explain his disappearance is a pathetically weak cover story.
And the excuse about going to buy drugs because of his own addiction? Equally pathetic. I guarantee if you drug-test a hair sample from him, you won't find a trace of methamphetamine use. No one understands the devastating effects of meth on the human body better than a chemistry genius."
Hank was breaking into a cold sweat. Once Sherlock connected these dots, he realized how many obvious clues he'd completely missed. But Sherlock had no interest in Hank's emotional state and continued his rapid-fire analysis.
"Third point: motive. Crystal clear. A broke man facing terminal illness with a middle-class family will definitely want to leverage his skills to leave something behind for his loved ones, or secure funding for treatment.
Honestly, Ron, if you're going to bring me such elementary cases in the future, don't bother. Even though I'm monumentally bored right now, your case is almost insultingly simple."
Ron was completely used to getting demolished by Sherlock and just shrugged it off. "Well, since you're sitting around with nothing to do anyway, why don't you help me figure out where the kingpin who's distributing this stuff nationwide is hiding, my dear Mr. Sherlock, master of deduction."
A few compliments never hurt anyone, and they were absolutely free. Ron had never been stingy with cost-free flattery.
Not only did it cost nothing, but it could potentially earn him a substantial bonus.
"Fine. First, tell me - besides California, which other states have you found this product in? If possible, give them to me in chronological order."
"Started in California, then Oregon, Nevada, Arizona, Utah, New Mexico..." Ron rattled off the list smoothly.
"Obviously, the drug lord you're referring to is the owner of the Los Pollos Hermanos chain. Go pick him up."
"Hold on, how did you deduce that?" Hank demanded.
"Based on when the drugs were discovered, it's a clear function of distance from California. It's obviously spreading outward from there. And the common factor among all those states you mentioned is they all have Los Pollos Hermanos locations."
"But they also have McDonald's," Ron countered, finally catching what he thought was a flaw in Sherlock's logic.
Sherlock shot back, "But McDonald's sources their ingredients locally from regional suppliers in each state, eliminating the need for long-haul interstate transportation. Los Pollos Hermanos is actually the only major chain in America whose entire supply chain originates from a single source."
Ron quickly pulled up his laptop, and once Sherlock pointed it out, he discovered this unusual aspect of the company. Their corporate website claimed this was to ensure consistent taste and quality across all locations.
However, anyone with basic knowledge knows that virtually all commercial chickens in America are standardized breeds created by agricultural corporations, and they're even fed identical feed, so chickens raised in different regions taste exactly the same anyway.
"Gustavo Fring!" Hank shouted, staring at the photo on Ron's screen.
"Wait, you know this guy?" Ron asked with interest.
Hank pointed at the photo of the well-dressed Chilean businessman. "He's one of the biggest donors to the DEA's Los Angeles field office. You know federal funding is always tight."
"Well, that assassination attempt suddenly makes a lot more sense."
"Your intelligence apparatus really is more porous than a colander," Sherlock's voice sneered through the speaker, sounding particularly cutting, but Ron didn't take it personally.
"Since our brilliant genius has helped us identify the mastermind, can you also help me locate where they're cooking the product? You know how the law works - I can't arrest anyone without solid evidence."
"Their production lab should be at the industrial laundry in Glendale."
Hank muttered, "Is that also deduced?"
"No, I found it on Google Earth. It's registered under Gustavo's name, located far from residential areas, with legitimate reasons for chemical vapor discharge, and right next to the interstate for rapid distribution. You couldn't ask for a more perfect setup."
End of Chapter
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