The Perplexing Case of the Mysterious Death of Watson Toad

Prologue

I was called at around 10:00 pm. Fine, you want exacts? 10:27 pm. I was actually thinking about bed right at the time the call was made to me from the local Rogueport Police Department.

"Mr. Grad?" The Chief said. No introductions. Typical.

"Yes, Chief?"

"We have a DB down in front of the Inn in Rogueport square."

"A DB, mister Portly?"

"Uh…a Dead Body, Mr. Grad." He seemed to reply in disgust.

Hey, I'm not into the whole fancy-shmancy police abbreviation thing. I don't care how "cool" the kids think it is.

"Whatever." Is all that leaves my lips.

"We've got some uniforms checking it out, but they're at a loss, can you help us out? This one is pretty important." Chief Portly continues.

I thought about it for a moment, but since I heard that it was "Important", it probably had good pay, and after my little "explosion" at the pub the other day, I concluded I should probably take it to pay the damage costs.

I quickly donned my cap and made sure that my mustache was properly groomed and headed out. It took me about 30 minutes to get to Rogueport from my humble little abode from Poshly Heights. The underground warp tunnel route was a little messy, which hindered my time. It was raining in Rogueport when I got there, you would think that it is the perfect scenario for solving another crime. The hard pouring rain and the dark atmosphere made it perfectly mysterious and gloomy in such a way that a murder was just begging to be solved. I thought the same…until I came to the murder site, and saw that the body was completely exposed to the rain. Blood, trace, and any piece of evidence was washed away by mother nature to make sure that the beautiful little worn down, crime-ridden town of Rogueport was nice and clean, conveniently on this particular night, oh, and on top of that, the local police didn't care to put any tarp over this dead body to at any chance preserve any sort of evidence. Way to go, score one for the local authorities. After screaming in my head to the frustration I had toward the local police, I decided to finally step in and start this probably impossible case.

Oh, I guess I should introduce myself! My apologies, I get quite carried away when I'm telling stories. My name is Dimitri Grad. I am a brown bob-omb, with a nice, long, and very-well-groomed grey mustache. I normally don my nice, black plaid detective's hat (Don't say it's cliché, it's black not brown. And besides, I got it on sale).

That "explosion" at the pub? Oh dear friend, you thought I was speaking figuratively? Ho ho, my comrade, What I said was 100% accurate! Don't fret though, I only blew up the front bar, I had my reasons, too. A young and rather cocky boy was making jokes of my accent! Yes…I do have what you would call a Russian accent, but let us not dwell on the details.

Ah…where was I? Oh yes. The scene of the crime. I walked up to Chief Portly, a rather large mouse with a slight under bite and graying fur. I asked him for the details of this poor dead fellow.

"The name of DB is—" Portly quickly stopped himself and glanced at me. I simply rolled my eyes at his use of abbreviations. "—the name is Watson Toad. He's obviously a toad no doubt and is 27 years old. He was reported by the Inn Keeper when she came she heard what sounded like two men yelling. Oh, and when I say she reported, I really mean she just screamed her lungs out."

"What is the cause of death, Mister Portly?" I asked quietly as I was already examining what was really left of this pathetically detail-lacking crime scene.

"It appears that there was a stab wound in the chest, however we don't know if he bled out or died before from the rain." Portly said, knowing what was coming next.

"Well, that could've been prevented now, couldn't it?" I scoffed. Portly looked up and sighed. Ignorance is a beautiful thing.

"There is one other thing though," Portly finally said. "There's also a blunt force trauma to the head, from what seems to be above him at the time of death."

"Really now?" I replied. I walked up to the body to see what story it had to tell. One of the first things I observed is the lack of a ring on his left ring finger, meaning he wasn't married or stolen from. Mister Toad also had a large bruise on the left side of his waist, and other on his arm accompanied with a rather odd looking cut. He had a black right eye and a few missing teeth, which suggested a fight of some sort before he died. Then I saw the two possible causes of death: A stab wound in the chest that was made by a rather large knife or rather short sword (wouldn't be surprised quite honestly), and a long, tube shaped bruise on the top of his head. Either of the two could've been the cause of this Toad's death, but it was nearly impossible to tell, mainly because of the ignorant idiots we have for a local police force not thinking to cover the crime scene. If there was a pool of blood it would've been obvious that the stab killed, but life isn't that easy for me, and these cops made it harder.

"So Mister Portly," I said, leaning back up after making my observations, "our first question arises. What killed Mister Watson Toad? The stab or the drop?"

Little did I know I was in for one of my craziest cases that I have ever had to date.