Halfway across Bikini Bottom, whilst SpongeBob was trying to discern who his visitor was, Detective Phil P. Phish was investigating what he believed to be a recent escape from Bikini Bottom Maximum Security Prison. Phil took a deep breath through his nose, almost gagging on the scent of mildew that was trapped within the prison walls. Phil forced himself to take a sip of coffee to try and wake himself up.
"What do we have here?" a reporter suddenly inquired of him.
Annoyed, Phil responded harshly. "What the fuck does it look like, dumb ass?" The reporter let out a frustrated sigh and left Phil to continue his work. To be honest, Phil wasn't sure what he had here. No one told him anything about the crime; he was going in cold. Phil stepped into the cell where the crime began, and examined his surroundings closely.
"Phish, I think you should come see this," the coroner stated from across the room. "It's better to examine the body before we look through the scene." Phil looked over to him, and then stared at the mangled and twisted body lying prostrate on the ground.
"I beg to differ. This is how I always do things." Phil stated.
"Yeah, and you haven't solved a case in a year and a half," someone snickered behind him. Phil didn't even feel angry about it; why get angry at facts?
Phil turned away from the coroner and started to peruse through the evidence that was marked. Above the inmate's bed was a window with three iron bars denying exit. This was a problem - there should have been four. Phil went over to a shelf and examined a hastily made shiv. The bloodstains on the blade made it obvious that it had been used before, but the stains were dry and faded, meaning it hasn't been used in quite a while.
And that was it. Phil swore to himself. There was a painful lack of evidence here. Phil hoped that the body would uncover some answers that he desperately needed. Phil walked over to the coroner and hunched over the body.
"Tell me what you've found here, doc." Phil stated.
"Don't call me doc," the coroner snidely replied. He pointed to the neck. "Deep lacerations to the carotid. This no doubt was the cause of death."
"That's it?"
"Let me finish, detective," the coroner responded, annoyed. He then pointed at the wrists. "These bruises suggest that he was gripped tightly, probably thrown onto the ground from the looks of it." Phil let out a sigh. "And if you look here detective, you'll notice that the victim's back is broken, evidenced by the abnormal curvature of the spine and the protrusion of the seventh vertebrae."
"And who the fuck cares?" Phish blurted out. "There's no evidence here."
At this, a patrolman came over. "Sir, the reason this is important isn't because of the victim's cause of death, it's the victim himself."
"So what? Let's just get the body properly ID'd and get the hell out of here."
"I already took the liberty of looking through the prison files. I've ID'd the victim," the patrolman said.
"What would looking through prison files have to do with the victim?"
The coroner got up and put his hand on Phil's shoulder. "Phil, this victim wasn't killed by the prisoner. He is the prisoner."
No one said anything for more than a minute. Phil's brain was running a mile a minute. Things didn't make sense here. Did the prisoner escape, just to be killed right outside of his cell by a security guard? No, that didn't make sense. All security guards were accounted for, and none of them took responsibility for the slaying. Someone came into the prison under cover of darkness and murdered a prisoner. But why?
"So that means the killer is out there. He's free in Bikini Bottom," Phil stammered out.
The coroner nervously nodded his head. "That seems to be the case," he agreed.