Frustrated and isolated, Arthur sat at his desk, surrounded by color-coded binders, and dialed the local police department. He got Marge, a veteran dispatcher who recognized his caller ID instantly. “Marge, this is Arthur Pendelton,” he said formally. “We have an unmitigated biohazard at 412 Elm. Mr. Henderson has vanished, and there is an odor of decay coming from the garage. We need a squad car.” Marge groaned audibly over the line. “
Arthur, last month you called 911 because a teenager’s car exhaust was ‘unusually dark.’ Let me guess, none of your neighbors are calling this in?” “Because the wind path isolates it to my property!” Arthur barked. “This is a potential crime scene!” “Look, I’ll log a ticket and route it to County Code Enforcement,” Marge sighed. “But with the summer backlog, it’ll take seven to ten business days for an inspector to get out there. Until then, keep your windows closed. Goodbye, Arthur.” The line went dead.