CSI: Goldfish

The day began like any other Thursday morning: dew-soaked grass, the chirping of birds, Terry Wogan’s soothing voice mixed with jovial quips that wouldn’t be out of place inside a Christmas cracker, the postman banging on the front door. quickly and then waiting for no one to answer before pushing a crumpled ‘Tried to deliver but you weren’t there’ brochure through the door followed by hurried footsteps and a dead goldfish.

The goldfish or ‘goldie’ as it was known to hipsters in a tongue-in-cheek way, was a happy and lucky fish who wouldn’t flinch from giving their worldly possessions to a passerby. I didn’t realize until after his death that he didn’t have eyelids, and he didn’t have pockets to store things. That’s not the point though, as if he had eyelids and worldly possessions, he’d be beating them up all day and giving the possessions away anyway.

The first sign of Goldie’s death was that he was floating on the surface of the water, and I knew he was more of a fathom man. Floating on the surface was strictly exclusive to chav fish like cod and salmon. On closer inspection, I saw a large bruise on his fin and he sported a black eye. This reeked of fishacide.

I hadn’t changed the water for a few months, so it may have been a fishing job, but it also definitely reeked of fish acidity.

Immediately, I blamed myself. I had placed the fish tank in front of the TV so I could enjoy Eastenders and Supermarket Sweep while I worked at the helium factory. If I had quit my job two weeks earlier, this would never have happened. I only left the helium factory after an argument with my boss. I simply refused to be spoken to in that tone of voice.

Unfortunately, Goldie became a fan of MTV and binge-watched ‘Jackass’ and ‘Dirty Sanchez’. It was inevitable that he would dismiss the ‘don’t try this at home’ warnings that were written in English and not Finnish.

It was only when I was cleaning out the tank that I realized he had placed the rocks at the bottom of the tank to spell ‘fhgewkgn’ that I realized this was murder.

I hired a new fish named Columbo and tasked him with solving the case. He would often gather me and my relatives in the living room and talk gibberish for several minutes and, to be honest, we all felt that he was a bit silly. Just as we were turning to leave the room, he suddenly swam towards the glass as if he had just remembered something. It was very plausible at the time, since goldfish only have a memory of a few seconds. (Goldie would always laugh out loud at ‘Last Of The Summerwine’ no matter how many times Clegg rolled down a hill in a bathtub.)

Colombo solved the case, it turned out that the fish were not supposed to have a leash around their necks and go for walks in the garden.