Investigation Proves Fruitful

Investigations almost always follow this path. Let's say you need to determine the facts surrounding an incident. You do some initial sleuthing. Based on what you learn, you formulate a working premise about what happened. Then, over time, more information is revealed, and you revise your original theory accordingly.

That is exactly what happened during my investigation of the tangerine caper (reported in the preceding blog post). When Dennis reported the crime to me, it was already dark outside. I conducted my first examination of the scene with only the benefit of a flashlight. Seeing no tangerine detritus and clean cuts on the tree limbs, I reasoned that the heinous acts under investigation were the work of human hands.

Then, the next morning, in the light of day, I sought out my neighbor, Evan. We share a property line with Evan and his wife, Heather. Their bathroom window sits just on the other side of our common fence, within viewing distance of the top of the satsuma tree. Perhaps they saw or heard something that could help us identify the thief. I was now entering the witness phase of the investigation.

Evan was appropriately outraged when I told him that our satsuma tree, previously laden with orange fruit, was now stripped nearly clean. (We have a reciprocal produce-sharing arrangement with Evan and Heather. They give us oranges from their bountiful tree; in exchange, we share whatever's ripe and abundant.) Evan had undoubtedly been expecting a bag of tangerines to appear on his front porch any day now, so he quickly joined me in my victimhood.

After discussing the details of the theft and ruling out of possible suspects, Evan suggested that we examine the crime scene from his side of the fence. And that was when I had to rethink my original theory. Borrowing a phrase from The Big Lebowski, new information had come to light. On Evan's side of the fence, within a few feet of our satsuma tree, lay a wide pile of tangerine peels. It was now evident that the purloined tangerines had been largely eaten at the time they were picked. I was wrong to assume this was the work of a human perpetrator. No one would take the trouble to steal dozens of tangerines and then hunker down in the next yard to consume the fruit in one sitting. Our thief was a member of the animal kingdom. And guessing from the sheer volume of tangerine consumption, it was mostly likely the work of several animals -- a family of raccoons, most probably.

The raccoon theory also explained the secateur-like cuts on the branches, considering their notoriously sharp claws and teeth. It also fit with the fact that our other citrus fruits -- the Mexican lime and the Meyer lemon -- were untouched. These raccoons wisely selected the citrus with the easily removable peel and the most complex flavor. As I left Evan's yard, I remarked bitterly that our resident raccoons certainly had a taste for satsuma. "Who doesn't?" Evan replied.

True, who doesn't appreciate a good satsuma? I'm heading to the farmer's market now to pick up a few pounds before the season ends. Next year, we'll have to remember to harvest the tree earlier, before our raccoon bandits orchestrate another midnight raid on our fruitful satsuma.