by Alex P. Berg
“Well?” said Shay. “Who’s it from?”
Apparently, my partner hadn’t come down with a debilitating case of laryngitis during the ride. “Cairny. She says she’s already got something for us.”
We headed for the stairs and followed them into the station’s basement. Though often referred to as the dungeon, over time I’d come to the conclusion that the station’s bowels had never been used as a den of torment and suffering. Despite having gotten lost in the maze of subterranean passages, once for so long I wish I’d brought a snack along with me, I’d never chanced across any rusted shackles, stocks, or iron maidens. Besides, despite their dark, dank, unsettling aura, none of the chambers below harbored that ancient stink of death—all except one.
The cool, subterranean air greeted us as we descended into the morgue proper, mostly free of that distinctive scent of decay but this time with a familiar fishy tang to it. I recognized it immediately, although the other scent that hung in the air caught me off guard. Something acidic with an overtone of oranges. A new cleaner? Normally the janitor used a lemon-scented one.
Regardless of what had been used, someone had gone through the space recently, intent upon keeping the chamber tidy. The cadaver vaults on the far side of the room gleamed, their stainless steel faces and handles polished to a shine. Exam tables dotted the room, each adorned with neatly folded stacks of white linens, pairs of gloves, an assortment of surgical tools, and empty clipboards. One of them, however, contained something more. A human-like shape poked from underneath a linen draped over the exam table in the furthest corner. Unless my nose deceived me, it was the source of the fishy tang.
Cairny sat nearby, scribbling upon a clipboard, this one with a sheaf of papers clipped into it. She looked up at the sound of Shay’s and my footsteps, blinking several times as she took us in. “Oh. You’re here.”
Shay shot a thumb toward the entrance. “You did leave a note for us, right?”
The corner nodded. “I did. It’s just…I only went up there a few minutes ago. I thought you’d be gone longer. No big deal.”
I gave her a nod. “You’re already writing your report? That was fast.”
Cairny snorted. “Please, Daggers. I’m not a miracle worker. I’m not anywhere close to being done. I’m merely jotting down notes to ensure I don’t forget anything. I have a tendency to forgot things in the heat of the moment.”
“You don’t say.”
Shay glared at me before turning a more pleasant gaze on Cairny. “So you haven’t finished your analysis, but you must have found something important. You wouldn’t have left the note otherwise.”
“Correct, as always, bestie.” Cairny punctuated her statement with a stab of her pencil in Shay’s direction. “Seeing how little information we had to go on this morning when we found the body, I figured any knowledge might be helpful in getting the investigation going. No sense in waiting until the final verdict when the preliminary guess is likely to be sufficient. And the piece of information I have for you might be revealing. I believe I’ve discovered the man’s death wound.”
“Really?” said Shay. “Where?”
Cairny stood, setting her clipboard aside. “Come. I’ll show you.”
She sauntered over to the occupied exam table, rounding to the far side while Shay and I squeezed together on the other. Cairny grabbed the edge of the white linen over the still form and started to lift it. A wave of decaying fish funk crept out from under the cloth.
I stopped her with an outstretched hand, trying not to breath.
Cairny looked at me with puzzled eyes. “Is something wrong, Detective?”
I didn’t blame her. She really didn’t get it most of the time. It was as if she was born without an aversion to death and decay.
I squawked out a reply, feeling my lungs slowly run out of air with which to express myself. “You know, I’ve found a good description…can be just as effective…as a visual…demonstration.”
I might’ve hacked and coughed a bit at the end of my appeal. Cairny shared a concerned look with Shay, who didn’t express a lot of empathy. I think her stomach and olfactory system agreed with me, however.
“To be fair, Daggers makes a decent point,” said Shay, grimacing in the general direction of the linen.
Cairny lay the sheet back down, smothering to a certain degree the rotting fish funk. “I understand. The body is mangled anyway, which I find fascinating, but not everyone shares the same passions I do. Still, I’d rather let you come to your own conclusions…” Cairny tapped her chin. “Here. I have an idea.”
A metal cart had been rolled next to the table, whereupon the surgical tools and towels and other items had been relocated. Cairny bent down and rummaged around the bottom of it. When she stood back up, it was with Fishy’s tattered jacket and sweater in hand.
“Daggers, if you don’t mind,” she said, “could you snag that empty coat rack and bring it over to this table?”
I wasn’t sure where she was going, but I agreed anyway. “Sure.”
I crossed the room, snagged the rack, and brought it over to the empty exam table in question, upon which Cairny had already spread the maroon jacket. As I set the coat rack in place, Cairny approached with the sweater.
“You’re taller than I am, so if you could help me with this…”
I eyed the sweater with distaste, knowing full well where it had been. “Help you with what, exactly?”
“I’d like to drape the sweater over the rack so we can get a good view of the front. There’s a spare pair of gloves on the table if you need them.”
I grabbed them and slipped them on, noting Shay’s amused look. “Don’t judge me. I’m all about hygiene.”
With the gloves in place, I did as Cairny asked, draping the sweater over the rack such that its collar snagged upon the hooks at the top.
When done, I stepped back. “Alright. Now we’ve got a foul-smelling sweater hanging from a coat rack. All we need is a tattered hat and some straw and we’ll have ourselves a reasonable scarecrow facsimile. It should kept the ravens away, no problem.”
“Believe it or not, Detective Daggers, I don’t suffer from overaggressive bird attacks in the morgue.”
Shay snickered. She waved at the coat and jacket. “You mentioned a death wound, Cairny. I’m guessing it was inflicted on the man’s torso?”
“Correct again, Detective,” she said. “It was difficult to see at first because of the condition of the man’s jacket, as well as the coarse knit of his sweater. But if you look carefully you can see part of it here.”
Cairny pointed at the jacket, to a rough circular tear over the right breast near the monogrammed lettering. With emphasis drawn to it, it did appear both larger and more jagged than the majority of the other crab- and fish-inflicted rips.
“So, what?” I said. “He was murdered with an ice pick, or something a bit more nautical? A spear?”
“I said you could see part of it on the jacket, not all.” Cairny moved to the sweater I’d draped from the coat rack. “Again, it’s hard to see because of the sweater’s loose weave, but if you look closely, here is where the weapon that struck the jacket pushed through, and here to the left are two other nearly identical tears in the fabric. I suspect the jacket must’ve flapped open as he was struck.”
I moved closer to the sweater, ignoring its fragrant perfume of barnacles and rotting flesh, and inspected the points Cairny had drawn attention to. Based on the location of the tear in the jacket, I found the looser, stretched fabric and torn yarn on the matching spot on the sweater. If I hadn’t known what I was looking for I would’ve easily missed the two similar, evenly spaced spots to the left.
“Three entry wounds, all in a row?”
Cairny nodded.
Shay, with her superior eyesight, hadn’t needed to close the gap to observe the torn fabric. “Because of the way they line up, I’m guessing they were inflicted upon our victim at the same time. But with what? A pitchfork?”
/> Cairny frowned and cocked her head. “I doubt it. Pitchforks generally have five tines, not three. Besides, the cloth is torn, and pitchforks have smooth tines.”
“So what then?”
Cairny pursed her lips. “Well, based on the tearing pattern in the cloth, and in the resulting decayed flesh underneath, I’m confident whatever pierced the victim had notched heads. Because there were three such wounds in a row, and given the nautical nature of the deceased, I think it’s reasonable to assume he was murdered…with a trident.”
I stepped back, removing my gloves and placing them on the exam table. “You mean, like a god of the oceans sort of trident?”
“Spear fishermen use them, too, Daggers,” said Steele.
“Yes. In the shallows. But our guy was murdered at sea.”
“His body was disposed of at sea,” corrected Steele. “We have no idea where he was murdered.”
“Fair enough.” I gave Cairny a nod. “So is that all you’ve got for us?”
The fae-blooded coroner blinked. “Isn’t that enough? How quickly do you expect me to work?”
“Don’t mind him,” said Shay. “He has all sorts of unrealistic expectations. Thanks for the update. Come get us if you find anything else intriguing.”
Steele turned toward the stairs, and I followed her, wondering what exactly she meant by that. Unrealistic expectations? Was that another jab at how her family had treated me, or not treated me, in her eyes? I thought I’d progressed to a point where I could simply ask Shay to clarify a statement, even one made in anger, and the logical portion of me told me I could, even now, but my heart said otherwise. It told me to wait a little longer to bring it up, at least until I’d fully cooled and Shay had done likewise, and to sure as hell not bring it up in a snarky tone.
The beating organ at the center of me didn’t always know what it was doing, but in this instance, I decided to trust it.
6
Sometimes I think if the tables were turned and I were the one being interrogated by a hard-boiled, graying cop with a multitude of scars and the threat of the law behind him, I’d crack like an eggshell under the pressure. Certainly, I wouldn’t be able to lie effectively, spinning a convincing tale out of thin air without giving myself away. Even if I somehow managed to slip my deception under the eye of the grizzled veteran, I’d never manage to pull the wool over the eyes of his preternaturally aware, smoking hot elven sidekick.
Shay elbowed me as we returned to our desks. “What’s on your mind?”
I blinked, pushing back the fog of memories and internal relationship discussions and what-ifs. “Huh?”
“You’re doing that thing again, with the vacant stare and the lip chewing and the only barely metaphorical gears churning up top.”
I lied, but only by omission. “You really think Fishy was killed with a trident?”
Shay shrugged as she sat down. “Why not?”
I took my seat, too. “It’s just an…odd weapon, that’s all.”
Shay lifted an eyebrow. “Really? We’ve come across individuals murdered with swords and spears and stilettos filled with refrigerated liquid. Beaten to death with two by fours and frying pans. Strangled with belts or with pairs of pants. Orange corduroy pants, if I remember correctly. A trident really seems that weird to you?”
“It’s not a common tool, is all.”
“It is among spear fishermen.”
“Something you already pointed out,” I said. “But how many of those are left? You saw those ships in the harbor this morning, the trollers and trawlers and whatchamacallits. Fishing’s big business. I can’t image many people do it by hand anymore. Not in these parts.”
Shay shrugged again. “Well, if Cairny stakes her reputation on it, that’s good enough for me. She’s rarely wrong about what killed someone. Besides, her explanation fits the evidence as I see it. As odd as it might be, it’s the best guess we have right now. On the bright side, the stranger the weapon, the easier it will be to connect it to the murder when we actually find it.”
“Assuming we find it. It could be at the bottom of the ocean for all we know.”
“Are you going to be a pessimist all day, or do you plan on turning a corner at some point?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but the sight of Quinto waltzing through the front doors with a sheaf of papers in hand kept me from digging my own grave.
I shot a finger toward Shay and flicked it in the direction of the doors to make sure she knew I wasn’t ignoring her. When Quinto arrived, I gave the big guy a sly smile. “I don’t know where you went, but it certainly wasn’t a government office.”
“I know, right?” said Quinto. “There was a new kid at Public Records. Couldn’t have been on the job for more than a couple weeks, maybe only a day or two. Anyway, when I introduced myself and showed him my badge, he shot out of his chair like a bolt out of a crossbow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a public servant move so fast. I couldn’t have been at the records office more than fifteen minutes before the guy emerged from the stacks in back with this folder full of papers.” Quinto waved it for emphasis. “According to him, this is every individual in the city with the initials NFC, which a quick perusal suggests is about a hundred and fifty. He didn’t even make a copy first. Said our police work was too important, that I should take the files and bring them back when I was done.”
I would’ve whistled if I could. Instead I settled for a forceful, breathy blow. “Well, he’ll learn, even if it takes a few tongue-lashings from his boss. Rule number one of public service. If you can move slower, do. Speed creates unsustainable expectations.”
“And rule number two is never convenience another government agency without securing concessions first,” said Quinto.
Shay shook her head. “How did you two get so cynical?”
“You’ve only been here a year. Give it time.” Quinto fanned the file again. “The good news is—better than the speed with which I secured the information—is that the city has far fewer corporations with the initials NFC than it does inhabitants. According to the records the young retriever secured for me, there’s only two dozen entities within the greater New Welwic area that fit the bill, and I was already able to sort through them on my trip back here. Of the twenty-five, a mere three seem to be nautical in nature. Norman Family Charters, located in southeastern New Welwic, Nicchi Fishing and Crabbing, located far to the west in Aragosto, and Newtown Fishing Corporation, far to the east in, of all places, Newtown.”
Shay lifted a brow. “Aragosto and Newtown are both pretty far from here. Companies filed for incorporation in those towns show up in our public records office?”
Quinto nodded. “I think it’s a cost cutting measure. A lot of New Welwic suburbs use municipal services like Public Records and Taxation and Revenue instead of running their own offices. It’s not particularly efficient for them to do it themselves. Though they operate their own police and fire departments. Sanitation, schools, and libraries, too, assuming they have any of the latter.”
Apparently I wasn’t the only one who’d trained an eye on the front door. Captain Knox appeared in her doorway, motioning for us to come to her rather than vice versa. “Detectives?”
I stood and joined her at the base of her office, as did Steele and Quinto.
Knox didn’t waste any time. “Let’s hear your updates.”
“We located the body and transported it back to the morgue,” said Shay. “Cairny’s working on her report as we speak, though she’s already shared some preliminary findings. Due to the condition of the deceased, we haven’t been able to identify him based on physical characteristics. He also lacked any personal identifying information, but we’re following other leads that seem promising.”
“Such as?”
Quinto lifted the file. “The man was wearing a monogrammed jacket and a matching cap. We think it might’ve been a uniform. These are from Public Records. Names of individuals with initials to match, as well as businesses. We suspect t
he latter is probably a better avenue to pursue. Certainly, it’s a narrower one. I’ve already trimmed the list down to three potential enterprises at which the deceased might’ve worked.”
“And they are?” asked Knox.
Quinto gave her the rundown. She nodded.
“Detective Steele? You mentioned Coroner Moonshadow had delivered some early results?”
Shay nodded. “On site, she came to the conclusion the man had been dumped into the ocean based on the marks left by ropes used to secure weights to his ankles. After a more thorough search, she’s come to the conclusion the man was stabbed with a trident before being disposed of.”
“A trident?” For some reason, Captain Knox affixed me with a stare as she said that.
“It seems plausible, based on the physical evidence,” I said. “Admittedly, anyone could’ve been disposed of at sea, but the man’s clothing suggested he was a sailor or dockworker of some sort. If so, that would make slightly more sense.”
“Fair enough,” said Knox. “Have you considered your next steps?”
“I figured we’d start with the NFC businesses,” said Quinto. “Probably Norman Family Charters.”
“Because it’s in New Welwic?”
“Well…yeah,” said Quinto. “Reach for the low-hanging fruit first.”
“Good,” said Knox. “Detective Daggers? Accompany Detective Quinto to the travel company. See if you can get an ID on our John Doe.”
Shay’s eyebrows drew together. “What about me, Captain?”
I’m pretty sure Knox smiled, but the shadow that crossed the corner of her lips might’ve been from a passing cloud. “I’d rather you stayed. I have a few matters I’d like to discuss, and I suspect Detective Daggers and Quinto will fare fine on their own.”
Shay gave me a sideways look and a tiny shrug before entering the captain’s office, but she didn’t look bent out of shape by the sudden change of plans. Knox gave us the sort of look used to shoo flies. Quinto clapped me on the back, and the pair of us meatheads headed toward the exit, Quinto’s mind undoubtedly focused on the task at hand and mine anything but.
