“He bled out.”
“Yes. I think the first one went into the kidney.” Stone lifted the sheet and rolled the body enough to see the wound to the left lower back. “Instant overwhelming pain, temporary paralysis, possibly unconsciousness from shock. It’s the technique of a pro, a killer.”
“And you know this because…”
“I read books, Cal. This is well known stuff from the time of the Borgias. Stick a knife in there and you have ten seconds or more of complete helplessness to work with.”
“But that didn’t kill him.”
“Nope.” Stone let the body rest on its back again and lifted the sheet to show the crotch area. “Inner thigh, femoral artery, stabbed in and cut outward—another killing technique.”
“The largest artery in the body. How long?”
“Two, three minutes, tops. Even if EMT got to him immediately, it would have been touch and go.”
“And in the confusion of the battle, by the time anyone noticed, it would be too late.”
Stone grimaced. “Where better to murder someone than in the middle of a swordfight?”
Cal rubbed her sternum. “No kidding.” She waved at the body. “Let me see his chest.”
“I thought necrophilia was my hazard.”
“Sick man. I want to see his ink.”
Stone drew off the sheet to expose the chest. Old tattoos covered his front side—swastikas, lightning bolts, death’s heads and other Aryan Brotherhood-style symbology.
“Okay. I just wanted to be sure.” She sighed. “What is it about this Nazi shit that attracts people?”
“Same thing that makes some people want to be cops or soldiers. Power for the powerless. Violence to solve the unsolvable. Simplicity, authority…something greater than themselves.”
Cal knew something about that. The blue fraternity wasn’t all that different, except in its aims and methods. But some cops still yielded to the siren song of playing petty gods instead of “Protect and Serve.”
She gave a final sigh. No worries about that temptation anymore.
Cal had one more thing to do before she could put the case to bed for good. She knew she wasn’t going to hear anything more about Brook. Sergei wasn’t the type to talk, and her list of police allies had grown thin. Eventually, everyone would forget about it like dozens of other cases.
She pulled Molly into a visitor’s parking space and went into the Garden of Hope Funeral Home. She was met by a middle-aged woman with naturally graying hair dressed in a smart black suit, nicely tailored to her body.
“Welcome,” said her voice, as cultured as the suit. “What can I do for you today?”
“I called ahead. My name is Cal Corwin.”
“Ah, Miss Corwin.” She nodded. “If you’ll follow me.”
Cal followed her past family meeting rooms, a chapel, and a showroom of caskets, to a small room in somber browns and rose. A simple casket was on display. Light colored wood, little ornamentation, brass handles.
“Can I get you anything?” the woman offered. “Water? There are tissues, a Bible…you can stay for as long as you like…”
“No. I’m fine,” Cal said. “I just need a few minutes.”
“Would you like music?” The woman gestured to a volume adjustment knob on the wall next to several light switches.
“No.”
“Fine. Just give me a shout if you need anything.”
Cal waited for the woman to leave before she walked up to the casket, heart aching. Her chest injury was healing, but at certain moments, the pain returned unexpectedly.
The upper half of the coffin was open so that Cal could see Jenna’s face. The mortician’s staff had done their best to make her look natural in death. She had on a well-worn AC/DC t-shirt and her usual jewelry, and her multi-colored hair was arranged around her face.
Jenna’s makeup had been applied with a lighter hand than in life and Cal could see her as the loving mother of Alan, rather than a biker chick or medieval knight. Take away all of the embellishments, and like most everyone, her child was her only legacy.
“He’s going to be okay,” Cal whispered to Jenna. A lump formed in her throat all of a sudden that made it difficult to speak. “Cruiser will take good care of him. He loves Alan. And now that Randy isn’t there to put extra stress on him or to drug him to keep him quiet, it’ll be okay.”
Cal sniffled. She hadn’t expected to need tissues, but she pulled a couple out of the box anyway and dabbed her eyes. She told Jenna about the AAC device and how Alan had been immediately taken with it. “Maybe it will give him a voice. Make it just a little bit easier for him.”
She took a velvet jewelry box out of her pocket and removed the necklace she’d bought with the last of the expense money. The cross on the front would replace the crucifix that Jenna had lost, the one Brook had given her and presumably that she’d removed to weaken the evidence that connected the two women.
But it wasn’t just a cross. It was a locket, with a tiny picture of Alan inside.
Cal reached awkwardly around Jenna’s neck to fasten it. “Good-bye, Jenna,” she whispered. “Rest in peace.”
The End of The Girl in the Morgue.
Books by D.D. VanDyke
D. D. VanDyke is the Mysteries pen name for fiction author David VanDyke.
California Corwin P.I. Mystery Series
Loose Ends - Book 1
(Includes Off The Leash short story)
In a Bind - Book 2
Slipknot - Book 3
The Girl In The Morgue - Book 4
Books by David VanDyke
Plague Wars: Decade One
The Eden Plague
Reaper’s Run
Skull’s Shadows
Eden’s Exodus
Apocalypse Austin
Nearest Night
Plague Wars: Alien Invasion
The Demon Plagues
The Reaper Plague
The Orion Plague
Cyborg Strike
Comes The Destroyer
Forge and Steel
Plague Wars: Stellar Conquest
Starship Conquest
Desolator: Conquest
Tactics of Conquest
Conquest of Earth
Conquest and Empire
For more information visit http://www.davidvandykeauthor.com/
Cover by Jun Ares
The Girl In the Morgue Page 30
