If you don’t use it, you lose it sort of thing...
Don’t go there, Dan.
Think about Alexandra.
Whatever Dr. Garrison had surgically installed into his head tonight was definitely working. Overtime. His “Willy” was functioning just fine.
Shit.
He fantasized Dr. Garrison walking into the Waiting Room. Her steely green eyes were staring at him, the exact same way she had earlier. Behind them, in the hallway, the hospital buzzed with its own distinct activity. Muzak played Addicted to Love from a matchbox speaker. Her attention remained solely on him, and only him.
“Get on the floor,” she commanded. “On your knees.” She pointed to a space of carpet in front of her. Dan couldn’t help himself. He crawled into her space and into her fantasy, more than happy to oblige. He looked up. She was tall and overpowering. A woman of extraordinary supremacy and strength. She alone had the power to heal. She alone had the potency to save Dan. “Take off my shoes,” she said in a deep, calm voice. As Dan uncovered her smooth, lovely feet, his excitement grew. He wanted to lick her. Suck on each individual toe. The color, the smell, his very own fudgesicle.
She instructed him to untie her scrubs at the waist. They fell to the ground in a rumpled mess. She stepped out of them and stood before him. Nude. A Goddess. He reached down to unzip his pants, tugging to free his dick through Hanes briefs. There was heat. And fever as he released himself and held his circumference. A trickle of precum oozed to meet his hand midway down his shaft. She watched with idle curiosity the power she had over him. This masculine display was mildly amusing to her, to say the least.
Her intention was to never touch him. He knew that. But, she held the key to his healing anyway.
He took his left hand from off the steering wheel, long enough to open the window. He needed air. His throat was parched. Dry. Water. She refused to bring any. She stood there and watched. Her attention directed solely on his cock.
Dan could feel the air rushing in, cooling off the beads of sweat forming around the base of his neck. He held on tighter as his fantasy unfolded.
A car approached from the rear, blinking bright lights and honking. Dan’s awakening to total consciousness was sudden and brutal. He was going fifteen miles per hour in a fifty mile per hour speed zone. No wonder the driver was pissed off!
He swerved to the shoulder of the road. Gravel spit at the sides of the car. He slowed down, and then came to a complete stop. He was panting like a played out dog, working very hard to catch up with himself. With his Master. Ahead of him, red taillights faded in the murky haze.
He landed.
In fact, he exploded. All over his pants and himself. Tension released. He zoned out for a brief, blurry second. His first thought was to lie down on the front seat and take a nap. Stretch out like a big, fat Tomcat. He knew he couldn’t. He checked the rearview mirror. Nothing. The same, up ahead. He sat there. A complete mess in his lap. He remembered a certain vacation he took with Gina, before the baby. Before the trouble. It seemed like a past life now. They were traveling from Los Angeles to Carmel, and Gina was intent on giving him a blowjob in the car. While he was driving, no less. So, of course he was more than happy to oblige, being younger at the time and performance-oriented. Gina didn’t complete the task and he never came. Maybe that should have been an omen. A metaphor for what was to come. Then again, who thinks of omen’s when driving on Pacific Coast Highway, a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean to your left and picturesque Carmel in your not too distant future?
Fantasy complete, semen laced Dan’s pants. He began contemplating his next plan of action. He felt frozen, unable to move for fear of contaminating dry spaces. He wasn’t as focused as usual. The life of a lonely detective.
In the trunk were beach towels for when he visited Alexandra. He laughed at the irony. He jumped from the car and popped open the trunk. Any car passing him would think he was some arthritic creature from the swamp. The black lagoon. He rubbed some water from off the roof onto his hands and dried himself off. Repositioning himself back into his pants, he laughed aloud.
He hoped nobody would want to shake his hand.
He entered the car and slowly gained equilibrium and speed.
Sectioned off and lit up with red and blue flashing lights was a piece of highway. Orange flares marked the side of the road. A real Fourth of July celebration. Parked helter skelter alongside the road were five or six squad cars. An ambulance was idling, nose pitched head first into the ditch. The area had been roped off with the usual yellow and black police tape. Dan pulled over and grabbed his ID from his jacket pocket, just in case he didn’t know somebody. Charleston was small. State wouldn’t be on site yet, would they? He slammed the door and noticed the used beach towel tossed on the front side of the passenger floor. Evans approached Dan. His voice was unusually aggressive.
“Je-sus Christ, Dan. Where the hell have you been?”
Dan cleared his throat. “Just left the hospital. Why? Whatcha got?”
In the background, another car pulled over onto the shoulder and screeched to a halt. A blonde woman exited. She neglected turning off her headlights and barreled toward the perimeter.
“Who’s she?”
Evans turned to look, he shrugged his shoulders.
“Reporter?” Dan asked.
“Don’t know. Don’t think so.”
“She doesn’t look familiar.” Dan sized Evans up. He appeared visibly shaken, an uncharacteristic attribute for somebody his size and build. “Shit, Dan. About half a mile in. There’s a clearing. Body’s been there for some time, man. It’s a fucking mess.”
“Guess that’s why there’s a convention going on out here?” Dan pushed through the yellow tape. Madden was sitting in the back seat of one of the squad cars. He glanced up at Dan resignedly. “This the place Madden found the other girl?”
“Yeah. We called dispatch. We had to get the Coroner out here. This one wasn’t so lucky. The Coroner pronounced her. Didn’t have to go too far in to determine it either.” Evans clamped his nose shut. Dan got the hint. “We tried radioing you.”
Dan leaped over the shallow ditch filled with saltwater marsh and prickly weeds. He misjudged the last step and sank in up to his ankle. “I’m on a roll this evening,” he said, as he pulled his collar up tight against his neck. The light drizzle felt cold against his skin. Evans just nodded and followed. They passed by a borderline of trees, mostly large, timeless oaks. Spanish moss hung down from enormous limbs, kissing the ground and swaying like gossamer. Flashlights filtered in and out of the dense thicket of trees, a cavalry of voices reverberated up ahead.
“What’d the Doc say?” Evans tagged a few steps behind. He tried catching up with Dan’s brisk stride. The long stretch of silence was difficult for Evans to deal with. Some people hated silence. Evans was one of them. Dan kept walking, his thoughts were mounting, jumping through hoops, straining to make sense out of the scenario. Organizing. Prioritizing. Kicking himself in the ass. Why didn’t he speak to the parents? Does Dr. Garrison have a boyfriend? This girl..? Is it a girl? Make a call to the precinct. Get recent reports of missing children. Rudely, for no reason, Dan said, “Shut the fuck up, Evans.” What he really wanted to say, was shut the fuck up to himself. Stop the banter, the endless loop of thoughts loitering in his head, repeating themselves, over and over again, one tireless mill, and going absolutely… nowhere.
They entered the clearing. Evans went to light up a cigarette. Dan turned and snatched it from out of his mouth. He stuffed it into his pants pocket. “Where the hell were you planning on putting that thing out?”
Evans shrugged.
“I’m sure there’s an ashtray out here, just for you, dickwad.” Silence. “In case you forgot, Evans, this is a crime scene. And, unless I’m mistaken there is NO SMOKING at a crime scene.”
“Forgot.”
“Forgot?” Synapses exploded, a faint headache was beginning to rumble.
“Sorry.”
Dan shook his head. Sometimes he felt like he was in the middle of a Three Stooges episode, only there was just the two of them. Dan moved closer to the body. The nearer he got, the worse the smell. “Another girl? A “yes” or a “no” will be fine.”
“Yes.” Evans scoped out the area. “Gonna be kinda hard finding any evidence out here.”
“When I need your two cents, I’ll ask for it, okay?” Dan was hoping somebody had already taken charge, scouted out the surrounding area and began taking notes. It wouldn’t surprise him if nobody had. “Where’s the Coroner?”
“Around here somewhere. I just saw him.” Evans scratched his head. It was a wonder he could manage to do two things at the same time.
Dan began writing down his own notes. A patch of dirt, twelve feet by twelve feet made up the clearing. To the left of him was the body. Two triangles of three wooden stakes were burrowed deep into the ground. Three feet separated each triangle. One stake was at the top and two were at the bottom. He scanned for footprints, tire marks, anything. He drew a picture of the crime scene, checked out significant landmarks to triangulate. He wanted an exact location of the body. The victim, from what he could surmise in the darkness, was female. Even Evans had identified that. Her legs were spread-eagled, her ankles firmly attached by ligatures to each of the two wooden stakes. Her pelvic area was exposed. The only garment she wore was a robe, rolled up above, what was left of her waist. It was difficult making out the color, but Dan imagined that at one time it had been white. Tied together and secured at the top were the girl’s bony wrists. Through the tangle of matted hair, Dan could see blonde strands. A gruesome sight.
He walked up to the body, hands behind his back. Red-orange flares positioned around the scene created transient ghoulish light. Decomposition had made its ugly appearance. Not much luck in securing forensic samples, but enough, perhaps to get a positive identification. Fortunately, the wind was blowing. The rain helped. The smell of decaying flesh was one of the worst ever. Even after thirteen years on the force, Dan was still not used to it. He hoped to God he never would.
Flashbulbs popped as police photographers entered the secluded area. Dan finished his drawing and looked back in the direction of his car. The fine mist had turned to rain. His face was wet. “Anybody call the Medical Examiner?” Quiet, except for the shuffling of feet slogging through the thick mud. “Figures. After they’re done here, have somebody stay and secure the area overnight. Then get this body to the morgue. Radio the Medical Examiner on duty. I want an autopsy tonight. I’ll meet up with the body there.”
Dan walked around the corpse. Positioned beside it were an identical set of wooden stakes, driven deeply and securely into the ground. He bent down and took a closer look. Attached to the wooden stake were ropes. “Make sure you collect these too. You hear me, Evans. I want them sent to the lab.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Somehow, Angie had escaped.
Angie had to have known the killer.
June 15, 2007
5:05 AM
Friday
Morgue
12
Dr. Marjorie Dunlap was the Medical Examiner on duty. Not only was she a well-respected physician, but also a board-certified Pathologist, which made life a bit easier for Dan. She also had an excellent reputation for working well with police officers.
Dan’s presence at the Morgue and watching the autopsy was advantageous for several reasons. One, he didn’t have to wait several weeks for the autopsy report. Two, he was able to ask pertinent questions that might not ordinarily be found on the “formal” report, and three, he found Dr. Dunlap, or Marjorie, as Dan called her, incredibly attractive.
Marjorie greeted Dan at the side entrance of the Morgue. He got the frigid feeling she was “tickled pink” to see him. And, Dan wasn’t all that keen on seeing her either, hospitals and morgues being the last place he’d want to visit anybody at 5 AM in the morning. Nothing good ever happened in either location. You couldn’t pay Dan enough money to do what Dr. Marjorie Dunlap did for a profession.
“This better be good, Hammer,” she said, leaning up against the clam colored wall, her arms folded protectively above her waist. “I’m missing my beauty sleep.”
“What about me?” Dan asked, dripping with water from the rain. The smell of formaldehyde and disinfectant were overpowering.
“What about you?” Marjorie was prepared. His kind of girl. Already she was suited up. Pink scrubs, a plastic bib covering her torso, and a protective surgical mask dangling down across her under developed chest. Cat-shaped sunglasses outlined pale gray eyes. She noticed Dan’s interest and turned away, following the mortuary assistant as he rolled the gurney carrying the black body bag to the end of the hallway.
Marjorie and Dan were on a first name basis. At one time, while she was recovering from her divorce, and Dan was convalescing from his, they helped each other get back on their feet. In other words, they fooled around a couple of times. He watched Marjorie from behind. She had excellent legs. All that morning tennis. He tagged behind the deadly procession following a squeaky wheel. The other officers he sent home. Bad enough, he had to stay.
“Autopsy Suite,” Marjorie chuckled as she pushed open the double metal doors. “Put the body over there, Ben.”
Ben, her Assistant, reminded Dan of the giant from Jack and the Beanstalk. Dan had just finished reading the story to Alexandra on her last weekend visit. Big and clumsy, he maneuvered the gurney toward the examining table and heaved the body up and over.
Marjorie grabbed a package of sterile gloves from the shelf, peeled it open and slipped them on, popping each finger into place. Ben followed suit. In perfect sync. Ben then proceeded to unzip the body bag, remove the body and cover it with a white flimsy sheet. The overly ripe smell emanating from the opened container competed with the frigid air circulating throughout the room. Unfortunately, ripe won out. Marjorie picked up her portable tape recorder, attached it to the front of her pink scrub top pocket, and approached the body.
“I can tell you right now, there’s not much use in using the Lumalite.” Marjorie spoke bluntly. She rarely used adjectives and always kept focused on the work at hand. To be truthful, Dan loved watching her. She turned her attention to Ben. “You have the camera loaded, Benny?”
Ben nodded.
Dan guessed “Benny” was a term of endearment. Did Dan feel a tinge of jealousy? Ben didn’t seem to mind or notice as he fumbled around on the counter for his Minolta 35mm camera.
“This girl’s been dead for some time now.” Marjorie continued. “Lumalite’s worthless unless you’re interested in finding out what kind of critters used her carcass for a midnight snack.”
“That’s what I love about you, Doc.” Dan waited for her eyes to meet his. “Your incredible sensitivity. How long?” Dan stayed a fair distance away from the table, out of her way. He leaned up against a counter and crossed his legs Marlboro Man-style. Too close and he’d probably have to sit on the floor. His stomach was strong, but not that strong. He didn’t want to take any chances.
“Hard to tell…” Marjorie’s voice trailed off as she forged on, working over the body with large metal tweezers and forceps. Her hands prodded and fished, investigating each jagged curve while Ben took test shots of the floor. Flashbulbs ignited. He then proceeded to photograph the body from every possible angle. “My guess would be two weeks, maybe three, judging from the decomposition. She’s young. Thirteen, fourteen years old. Poor thing put up a struggle, though. Look here. She bit her tongue. Clear through.” Next, Marjorie worked her hands over the body, face, and neck. “No evidence of strangulation, no bruise marks around her neck, not that I can tell, but we’ll check that when we open her up…could be disguised…” Next the extremities. First the arms, then the legs. Marjorie talked calmly into her recorder. “Although it’s difficult to judge, there appears to be no puncture wounds on either of the arms, but severe ligatures are evident on both wrists and the ankles. Obvio
usly, this girl was tied up. Her leg muscles are rigid. Look at this… Jesus Christ, Dan!”
“What?”
“What?” Marjorie faced Dan with terror in her eyes. “What in the hell happened to this girl?” She turned back to the body and investigated the girl’s pelvic area closer. She adjusted her glasses high up on her nose. “Dan, this girl’s been cut...” Dan walked closer to the table, the smell of rotting flesh disgusting. He watched as Marjorie took a scalpel from the steel pushcart and began cutting away at something. “Get a shot of this, Ben.” He crossed in front of Dan and positioned himself at the foot of the table. “Dan, her labia’s been sewn up with something. It looks like guitar string or something…maybe wire.”
Marjorie retracted something with her tweezers and placed it into a specimen container. Labels were already prepared, printed out earlier and on the stand ready to go. She slapped one on the sample and went back to the table. “The genitals are badly decomposed, no telling what animal’s been foraging around in there, but these fragments, it looks to me like they’re pieces of bone. Here look.” She lifted a shard of bone up to the spotlight with her tweezers. They both stared and squinted. “This is definitely bone, Dan. From a chicken or a turkey, some kind of fowl. It looks like these bone chips were used to penetrate the layers of her…” Marjorie dropped her tweezers on the metal tray and turned away from the table. She turned off her recorder. Everybody had a limit. Marjorie just found hers. “This is wretched, Dan. Really, really horrible.”
Nothing Sacred (FBI Agent Dan Hammer Series Book 1) Page 9
