by Neal Arbic
Sal tilted his head and in the dim light his pale features became gruesome. “I’ll get her out of the freezer.”
He walked past a panel of steel lockers, one on top of the other. “We’ve been swamped. Always on the full moon, especially if it falls on a weekend.”
Sal opened a large door to a walk-in cooler. A black body bag appeared, rollers beneath it that would allow him to slip it onto a metal gurney. “This is the one we had trouble identifying. Not related to any of the other victims, seemed to be at the party alone - just off the bus - in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Only family is in Nebraska. They’re bussing in later today. So you’re just in time, Officer Hicks. You beat the hearse. She’ll be taking her last drive soon.”
The corpse rolled on the gurney. The detectives followed. Sal joked, “Table for one!”
His attendant gave a snicker. He was a short, thin Mexican with a goatee and a glass eye that did not move, but stared slightly off-center. With a grin, he flipped a switch creating a second circle of light and helped slide the body onto a porcelain slab.
In the harsh surgical light Sal looked pale as a ghost, his bald scalp shining beneath his comb-over. “She has 89 stab wounds. Cause of death: a deep incision to her chest severing the aorta, the internal bleeding in her chest cavity caused sufficient pressure to stop her heart from beating.”
Jack raised a finger. “My partner here has a theory he wants to pass by you.”
Delware reluctantly stepped out of the shadows. “We found LSD at the crimes scene. Did you find any trace of it in the bodies?”
“There’s no toxicology test for LSD because it’s a relatively new drug, Officer.”
Delware met Sal’s dark eyes. “Well, did you notice anything unusual? Say in the size of their pupils?”
The two white clad men gave each other a meaningful glance.
Jack caught it and stepped in. “Was there something unusual?”
The attendant answered. “When we lifted their lids, I said ‘Sal look at their pupils.’”
Sal nodded. “Some of the victims did have enlarged pupils when they first came in.”
Delware looked to Jack. “So, they were on LSD.”
Jack shrugged. “Maybe.”
Sal nodded to his attendant, who put on rubber gloves. He unzipped the bag, revealing an ashen female face.
She was gaunt, her pale beauty barely visible through her clay-like lifelessness. Delware winced. He had seen bodies sprawled or crumpled on the street, but their blood was still liquid, their skin lifelike, not like this ghostly white leather.
Delware detected a faint expression on her face, as if her soul, down some infinite well, was still screaming for help.
Sal looked at Delware. “Three different blades were used on almost every victim.” Unzipping the bag farther, he revealed a savagely butchered torso.
Delware winced and stepped back.
Sal turned to him and spoke softly. “The large Y-shaped incision across her chest is mine.” He pointed to the large sown up wound that spanned the torso. “I sawed through her ribs, removed her breast-plate to lift out her organs.”
Delware glanced at a metal tray with a white electric autopsy saw on it. Its handle was lettered in red: Stryker.
Sal’s eyes never left Delware’s face. “You see, a dissection of the heart, liver, lungs must be done to check for disease, deformity, wounds. Also, sampling fluids from her liver and bladder can measure alcohol and drug consumption. I sawed open her skull to remove the brain. The contents of the stomach were analyzed. All samples and swabs are marked and bagged for toxicology tests that can be used as evidence.” He smiled at the young officer. “The autopsy protocol is very efficient.”
Sal turned back to the corpse. “Now look closely at her other wounds - all stab wounds of various depths. The blades were all single-edged. The type of knives you’d find in any kitchen drawer.”
Jack nodded. “Yup. The drawers were all opened in the kitchen. They didn’t bother to bring their own murder weapons, very rude.”
Delware frowned at Jack’s gallows’ humor; Sal giggled. “All three blades are found on her: a serrated edge, a medium 6-inch and a very large carving knife. On the other victims there were even fork punctures.”
Sal’s finger floated from slashes to gaping cuts. “Tracking the wounds, they started in her back. The serrated edge came first. From the jagged tears, your victim was probably running away. But then she fell.” He pointed to a long ragged slash on her shoulder. “See here. This laceration is the serrated edge coming around the front now.” Sal’s finger lowered to her chest. “The large carving blade joined in then.” His finger stopped. “Here. See this deep wound in the chest?”
As Delware’s eyes were directed to the wound, he felt his stomach turning. The drying skin looked bleached and crusty at its edges, the tissue inside poison-yellow, the dried blood deathly black.
Sal fingered the wound. “The knife went in up to the hilt. The blade was 10 inches long with a 1 ½ inch width. This large carving knife cut the aorta.”
Jack interrupted. “Tell him about the other types of wounds.”
“Gunshots on the young male found in the car and the man out on the lawn. Seems like a baseball bat was also used, a total of 27 times. He really put up quite a fight.”
Jack nodded. “Good for him.”
Sal turned to Jack. “So what’s your guess?”
Jack stepped closer to the examination table. “From the wounds - most of the larger ones from the bigger blade are on this side, and the smaller wounds are on the other. Looks like they swarmed their victims.”
Sal nodded. “Yes, that’s my read. But since the killers preferred their blades and swarmed one victim at a time, it’s surprising no one got away?”
Delware, still eying the dozens of deep cuts, tried to keep down his lunch. “They were on acid. LSD. It’s a disorientating, debilitating drug. Most likely they ended up running around in circles unable to even find the front door.”
Sal wondered, “So they were not sure of what was happening?”
The question silenced Delware for a moment, the scenario spun in his head. “Sometimes LSD can bring on some pretty horrifying hallucinations…rooted in deep subconscious fears that can give way to some pretty crazy intense panics. But being murdered on…that would-” After a hard swallow, Delware answered, “LSD’s not a narcotic. They would have been aware, in fact, they would have felt it all-” he shuttered, “–more intensely.” Glancing at a large wound, he turned away. “LSD would have exaggerated their perception and sensations.”
Sal stepped back. “Jesus.”
Jack shook his head. “A fuckin’ nightmare.”
Sal returned to the body. “In the last few moments of her life this third blade came in on her lower abdomen.” He unzipped the bag farther revealing a huge gaping wound beneath her belly button. Her intestines hung out. They had been shredded like minced meat. Sal saw the look of horror on Delware’s face and spoke apologetically, “I will sew her up before her parents come, I only left this open for your examination.”
Delware lurched out of the room, a hand over his mouth.
***
Delware stooped over a metal sink, staring at his regurgitated lunch. He was surprised he could distinguish the hotdog from the fries.
Jack came out of the examination room. “You finished puking yet?”
“Ah, I can’t, Jack.”
Jack eyed him, amused. For the first time, Delware had addressed him by his first name. “You calling me Jack now?”
“Man, I don’t wanna go back in there.”
“Oh yeah? Well, neither do I, but it’s my job. What? You think that stuff in there don’t make me sick. Well, it makes me plenty sick, but you don’t see me out here whining, now do ya?”
“No, I mean it. I can’t.”
Jack approached him from behind. “You know, you had me fooled. I thought you were a cop, and even more - I thought, just maybe, you
might be a detective.”
Delware turned, still looking faint. “Look, I…I’ve, my stomach…had enough for today.” He hobbled towards the exit keeping one hand on the wall for balance.
Jack lunged at him. “No, you DON’T!”
He twisted Delware’s arm behind his back. Delware jumped onto his toes and froze. The young man’s face twisted with pain, his lips let loose an excruciating moan. Jack whispered in his ear. “Do you remember this police hold from the academy? The Come-Along? Well, this is the unofficial version.” He gave a quick, sharp kick to Delware’s shin. Delware howled and hopped, losing control of his leg. Jack spun him around. “They’re trying to throw me off this case downtown, three months before I retire! They got me halfway out the door and you, you want to go home ‘cause you’re feeling queasy!”
Jack kicked open the door to the examination room and squeezed Delware through, pushing him across the floor. “Look! Look at her, will ya!” He shoved Delware’s face down towards the cadaver’s intestines. “That’s a fuckin’ clue! Right there.” Delware’s free arm caught the edge of the slab and stopped himself with his face just inches away. Jack kept pushing. “That’s the evidence you need to examine. You can’t look away even if it sickens you.” Jack kicked Delware’s legs apart so he couldn’t get his balance and got Delware’s face just an inch from the shredded intestines. Delware’s eyes went wide, he choked on the stench. Jack kept pushing, he was all red with effort. “You don’t get to choose between beautiful and ugly in this job. It doesn’t matter what you see – YOU NEVER TURN AWAY!”
Sal ran over. “What in god’s name are you doing, Middleton!”
Jack held him off with a threatening glare. “Leave me alone, Sal!”
Delware kept trying to regain his balance. Jack kept kicking his legs apart. “Your eyes are her only hope! Better get use to looking, ‘cause that’s the only thing you’ve got!” Delware’s sweaty palm began to slip. Jack edged him closer. “Look! Look at her!”
Delware’s face was right up to the intestines.
Jack kicked Delware’s legs apart again. “You look and look and look until you see - until you see!”
Delware’s sweaty palm finally slipped. The intestines made a squishing sound as his face plunged deeper into them. The attendee turned away in disgust. Jack, surprised he had actually overpowered the kid, quickly pulled him up and threw him to the floor.
Delware shook and coughed. Jack turned away in disgust; he had not meant to push Delware’s face into the corpse. He just wanted to teach the kid a lesson - not get himself kicked off the force. With a frustrated swipe, he knocked tools from a tray, scattering them across the floor.
Sal frowned. “Middleton! You’re a crazy son of a bitch! Get the hell out of here!”
Jack turned on Sal. “I’m not finished yet, Sal! You understand?!”
Sal turned to his attendant who was now running for cover. Sal and Jack turned. Delware was on the ground, his back against the wall, his gun pointed at Jack.
Palms raised, Sal tried to speak calmly, “Son, think about what you’re doing.”
Sal’s warning did not cut through the rage and humiliation that burned in every cell of Delware’s body. He raised the gun to Jack’s head, snarling like a vicious junkyard dog, murder in his eyes. Delware’s mean streak was now in full bloom and on display for all to see, and it was a mile wide. Jack stood fascinated. Had Delware murdered someone in the past? Maybe. Would he kill someone in the future? Probably. Would he shoot him now? 50/50.
It was Jack’s face that threw Delware. There was no fear in it. The surging urge to pull the trigger, to send this insane bastard to hell, rolled back. Jack’s eyes looked beyond the barrel of the .38. Like a trapper who had accidentally caught his prey, Jack stared with a mixture of astonishment and awe at his prize: Delware’s breaking point. The look undid Delware. An impossible calculation went through his head. His days at the Academy flashed before him with the answer he had been looking for - Interrogation Techniques 101: keep the suspect off balance with threats, erratic behavior, unpredictable mood swings. The wheels that had been in endless motion trying to figure Jack out now clicked into place. Jack had been shaking him down the whole time in one long, endless interrogation.
Delware jump up. The gun shook in his hand, “You honky mothafucka!”
Jack gave him an insane, eerie smile, absorbing every line of rage in Delware’s face. “Hey Sal, looks like we found the kid’s back bone.”
Delware headed for the door, keeping the gun pointed back in Jack’s general direction. “I’m outta here! Forget you, you psycho fucka!”
Jack came after him. “Where do you think you’re going? Kid! If you walk out that door, don’t come back!”
Delware spun around, the barrel of his gun pointed perfectly at Jack’s forehead. “You stay away from me.” He began to squeeze the trigger. “You touch me again and I’ll blow your brains out!”
Jack didn’t move, but he didn’t retreat. His eyes never left Delware’s. Delware squeezed harder, the .38’s hammer began to pull back, that killer look returning to his eyes.
Sal stepped back in horror, turning his head. “Please, don’t shoot him!”
The attendant squealed from his hiding place, “They’ll send you to the gas chamber!”
Jack remained calm, even defiant, knowing he could play the kid any way he wanted. “You pull that trigger…and you’ll never, ever, wear that gold Detective badge.”
The words hung in the air.
Delware lowered his gun. His eyes gave Jack one last fuck you. “You’re going to regret this, old man.” He stormed out.
***
The sun was setting when Jack emerged from the morgue. Mission Road was so quiet he could hear the canal water running and the faint roar of the distant highway. He half expected an ambush, but more, hoped his partner would be cooled off and waiting. Jack glanced down both ends of the street. Delware was gone. Only the empty Packard stood waiting. He waited a bit longer, pretending to read a billboard, to look at cars on the freeway, the sunset. The sky was a deep golden brown. Still, no Delware.
Jack took a long, slow walk to his car. He slid in and pulled out his flask, but stopped before it touched his lips. He gave it a recriminating sneer, then tossed it into the back seat.
He looked up at the empty street. “Shit!”
Friday, August 15th, 1969, 7:57 AM
Pulling up to the curb of City Hall the next morning, Jack parked in front of the white tower. He sat sober and clean shaven. His face appeared causal, but his eyes flickered towards the sidewalk with each passerby: patrolmen, kids on their way to school, lawyers, office workers. No Delware.
After twenty minutes, he’d had enough. Getting out, he leaned back on the hood and didn’t hide it now. His head turned in all directions, tossing glances down both sides of the street. “Where is this kid? What is he, a sissy? Can’t take a little roughhousing? How long does he need to cool off anyways?”
Five minutes later, he sighed and headed up the stairs of City Hall. Delware won’t be inside Homicide, but he might be close by. Jack took a slow, roundabout route through the station. His stroll led him to the open door of Homicide Division. Delware was nowhere. Jack even took the long shot and glanced inside.
He headed down to Narcotics and found the same red-haired sergeant at his desk. “Officer Hicks report in today?”
The sergeant looked around like someone had just farted. “Here? No.”
“Wasn’t at roll call?”
“He’s not with you?”
“No.”
Grabbing a pen, the sergeant pulled a file. “AWOL, again!” He started to fill in a form. “Another infraction.”
Jack cocked his neck. “Is that a transfer request?”
He looked up with a satisfied grin. “In case he ever comes back. Lieutenant Smith don’t want him in his squad and the captain ain’t happy he’s up here.”
“Why?”
“The guy’s not
a team player. No one trusts him, so no one wants to work with him. He’s out to ‘reform’ the Department. We don’t need no reformers. We ain’t looking for no superstars up here neither. You did the guy a favor - taking him. He was just a hair’s breadth away from being busted back to patrol.”
Jack walked away, leaving the sergeant to write his report.
***
Jack found Waylon in Patrol, his two hundred and fifty pounds crammed in his tiny office, dozens of clipboards hung on the walls, feet up on his desk as he read the paper.
