Cut Down To Size: A Sebastian Cork Novel

by Neal Davies

  Sebastian’s initial apprehensions regarding the case are clearly defused by his passion for a new challenge, “I see what you’re saying, Cameron. This does look interesting. Have you found any identification on the victim?” he asks inquisitively.

  Cameron bites his bottom lip and then replies, “No I’m afraid not. We’ve been through the victim’s pockets and found nothing. What we do know, though, is he was killed elsewhere and brought here. His legs were amputated below the knees making the probable cause of death exsanguination. In layman terms, he bled to death when the femoral arteries were cut during the amputation of his legs and as you can see, there is no pool of blood or spatter around or near the victim, so the murder had to be committed elsewhere. Until I get him back to the lab I can only roughly approximate the time of death by the body temperature and rigor mortis and I would most likely put the time of death between six and ten last night. It’s not hard to tell from the agonised look on this poor fellow’s face… he died slowly and painfully. If the killer had cut from the underside of the legs, the artery would have been severed sooner and his death would be quick and less agonising.”

  “The inward folding of the upper skin tells us the limbs were severed from the top of the shin and, if you look here,” Cameron squats and points to a specific spot on the shin bone, “there are slight deviations where the cut on the bone shows that whoever did this stopped cutting before reaching the artery to prolong this poor young man’s suffering. I can’t imagine what excruciating pain this unfortunate fellow experienced! One other thing that may be of interest to you; the killer stripped the victim naked before the legs were severed.”

  Sebastian listens with enthralled interest and an appraising second glance at the body helps him understand what Cameron has concluded. “Ah, yes! I see what you mean,” he replies with evident satisfaction.

  Paul stands there curious, his head aslant. “Why?” he enquires as he looks askance from one to the other. Sebastian points at the body. “Look at the legs, Paul. They’re naked apart from the socks and shoes. The pants still remain unscathed on the torso.”

  Paul scratches his head. “But couldn’t the killer have just rolled his pants up and then cut his legs off?” Sebastian glances at Cameron who lifts his brow. “As you heard from Cameron a moment ago, there’s no blood spatter. It would be all over his clothes, his shoes. Where’s the smell of death?”

  Paul’s expression alters as he realises his question has been thoughtlessly put but, before he can rectify his naivety, Sebastian bends down next to Cameron and sniffs the body. “Come here, Paul. Come and smell.” Paul and Cameron look peculiarly at each other and then back at Sebastian. “Paul, please come here! I need to know if you have any thoughts on this aroma.”

  Paul’s face takes on a should-I-shouldn’t-I look as he hesitantly bends and inhales apprehensively. “What is that?”

  Sebastian, with an intent look on his face, takes another sniff. “I’m not sure, Paul, but it is familiar and we need to find out. Anyway, the point is the body has been cleaned of any odour of death.”

  Cameron smiles at Paul and says, “Listen to him, young fellow. Sebastian Cork has an incredible mind.”

  Paul, feeling inadequate, doesn’t answer, just raises his cheeks and wryly grins briefly. Cameron looks down at the victim in sympathy and says, “Poor beggar! Anyway, I really have to get back, Seb. Good luck with this one.”

  Sebastian is quick to put his hand on Cameron’s shoulder. “Before you go, Cameron?”

  Cameron looks earnestly at him. “What is it, Seb?”

  “I trust the stomach contents will be checked for a sedative of some sort?”

  Cameron grunts his assent, “Yes of course but I have to go Seb or nothing will get done.”

  As Cameron works his way back, Paul stands at the psychologist’s side, staring at the corpse. “What are your thoughts, Seb?”

  Sebastian, still squatting and still absorbed, cups his hands over the top of his cane to maintain balance. He regards Paul as if he’s an object rather than an animated life form, as he always does when his mind is otherwise occupied. “If you’re talking about the young man’s identity, this fellow is either a marathon runner due to his shapely but lean calf muscles… or a tri-athlete. My bet would be a tri-athlete due to the muscular upper body and shoulder structure… indicative of a swimmer.”

  Paul’s inquiring blue eyes squint down at him. “How would you know that? That seems to be to be a bit out of a psychologist’s scope, don’t you think?”

  Sebastian looks back at the corpse and continues to scan over it while responding to Paul’s remark. “That’s an interesting comment, Paul! So because you were in the Special Forces and the Police Force, you only know about shooting guns and arresting people? You don’t know how to cook, shop, or play sport?”

  Paul’s cheeks glow red but before he gets a chance to retract his comment, Sebastian continues. “Some years back I was fortunate enough to be asked by our Olympic Committee to spend some time with a group of athletes who were having trouble overcoming their nervousness before major events. In my spare time, I would often sit and chat to trainers, coaches, physios and doctors.” He turns his head to the side and pauses to reminisce then continues, “Yes, it was a truly memorable experience. Anyway let’s get back to my thoughts on this!” he insists with more than a reasonable amount of determination.

  Before Sebastian can continue, Paul’s face fills with excitement and he reaches down and grasps his shoulder. “You’re kidding me, right? You actually worked with some of our Olympians. Which ones?”

  Sebastian turns his head sharply toward Paul, eyes blazing haughtily. “Why would I kid about that? And you should know I’m not allowed to disclose names of those I work with. I’d be breaking confidentiality! Now, can we get back to the case at hand?”

  Paul removes his hand from Sebastian’s shoulder and raises his eyebrows and chin abruptly as he gazes over the tree line toward the park’s entrance. “Sure, sure. Whatever!”

  Sebastian refocuses on the victim. “As I was saying, this poor fellow looks to be a tri-athlete and was probably right up there amongst the best. The sponsorship logos on his top aren’t the same as those you’ll find on your average run of the mill tracksuit. Find the sponsors and you’ll find his identity.”

  Paul pulls out a pen and notebook and begins jotting down the sponsors’ names as Sebastian stands and looks at the victim’s nape, then over to the propped up legs. “As for the murderer, he or she will strike again. There is no doubt the legs have significant meaning to the killer.”

  Paul stops writing. “Is it possible we’re looking for a short person?”

  “It’s possible, Paul, but most people would be short compared to this fellow. Looking at his legs and torso I would estimate he would easily be taller than six feet, seven inches. So it may not be that the killer was short but had an issue with taller men. And when the killer glued the eyelids of the victim open, I feel it was to make a very personal statement such as ‘What good are your legs to you now?’ or ‘So you thought you were above me!’”

  “The victim would have had to be sedated to be overpowered unless there was more than one person involved, but I’m of the strong belief that this killing is very personal and I think the coroner will find some type of sedative in the victim’s system.”

  “Cameron said that this young man would have been conscious throughout the ordeal and if you look closely, you can see the marks where he’d been bound. I would say by the width and smoothness of the imprints, the bindings were possibly leather straps and they held fast his neck, wrists and ankles. So once the sedative had worn off, this poor fellow would have awoken and found he was sitting upright on some sort of bench with a vertical board supporting his back. The leather strap that was secured around his neck would have been loose enough to ensure he could see his own legs being severed but if he tried to pull his head back, there would have been either a spike or nail preventing him doing so
.”

  Sebastian tilts the victim’s head forward and gently parts the hair on the back of his head. “If you take a closer look you’ll see a hole where he’s pushed back in agony, only to create further pain.” Paul places his hand on the tree the victim is leaning against and bends his head around to get a closer look while Sebastian continues. “Cameron said he was conscious during the ordeal, so I would have to be a fool not to believe that this murder took place in a building that has been soundproofed or in an isolated area well away from other occupied houses.”

  “You mentioned, when you rang me earlier, that a jogger found the body at six o’clock this morning and Cameron suggested the murder would have occurred approximately between six and ten o’clock last night. Now, let’s assume it would have taken a maximum of an hour to clean up the body, place it in a van and bring it here to the park. Then it may take another thirty to forty minutes to cut the props for the legs and arrange the body into position. So we can assume the killer left the scene of the crime around eleven last night and, subtracting the preparation time, he or she would have taken around six hours and twenty minutes to arrive here at the park.”

  Paul interrupts, “So we need to look at the map and work out what isolated areas there are within a six and half hour radius of the park.”

  Sebastian, now upright and ready to leave, replies, “Exactly. As for the perpetrator of this crime, we’re looking for someone who is of small to average height, a perfectionist who dresses neatly without being a standout. This person is driven by an intolerable hunger to be seen as a godlike figure whom the victims should be answerable to as a judge, jury and executioner if you like, but he or she can also come across as quite average while still being able to conceal their past and evil, narcissistic traits. I also believe this person will kill again if they haven’t already done so.”

  Paul’s forehead ripples with a frown. “Are you saying that this could be a serial killer, Seb?”

  “I’m not making a statement, only an observation; since I have taken on this new position as a consultant to the police, I have been spending a lot of time researching murderers and serial killers in order to give such qualified opinions. Come on, let’s head back to the car and I will explain on the way back.”

  Back at the car, Paul settles in behind the wheel and starts the motor. “Okay, you’ve got me intrigued. Tell me your thoughts, Seb.”

  Sebastian nestles back into his seat and pushes his chin upward, then shrugs his left shoulder so it almost meets his left ear and then does the same with the right side. “I always get a little stiff in the neck on a cold morning, don’t you, Paul?”

  With a squeal of the tyres, Paul pulls the car out into the heavy traffic and retorts, “No, Sebastian, I don’t! Perhaps it comes from old age. Now is there any chance of giving me an explanation as to why you feel this could be a serial killer?”

  Sebastian ceases rubbing the back of his neck frowns and glares at Paul from the corner of his eye. “Fine, I will explain. Recent studies show that most serial killers are motivated out of fear of rejection and abandonment or of feeling less than others. They strive for perfection. When this killer took our victim, he or she deliberately and callously prolonged his agony to gain a sense of power over him. Once our friend in the park finally passed, the killer felt that he had helped redeem our victim of his wrongdoings. That’s why the eyelids have been glued open; it’s a lesson to the victim that he can no longer stand over or look down upon the killer.”

  Intrigued with Sebastian’s summary, Paul remains deep in thought for the rest of the trip back to Sebastian’s house.

  Sebastian thanks his colleague and is about to get out of the car but abruptly sinks back into the seat. “Of course!”

  “What? What’s the matter, Seb?”

  “That aroma, the one we could smell on the victim’s clothes. I knew I’d smelled it before. It was back in the seventies and all the rage; it’s called patchouli oil.”

  Paul looks at him blankly. “Never heard of it.”

  Sebastian smiles, alights and bids Paul farewell as he closes the car door and strolls up the pathway and through the front door. After resting his cane and hanging his jacket on the hallstand, Sebastian heads into the kitchen where an array of aromas permeates the air. Cynthia is at the stove cooking up a storm, so he walks up behind her and kisses her on the cheek. “Bit early for dinner, don’t you think?”

  She turns and smiles, “I thought I would get it out of the way as I was hoping to get some work done in the office this evening.”

  Sebastian pours himself a coffee from the percolator and holds the pot up to her. “Would you like one?”

  Cynthia stirring a pot glances back over her shoulder “No, I’m good, thanks. How did your morning go?”

  He lounges back in his kitchen chair and sugars his coffee. “It looks to be an interesting case. Quite brutal, actually: legs severed from the corpse, eyelids glued so the eyes could see what was happening below. Yes, quite brutal!”

  Cynthia stops stirring and worriedly turns to face him. “How are you coping with that? I mean, honestly, Seb, this is only your second case and the first real corpse you’ve seen. Are you okay?”

  He takes a sip. “Seriously, my love, I’m fine. I’ve seen a lot worse. Remember when you were a prosecutor and used to bring home photos of the victims?”

  “Yes I do, Seb, but seeing a corpse in a photo is a lot different to seeing them at a crime scene!”

  Sebastian raises the warm brew to his lips again, takes a swallow and gently places the mug on the table. He rises to his feet and motions for Cynthia to join him and then draws her close. “Trust me, my love, I’m okay. In fact, I am actually looking forward to this case and I promise you, if it ever gets too much for me, you’ll be the first to know. Now I’m heading upstairs to change but I need to know that you are okay with what I do.”

  Cynthia forces a smile and gently nods in the affirmative. He kisses her on the forehead and goes upstairs. When Sebastian returns he finds Cynthia on the phone to her girlfriend, so he makes himself a tuna fish sandwich for lunch and heads into the study to read further on the mindset of serial killers. He becomes so enthralled with his research; time gets away from him until Cynthia comes to get him for dinner.

  Now he draws a wage from the police department, Sebastian feels obliged to keep Captain, Jim Johnson, up to date on his progress and will work the rest of the evening on his report. Cynthia has plans for the evening as well and retires to her office to go over some ideas she has for a charitable function and other bookwork. So after dinner, Sebastian pours himself a drink and heads to his office at the rear of the house. Even with both offices at the rear end of their large house, it’s not a simple task to move from one to the other quickly. If Sebastian wants to talk to Cynthia he has to walk up the hallway, through the foyer, into the kitchen and down another small hallway to get to her. This was Cynthia’s innovation; Sebastian used to barge into her office whenever he felt the need or had lost something and required her help to locate it. Cynthia believed most these interruptions were unnecessary and that much of his reliance was habitual, so she decided to have renovations done specifically to prevent Sebastian’s intrusions. It had become a constant distraction for her when they had adjoining rooms and the new design has proven beneficial to him as well, as he now has to rely on his own intuition to find solutions to whatever poses him a problem.

  He flicks one of three switches to the left of the doorway and two brass gooseneck lights on the timber-panelled wall gently illuminate his mahogany and oak roll top desk which in turn nestles comfortably on a large red Persian rug. Sebastian always feels relaxed in this room and he parks himself in his matching mahogany swivel chair with satisfaction; the comfort of the green leather cushion can’t be matched by any other in the house.

  Using his elbows as a prop, Sebastian rests his head by placing his thumbs under each cheekbone and gently massages his forehead with his fingertips. It’s been a l
ong day and if he remains in this position much longer there’s a chance that he may drift off and not complete the task ahead, so he shakes himself vigorously and pulls a pen and note pad from the drawer. Sebastian is ‘Old School’ in many ways and will write his thoughts with a fountain pen before typing them.

  It is late by the time his thoughts and observations are typed up and printed off. Just as he places them in a cream manila folder, Cynthia, with what Sebastian sees as her psychic mannerisms, pokes her head into his office, smiles lovingly and says, “There’s a nice hot cup of cocoa waiting in the kitchen for you if you’d like to join me.”

  He slumps back in his chair, yawns, then swivels himself around. “Your timing is impeccable, my love. I was just finishing up here.”

  Sebastian seems to be feeling more aches and pains of late; slowly he rises to his feet and begins to follow her out of the room but before he reaches the door a voice sounds from the hallway. “Don’t forget to bring your folder out with you; otherwise, you’re sure to forget it in the morning.”

  Sebastian’s eyes float upward. “I already have it with me, darling.” He races back to the desk and grabs it. After a brief chat over a hot cocoa, they head upstairs to bed where Sebastian pops the folder on the dresser, and spends a weary night tossing, turning and going over things in his head.

  3. NEW BEGINNINGS

  The following morning Cynthia is up before Sebastian and knows her husband detests being late to anything so, she gently shakes his shoulder. “Seb, it’s time to get up.”

  Half asleep, half awake, he grunts. “Oh, really? Is it that time already?”