Alexander had been sat, perched on his bike, for almost an hour outside the climbing wall on West 5th. It wasn’t a regular thing they had arranged – mutual shift patterns made anything as fixed as that impossible – but it was how the two of them had met. They’d both needed someone to belay while they climbed, so they’d helped each other out. They’d got chatting about work and, small world as it sometimes is, had found out their similar lines of work.
Today had been one of those days where their mutual schedules came into alignment, a day when they were both free with nothing else edging into their free time. They had arranged to meet after work and get a couple of hours in on the wall. Only Alison hadn’t shown. She didn’t work too far away, so even with bad rush hour traffic it’s surprising that she hasn’t shown. He’d tried calling – using the phone that hadn’t met a messy and crunchy end under a car’s wheel – but each time he’d been diverted to voicemail after several rings.
It hadn’t taken him long to swing by her office, just to see what was going on. Alexander had met her here before, picked her up and given her a lift, so the receptionist recognised him. His police ID was equally good for opening doors. So it was no trouble getting to where Alison was currently occupied, and apparently blind to the time of day. There’s a knock on the lab door and Alexander’s head appears around the door.
“Forget something?”
Alison HuntOne wouldn't think that a city that gets as much sunlight and fresh air as does Denver would be a hotbed of criminal activity but Colorado is one of the western states and the western states have always had a reputation for lawlessness. The violent crime rate in Denver is twice as high as that in the rest of the state. It's nearly twice the national median.
It also means that those who enjoy the outdoors and happen to work in law enforcement have to make sacrifices sometimes. And sometimes can't get to their cellphones to let their friends know they're going to be late because they're up to their elbows quite literally in perforated intestines.
Dr. Hunt is a thirty-something woman of above average height with light brown hair and blue eyes. Long hours subsisting on coffee and cracking open cadavers to get at answers has left her with slight bruising beneath her eyes but she has a ready smile and a healthy sense of humor.
She's in the middle of typing up a report when Alexander pokes his head through the door.
"Aw, shit," she says. Pushes her wheelie stool back from the computer station and stands up. She's got her lab coat on over her scrubs and her hair is still constrained beneath a surgical cap. "Brandt, I'm so sorry, I was on my way out the door and I got an expedite call in from homicide, Captain Tamboia wanted this John Doe on the slab, like, yesterday."
AlexanderIn some lines of work, there is an assumption: don’t make any plans after work, something will make you late. It was almost a curse, one much more reliable than walking under ladders or breaking mirrors. So it’s no great surprise that Alison had been buried in ever-shifting deadlines and urgent requests and things that can rarely wait.
Alexander pushes the rest of the way in, letting the door close quietly behind him. He’s holding a couple of cups of coffee in disposable paper cups, one of which he sets on her desk while he leans against the front of a filing cabinet. “No worries. Anyone I might know?” He cocks his head, trying to get a better look at the current occupant of the autopsy table. Thankfully the worst had already been done, the large Y-shaped scar on the chest and abdomen coarsely sewn up, the guy’s modesty preserved with a sheet.
Alison HuntThe look Hunt gives him when he puts the cup of coffee down on her desk is one of eternal gratitude. Possibly unflagging adoration. That may be directed towards the coffee itself and not the man who brought it though. She thanks him and lets the heat permeate the cardboard and warm her thin hands.
From where Alexander stands he can see that the body has strangulation marks around its pale neck. Like the victim he found in the Phoenix on Fax apartment building this one is young. Somewhere in his twenties. Both of them would have been attractive were they still alive.
"I hope not," she says after her preliminary sip of coffee. "The mechanism of injury matches Kozlowski's, though. We're still working on identifying him."
Dental records are even slower than toxicology reports.
AlexanderThe power of coffee can never be underestimated, at least in those who worship at the altar of Arabica. Even more so in those who work long hours, in uncomfortable places, with little to no appreciation. It was just a guess that, if Alison hadn’t been able to get away to send a message to explain her delay, she wouldn’t have been able to get away to grab a drink. He might not be able to do much to help with the lab work or the paperwork, but he can at least provide warm caffeine.
“I’ve been keeping an eye on the Kozlowski investigation. Any idea what happened to him?” It might seem like a strange question, given the obvious wounds the poor guy had sustained. But there’s the question of which ones killed him, and which were made before and after he died. Which ones were simply for the amusement of the sick bastard who’d killed him. The sick bastard who, given the faint resonance and the mysterious disappearance, may well be Awake.
Alexander sets his cup on the top of the filing cabinet and walks closer to the lab table, getting a better look at its occupant. Basically to see whether or not the guy does look familiar.
“Nothing in AFIS for him?”
Alison HuntAny idea what happened to him?
"Same thing they think happened to Kozlowski," she says. That isn't a jab at the question's strangeness. Certain details of the Kozlowski case aren't going to be accessible unless Alexander engages in some light snooping. "Picked up someone who seemed harmless, went someplace to be alone, wound up with a knife in his gut. This one has some genitalia trauma Kozlowski didn't have."
Well then. What about AFIS.
"Not a damned thing yet, but we just got him on Friday. Something might come in on Monday."
If nothing comes it that would only eliminate the victim having a criminal record or ever applying for a pistol permit or a job requiring a background check. That would put him in line with being a transient.
Alexander“Well, great. Just when things were getting dull in the city, it sounds like we might have a serial killed on the loose. Or just a freaky set of coincidences.”
Coincidences do happen. Random chance does have a habit of throwing them up on occasion, and even remotely rare occurances can occasionally cluster together unexpected. It could simply be that two completely isolated murders happened in the same city, within days of each other, with similar wounds to each.
“Genitalia trauma?” Alexander glances at the appropriate piece of sheet before looking back at Alison. “He’s had it cut off?”
Alexander’s attention turns back to the body: the face, the wounds around the neck. Or, at least, that’s where his vision is. One of his hands has slipped into a pocket, running a coin over and over between his fingers. Is this random coincidence, or was this the same guy?
[Entropy 1. Dunno what to call it, but working out if it is simply random chance that links the murders. Coincidental, base diff 4. +1 for fast casting, -1 for taking time. WP.]
Dice: 1 d10 TN4 (9) ( success x 2 ) [WP]
Alison HuntHunt is not one of those women who laments her status as a single childless woman nearing menopause. She is married to a perfectly lovely woman named Amarie who works as a medical illustrator. Conversations concerning genital trauma are not uncommon around their dinner table and when Hunt laughs at Brandt's eyes' journey he hears no malice in it. Some gentle teasing perhaps.
"No, I mean... it's still there? Not gonna do him much good now, though."
This is not random chance. The two bodies are linked. Same motivation or same victim profile or same circumstance. Call it blossoming instinct: Alexander has the feeling it was the same person who killed both of these men.
Alexander“Well, no. I wouldn’t expect him to be fathering any kids now. Not unless there are little John Doe’s swimming around in a freezer somewhere anyway.” He’s smiling as Alison laughs, no offence taken. “Wait… not tooth marks?”
Given the location, the next idea to cross his mind may not the best that he’s ever had given the location and what goes on here. But, on the other hand, this isn’t a place where people die. It’s simply a stopping off point between where various bodies die and where they were finally disposed of. One of the advantages of anywhere to do with medicine is the abundance of metallic surfaces. Some are matte, others reflective. It’s probably not all that likely that the guy’s spirit is tagging along with the body, but it’s worth a shot.
[Spirit 1, sensing spirits. Coincidental, base diff 4. -1 practiced. Think I need 2 successes to have a chance of saying anything before the effect fades?]
Dice: 1 d10 TN4 (8) ( success x 2 ) [WP]
Alison HuntThough he can sense the presence of spirits in other parts of the morgue the nature of spirits being to hang around the places where they spent the most time and many people being self-centered and unaware of the larger world around them in life Alexander cannot see any sign of the spirit belonging to the young man laid out in front of him. That may come as some comfort. It may also mean that too much time has passed. Or that the spirit is hanging around the place where he died.
"No tooth marks," she says. "From the angle and the depth I'd say the assailant was aiming for the abdomen but missed. If he had lived it wouldn't have ended his career as a sperm donor."
A beat.
"How late is the rock wall open?"
AlexanderIf dying weren’t traumatic enough, he wouldn’t be surprised if the prospect of watching what was your body be taken apart and crudely put back together again was something that the average recently-deceased spirit was something that they’d want to skip on their way to the afterlife. But it is a relief to find that there aren’t dozens of spirits hanging around the place.
How late is the rock wall open?
“Oh, yeah. Until 8, I think. If you’re about done here, we could still get a few climbs in. Or we can rain check if you need more time.”
Alison Hunt"No, I'm almost done. I just need to stick him back in the freezer and finish logging it."
And she has coffee now so the process should go a lot smoother. A thought comes to her as she's returning to the computer to do just that and she glances back at him after the next sip.
"Is your interest here professional, or...?"
He did ask if it was possible he knew the victim. Plenty of folks ask that when they walk in though. Gallows humor. No judgment in the question but folks like Hunt like to have prior warning that a visit from internal affairs is on the horizon.
AlexanderIs your interest here professional, or..?
“Oh, strictly professional. With maybe just a little morbid curiosity. You know I found Kozlowski on some noise complaint call, right? Call it… professional curiosity? Or practice for when I get around to trying for my detective badge.” He shrugs. He knows he isn’t, strictly speaking, supposed to be watching things develop – the case was taken away from him as soon as the grown-ups started arriving at the scene. But he isn’t doing much more than watch at the moment.
Alison Hunt"Hey," she says. Stands from her computer station and punches off the monitor and moves to the body. Time to put him back in the cooler. "You catch the perp, that's an instant promotion, right?"
Fifteen minutes later she's changed out of her scrubs and they're off into the night. Hard to relax with the sense that what has already happened twice is going to happen again but they can't live their lives worrying about what they can't control. That way lies madness.
No comments:
Post a Comment