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Ice Where There Was None
A complete collection of serial episodes
A. S. MacKenzie
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
Robert Frost
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Thank You for Reading!
About the Author
Chapter One
The constant drip of water onto the concrete was rhythmic and persistent. Each drop fell only a foot or so, but with enough force to be audible, if you were close enough. Drips of water are not out of place in this park in the heart of Orlando. Between the constant humidity, rain, and the park’s namesake, Lake Eola, the ever-present water in the area was a typical sight. The only reason this time was different, was that these drops were coming from a slowly melting block of ice. Ice in a place where there was none other around.
The block sat on a small stack of three plastic shipping pallets on the eastern side of the park in a concrete paved walking area, leading to the soon to be busy North Rosalind Ave. At this time of day, an hour before dawn, the road was deserted. The morning air was cooler than the typical daily high of the upper 70s, however it was still warm enough to melt the ice at a consistent pace.
Drip …
Drip …
Drip …
A jogger appeared on the path rounding its way along the rear seats of the park’s amphitheater. His eyes were focused on something faraway, earbuds firmly in ears, jogging to a rhythm only he could hear. He passed the block of ice within fifteen feet, without so much as a glance, his shoes missing the approaching puddle of melted ice water by inches. He continued on his way, towards the path following the edge of the lake, and then on to whatever his day held.
The ice continued to melt away its features. The sharp edges of the block slowly distorting and shrinking. Even with the loss of water, the size and immensity of the block was still apparent. Standing seven feet in height, including the foot of pallets underneath, the crystal-clear ice with no imperfections would be awe-inspiring to anyone who saw it.
Drip …
Drip …
Dr—
A scream interrupted the pre-dawn stillness of the park. The ducks asleep on the bank stirred in wonder of the noise. A few residents of the apartments directly across on East Washington Street raised their heads just above their pillows, blinking wearily as if wondering if the noise was a dream or real. The scream erupted again, this time with a frantic yell for help.
A woman, with her newborn crying in her front carrier, was sobbing and screaming into her phone as she stood in front of the ice. Her eyes filled with tears and horror. Yelling into the phone she told the 911 operator what she saw and where she is in the park. With her back to the ice, she attempted to regain her composure to calm the now hysterical baby while simultaneously attempting to coherently explain to the operator what was happening. In between sobs, both hers and the child’s, she repeatedly told the operator she was out walking to calm their new baby, who was having trouble sleeping, when she walked into the park on the far side. As she made her way to this side of the park, she saw the glimmer of the ice but didn’t know what it was. She said she was in disbelief of what her eyes showed her as she got closer and she kept saying it couldn’t be real, over and over again. She said she screamed when she got close enough to hurry around the front.
Within a few minutes, a police siren was heard. Shortly after, the telltale blue and red lights of the Orlando Police department bounced off the adjacent buildings in the still, dark morning. A patrol car slowed to a stop in front of the hysterical woman and her child. The passenger door opened, and an officer emerged quickly to escort the woman a short distance away from the ice. His partner stepped out of the driver’s seat and joined him, his eyes glued to the block of ice.
Once the first officer was assured that the woman was calm enough to attend to her child fully, he turned and joined his partner, who had walked closer to the ice, eyes wide.
“You ever seen … anything …” the first officer said, not taking his eyes away.
“No. I haven’t,” the officer that had been driving responded. “And I hope to God I never do again.”
“How? I mean, seriously … how in the hell?”
The driver walked slowly around the ice, looking up and down each side, crouching to examine the pallets. As he did, he leaned in close to the radio handset clipped to his shoulder, pressed the TALK button and said, “Yeah, this is car 19 responding to the 22 General Disturbance at Lake Eola … um … we are going to need coroner for a 7 … a … a … a dead body. Recommend additional support to … to … um, sorry, additional units in support to cordon off the area. 10-18 Rush. Over.” He barely heard dispatch respond to the message. He couldn’t draw his eyes away from the ice.
“Joe? What in the hell, man?” The first officer asked after he had also circled the block of ice.
“Ben, seriously, there is no way I have an answer for this.”
Both officers returned to the woman and her child to take a statement. The police lights started to draw some attention from the early risers who were greeting the dawn sky. Within a few moments, more officers arrived and set up a perimeter as far away from the ice as possible, to limit onlookers. Not long after, the coroner’s van arrived.
Two detectives from the local precinct stood in front of the ice, their feet not quite in the ever-growing puddle, eyes transfixed by the ice. They were asked to step back by the forensic team who arrived along with the coroner.
The lead forensic tech stopped and stared at the ice, mimicking the pose of the detectives. “How is it so clear? Seriously, how do you do that?”
His partner replied, “Yeah, and how is she so perfectly posed in there?”
In the middle of the ice, which was brilliantly clear and shimmering with the rising dawn light mixed with the red and blue revolving lights, stood a woman. Her head was up, chin slightly pushed forward, her hair in a bun. Her eyes appeared closed, but not like she was asleep, but more like she was meditating or focusing. Her arms were positioned to her side, with her hands balled into fists. Her legs were straight, slightly bent at the knees in a powerful stance with her feet straight and shoulder-width apart. She wore tight, athletic, knee-length shorts and a sports bra, and appeared to have no injuries. If she wasn’t perfectly suspended in this block of ice at this moment, she would be mistaken as alive and gearing for a fight.
The two officers who first appeared on scene were speaking with the detectives.
“So, when you guys showed up, this was just like this?” the first detective asked, swinging his hand around behind him to indicate the ice.
Joe Salk, the patrol car driver, replied, “Yes, sir. We pulled up and Mrs. Bennett, the one who called it in, was standing just here.” He pointed to the spot a few feet from the ice. “Once we assessed that she and her child were not in danger, we called this in right away.”
The detective made a note in his pad. Dumbfounded expression in place, he turned to t
he other detective and asked, “How in the hell does this happen here?”
The other detective just shook his head and pursed his lips.
Ben Obvari, the other officer said, “Honestly, I don’t know and I don’t want to know. All I need to know is what this says.”
Both detectives looked at Ben with expressions that implored him to continue.
“What this is saying is simple. ‘I killed her. I dressed her. I posed her. There is nothing you can do about it. I will do it again.’”
“What makes you so sure they will do it again?” Joe asked before either detective could.
With a mirthless chuckle, Ben replied, “Because you don’t go through all of this on a simple crime of passion or anything like that. No, man. You do this because this is what you like. This is what you want.” Turning himself around in a circle, hand out pointing to all the police and other officials, onlookers, and reporters on the scene, Ben continued. “You want this. All of it. All for you.”
Joe, nodding in agreement said, “Yeah, and they got it.”
Chapter Two
“This is the recorded report of the Medical Examiner of Orange County, FL. Local time is …” The ME turned his head away from the overhead microphone to check his watch. “4:42 p.m.”
Returning his gaze to the exam table which held the victim recently discovered in ice, the ME frowned heavily. The trained eyes darted back and forth over the victim, searching for anything noteworthy. His assistant ME held a small digital video recording device, continuously filming the examination to coincide with the voice recording. He stood on the opposite side of the table, camera poised and steady in his hand.
“Now that the victim has been extracted from the ice block,” he continued for the recording, “we are ready to begin our cursory visual examination before moving on to the internal. Victim is a Caucasian female, approximately twenty-five to thirty years of age. Height is recorded at …” Turning to his right, he reached for the clipboard on the rolling table cart. Flipping the first page behind the board, he rapidly scanned down the list to find the information he was looking for.
“Ummm … Sixty-five inches or 165 centimeters. Weight is approximate at 122 pounds or fifty-five and one-third kilograms. Unable to determine at this time if this was pre-deceased weight or if water weight was added due to the ice enclosure and subsequent melting.”
Setting down the clipboard on the table, he returned his attention to the victim.
“Cursory visual examination shows no obvious COD. The skin has unusual elasticity for being submerged and frozen. No apparent water saturation into the skin. Victim is clothed in two pieces of athletic wear—shorts and an athletic bra. No other clothing visible. Feet were bare when discovered. Hair is pulled back into a ponytail.”
“Bun,” the assistant offered as a correction.
“Yes,” the ME said with a little annoyance in his voice. “A bun, not a pony-tail.”
Taking a pair of sturdy medical shears from his equipment tray, the ME cut the bra’s straps, carefully laying them away from the victim’s shoulders. He continued cutting the side fabric which held the bra to her body, careful not to upset any evidence or the victim’s skin.
“Bag.”
The assistant ME used his free hand, camera still poised, to reach for an evidence bag located on a cart on his side of the table. Deftly using one hand, he flipped the bag open with a snap of the wrist and held the open side to the ME. The ME took the bag, carefully pulled the front of the bra from the victim and placed it inside. He then motioned for the assistant to help push the body towards him so that the rear portion of the bra could also be collected and placed in the bag. When they finished rolling the victim one way, then the other, the ME looked around to ensure all the pieces were bagged. After sealing it, he wrote a quick note on the front.
“Torso now exposed on the victim still with no obvious signs of COD or physical altercation. Continuing physical examination to lower section of the body.”
The ME repeated the same care and evidence collection with the shorts as performed with the bra. Again, the ME noted no obvious signs of COD or physical trauma.
“Victim presents as visually healthy. Skin condition and muscle tone are all consistent with the normal health of a female this age range. Again, worth noting no obvious signs of water damage to the skin from being submerged, along with very little hypothermic damage from the ice enclosure. Initial estimation places the victim as deceased and somehow protected from the water and ice before her encasement, possibly by low temperature freezing with minor humidity over a period of time, which would effectively freeze the victim but not create overly observational damage to the skin.”
A short knock on the exam room door caused both ME and assistant to pause and look over to the source.
“Sorry to bug you, Doc, but I need to get whatever evidence you have collected up to this point over to forensics,” said a bright pink-haired intern the University of Central Florida Center for Forensic Science had sent over.
“Sure, sure. It’s there on the table. Leave your form on my desk there by the door.”
The intern looked around quickly and spotted the desk, nodded, then walked to the table with the two forensic bags. She picked them up, making notes on a clipboard she carried, tucked them in her messenger bag and headed towards the door. As she passed the desk, she placed the paper from her clipboard on it and continued out the door without a word.
Meanwhile, the examination continued as the ME pulled an overhead light closer to the body and began a close, head-to-toe visual exam. This continued, with the ME wordlessly scrutinizing his way down the body and the assistant mutely filming the event.
Once they both reached the victim’s feet, the first words spoken in quite a while came from the ME. “Let’s turn her over.”
With care, the two turned the body over on the exam table.
“OK, beginning cursory visual examination of the posterior side of the victim.”
Using his gloved hands, the ME felt gingerly through the hair of the victim, attempting to feel for any anomalies. Satisfied there were none, he intended to continue down the neck but paused instead. The assistant ME paused his pan of the camera as well, though he admittedly did not know why. From what he could see, the skin looked smooth and nearly flawless, much like the rest of the body they examined.
“Pass me the magnifier.”
Reaching with his free hand, the assistant felt for the magnifier on the table next to him. After nearly cutting himself on the bone saw, he felt the familiar shape of the magnifier. He passed it to the ME who hadn’t removed his eyes from a patch of skin just below the victim’s hairline.
Using the magnifier, the ME stared at the skin for what the assistant felt was an indeterminable amount of time.
Finally, the ME whispered, barely audibly, “I’ll be damned …”
Intrigued and a little annoyed that he couldn’t see anything, the assistant leaned in a little closer and asked, “What? What do you see?”
The ME looked up from his magnifier to the assistant. “Right here,” he said, pointing a gloved finger at a spot under the magnifier. “There is a very fine, small incision scar. Almost missed it because it was so close to the hair line.”
Zooming in the video camera, the assistant could only faintly see what the ME was pointing towards. Instead of admitting this, he just nodded in agreement.
“This is the first such sign of any physical trauma or alteration to the victim. Only discovered because on the palpation of the area, a lump was felt. Will continue the physical examination down the remainder of the posterior.”
Sometime later, after they had concluded their visual examination, the ME made a verbal note that the scar noticed in the hairline was indeed the only sign of any physical trauma. “Until a thorough examination of the site can be performed through invasive techniques, there is little to speculate about the cause or effect of the discovered incision.”
Movin
g on from what the Assistant ME thought was interesting, the ME only paused a couple of times to note a particular patch of skin or detritus found on the victim. The only other point made was the notice of slight abrasions on the top and bottom of the victim’s feet. Both marks were equal and symmetrical to each other.
“OK,” said the ME. “Let’s see what this is all about.”
Moving back up the body to the head, the pair set to work on their area of interest; the nearly hidden scar.
Documenting everything through both narration and the lens of the video camera, the pair uncovered the extent of the damage the scar revealed.
Beneath the scar, they discovered that the area had had time to heal from the incision, possibly for as long as four weeks. This period allowed the skin to fuse back together and create the scar, many blood vessels to reconnect and heal, and the area of the spinal incision to lose any swelling or fluid retention.
Between the occipital bone at the base of the victim’s skull and the C1 cervical vertebrae, the examination showed a spinal cord incision. The ME made a verbal note of the surgeon’s extreme skill in cutting the cord with such precision, and he wondered aloud how the victim remained alive long enough for healing to take place.
“Doc,” came a voice from the exam room door. Turning his head slightly, the ME looked towards the door.
The intern from the forensic team stood in the doorway with outstretched arms, holding the bag she’d previously collected.
“Yes?” the ME asked.
“Team says you gave the wrong pieces. These are blank.”
Standing upright, a look of puzzlement on his face, the ME repeated the intern’s word. “Blank? What are you talking about?”
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