by Perry Prete
"Christ. The radio said a high of minus three, but it feels more like minus thirty." Paul stuck his hands in his pockets to stay warm. "I'm too old for this shit. I hate winter." The wispy white vapor of frozen breath escaped every time someone spoke.
Dan laughed, "You're younger than us," he motioned with his head over towards Ken, "You should be able to take the cold a little better."
"Younger. Fuck that. I found a grey hair today." Paul's face almost disappeared in the white cloud as he told the men of his discovery.
Ken broke in, "You have tons of grey."
Paul looked down, "Found the first one there."
Ken and Dan enjoyed a laugh at Paul's expense while trying not to open their mouths to the cold. Ken offered a suggestion, "My wife hated my grey and convinced me to manscape. No hair, no grey. She said she won't blow me unless I keep it hair free. Only thing is you have to be pretty fucking careful with the razor. Took out a chunk last week."
There was a chorus of "oohs" and "aahs!" from Paul and Dan at the thought.
Dan had to best them. "You thought your morning was bad. The dog wanted out at four this morning. I took him downstairs, opened up the door, and he stood there looking at the cold, and the fucking dog turned and when back to bed. When the alarm went off, I went to take a shower and stepped in pile of dog shit on the bedroom carpet. I told the wife to clean it up; I was running late because of the storm. She wasn't happy."
After the laughter calmed down, Dan led Paul to where the plough operator found the body. The three detectives kept their head low against the wind as they walked around the massive plough and Ken pointed to the top of the snow drift. Like a signpost rising from the top, a bare human arm could be seen sticking out of the snow. The flesh didn't look to be real; it was a pale, pasty white, almost plastic and the hand in an awkward position in relation to the rest of the visible arm.
"Anybody confirm its human and not a mannequin?" Paul asked.
"I climbed up myself. It's human. The wrist looked like it was fractured either before she was dumped or after the plough scooped her up with the rest of the snow and tossed her up there," Ken offered.
"Her?" Paul looked surprised.
"Her. No hair on the arm, fingernails long and some broken, frame is small. Could be a guy but my guess, it's a her. There's no blood in the snow, at least not what I could see. Most of the snow is black, dirty and there's a lot of gravel from when they sanded the roads. It's gonna be a mess to sift through for evidence."
Paul walked a few feet along the base of the snow bank. As the bank followed the road, the plough pushed the packed snow high and away from the street. Paul was five-eight, short for a cop but he guessed the snow bank to be at least seven feet high. The winter had been particularly hard, lots of snow and colder temperatures than normal. The city had already spent their entire snow removal budget for the year, so they hadn't cut the snow banks down in a few weeks. Paul looked back at the two detectives under his command, "Any fucking clue how we're going to get her outta there?"
Dan started to stomp his feet to stay warm as he spoke, "Crime techs said they'll put up a shelter and dig her out like they would as if they were unearthing a victim buried in the ground. No one is sure if it's just an arm or the whole body. The arm could've been ripped off when the plough pushed the snow. For all we know, the rest of the body could be down the street."
"Make certain they run fingerprints and DNA as soon as they can. Once you have the prints, check them against missing persons, local, national and international. I don't want us looking like amateurs. It's gonna be hard enough getting evidence outta a mound of snow almost eight feet high. Last thing I want is for some kid to find the rest of the body in the spring thaw. Got it?" Paul had that serious expression on his face his co-workers had come to recognize as his "Don't fuck with me" look.
Paul nodded to Dan and Ken then decided to walk further down the street to see for himself if any other body parts could be buried in the snowbank. He told Dan and Ken where he was going, flipped up the collar on his parka and pulled the ends in tight around his face. With his head down against the wind, one hand held the collar closed tight around his neck, the other was stuffed in his pocket, he forced his way along the sidewalk. Small orange pylons lined the one lane, directing traffic away from the crime scene. His portable radio kept squawking as his made his way along the snow bank. Every few feet, he would stop, examine the snow from base to summit and move on. It was almost impossible to see anything in the dim light within the dirty, tightly packed snow. The large chunks of packed snow piled high resembled a small mountain peak. The newly fallen snow only made it more difficult as it added a layer of white fluff covering to the mountain of snow. Paul stopped and looked back to the scene where the arm was found in the snow. He was half a block away, but in the cold and wind, it felt like he was miles away.
Buried deep within in layers of clothing, one of the phones began to buzz and vibrate. It was his phone, and not his department-issued Blackberry. He removed a glove, unzipped the main closure to his parka, felt the cold penetrate as the wind cut through, lifted his sweater and attempted to retrieve his phone from his breast pocket. The buzzing stopped. "Fuck," he screamed. He swiped up from the bottom of the screen, "one missed call" was visible on the screen. Paul saw the number and wanted to throw the phone into the snow bank. He had been waiting for this call for weeks. He spun around, wanting to vent and scream. His soft soled, black high-top running shoes hit a patch of slippery packed snow, and his leg went up, throwing his weight off, sending him flying backwards through the air. Paul landed flat on his back, his head struck the road, and the force of the impact pushed all the air from his lungs. Tiny bright lights began to pop in his eyes, his head swam from the impact, and he fought to catch his breath. By the time Paul caught his breath and his vision returned to normal, Dan and Ken stood over him, laughing.
"I think that grey pube sent you off balance," Ken had trouble getting the words out as he laughed. He extended his hand to help Paul up from the roadway. He held firm and pulled up his co-worker. Paul stood for a moment with his eyes closed to regain his balance then rubbed the back of his head and felt something wet. He looked at his hand and found a mixture of snow, blood and hair entangled in his fingers.
Ken walked around to look at the back of Paul's head, "You might need a few stitches bud."
Paul pocketed his cell phone, "It can wait until we're done here." He wiped his bloodied hand on his parka and started to walk back to the scene where the arm had been found. He lost his footing and Ken, and Dan caught him. "Whoa. You might have a concussion," Dan suggested.
"I'll be OK," Paul replied. He held his footing and slowly started making his way up the road. With Ken and Dan at his back, Paul planted each step and made his way back up the street. His mind had cleared by the time Paul was back up at the crime scene. He pulled his hood over his head to protect his wound against the blowing snow.
The crime scene technicians arrived shortly after the three detectives made their way back. The lead tech spoke to Paul, together they determined the best course of action then informed his fellow technicians. Even in the frigid temperatures, the crime techs still had an important function to complete in the investigative process. Each technician was wearing a white Tyvek suit over a snowmobile suit to protect themselves from the cold. The lead tech dispatched a female tech to the snow plough to examine the blade for blood and tissue.
Several other techs climbed the snow bank and erected a pop-up shelter which protected the arm from the environment. The shelter was balanced over both sides of the snow bank with the victim's arm centered beneath the canopy. Once the shelter was up, the technicians began to slowly excavate the snow from around the area of the arm. They placed the snow in buckets which were taken down the snow bank to a waiting truck. Inside, another technician would carefully melt the content of the buckets and examine the liquid for possible evidence. This process continued as the three detectives collected
what little evidence they could from the scene.
As the slow, arduous process continued of separating snow from evidence, the three detectives each took a side street to canvas the neighborhood for any information or witnesses who may have seen the body dump. Paul carefully strolled on the icy roads, making sure each step was deliberate and planned. His rubber-soled running shoes, perfect for the summer, were now his nemesis in the freezing weather. He squinted to shield his eyes from the blowing snow that the weather channel had said would be over by noon. The storm showed no signs of letting up as Paul thanked the elderly couple he had just spoken with. He grasped the railing, took each snow-covered step slowly until he reached the path which wasn't much better than the steps.
The radio buried deep inside Paul's parka kept crackling with static that he couldn't understand through the layers of clothing. Shortly after he fell, the headache worsened. Before canvassing, he touched the back of his head and was surprised to learn the bleeding had stopped. At the road, Paul paused, closed his eyes hoping this would quell the pain. He took in a few deep breaths before continuing down the street. He made his way to the next house and knocked at the door. A young woman answered the door, pulled her sweater around herself as the wind wiped around her. "Yes."
Paul looked at her, opened his notebook and clicked his pen and stared blankly at the woman. "Yes," she repeated. Paul attempted to speak, but his mind swirled with images and then went blank. He tumbled to his knees and fell forward into the woman. She tried to grab the stranger at her door, preventing him from landing hard on the floor but she wasn't strong enough or quick enough. Paul hit the floor hard, face first rendering him unconscious.
Light broke in from all sides until all the darkness gave way. Eyelids fluttered, images came into focus until Paul Hammond realized where he was. The large stainless-steel light over his head, the constant beeping of the ECG machine that monitored his heart rate and rhythm, the clothespin device at the end of his finger that check his oxygen saturation levels were a dead give-a-away. The headache that pounded within his skull made him want to go back to sleep.
"You scared the crap outta us you know." Dan and Ken stood along the back wall of the private ED room. "I'll go get the nurse or someone and let them know you're awake." Dan left Ken with Paul to care for him.
"I have a fucking headache the size of Cleveland." Paul's eyes were closed. He rubbed the back of his head. His fingers found the plastic thread sutures that formed a straight line where his open wound had been. "How long have I been out?" Paul's mouth was dry, pasty, his tongue ran along the front of his teeth, and it felt as if sand has somehow found a way to stick to enamel.
Ken saw Paul try to moisten his mouth and poured him a glass of water. "Paramedics brought you in after you collapsed, they did a CT, found nothing, and I mean nothing. Doctors said you're the first case of any person they can find as a functioning adult without a brain." Paul finished the glass of water and held it out in the air, silently asking Ken for a refill. "Ha," was all Paul could and wanted to say. "You can go home soon."
Paul gulped down the second glass of water and put his head back and closed his eyes. "Seriously?"
"Seriously. They said you could go home as soon as you wake up and the doc clears you."
"Any more news from the scene?" Paul wiped the moisture from his lips with the back of his hand.
"Lots. You up for this?" Paul nodded. "K. The techs dug the arm outta the snow. It's female. That's all that was there. Nothing else, no more soft tissue, no blood. It was definitely a drop. She was killed, I assume she's dead, somewhere else. The arm was taken down to the station to be examined. They'll run a tox screen, check for tattoos, shit like that and see if there are any drugs in the system but the funny thing is," Ken paused, "Ready? This is pretty fucking strange."
Eyes closed, Paul shook his head again and swirled his index finger in the air, silently telling Ken to get on with it. "The arm ended at the shoulder. But the way it was severed is the strange part. You know how you pull the leg off a cooked chicken, you grab it, twist and pull then literally rip it from the carcass?" Ken had Paul's attention. He sat up on the edge of the bed and stared at Ken, waiting for him to finish. "The arm was ripped from the torso. There wasn't a single cut mark on any of the soft tissue. I mean none. The skin, muscle, tendons, ligaments, every fucking thing was torn from the body. It was as if she was, what did they call it when they tied someone's legs, and arms to four horses and they were ripped apart?"
"Quartered."
"Quartered. Right. Anyway, the crime scene tech thinks she was quartered, or some fucker is strong and pulled her apart."
"Is that even possible?" Paul hopped off the hospital bed, shook the probe from the end of his finger, pulled the leads from his chest and unwrapped the blood pressure cuff from around his arm. He stood motionless for a few moments as began looking for his clothes. Ken pointed under the bed to the plastic bag that held everything Paul had come in with. "I mean to pull someone's arm from their socket. Christ. I hope she was dead first. What if she isn't dead and that arm is just the first of four things to be ripped off the body?"
Ken suddenly had a horrified look on his face, "I never even considered that. I just assumed she would be dead. Fuck. If she was alive when that happened. Hell, I don't even wanna think about that."
Paul was pulling his pants up with his back to Ken, with one hand bracing himself against the bed in case he passed out again, "Think about it. We have one arm, no body. And until we have every single body part, the working theory is that the woman is still alive. Got it."
Paul had his back to the door as he buttoned his shirt. The door opened as Dan, and one of the ER doctors walked in. "Mr. Hammond, I'm Dr. Hernandez. Would you mind telling me what you're doing?" The soft voice of the doctor made Paul spin around. His mind stopped, his breathing froze, Paul was looking at one of the most beautiful women he had ever met. The doctor was almost the same height as Paul and was only a few feet from him. The lab coat hung loosely over her shoulders, obviously, it was several sizes too large for her small frame, the pockets were overloaded with small manuals, a small tablet and a stethoscope. The left breast pocket held several colored pens, and there were ink streaks where either she or the previous wearer continually forgot to cap the pen or retract the tip. Her long, wavy black hair fell to her shoulders framing a delicately featured woman. Paul extended his hand silently to greet her. She shook his hand, and Paul felt just how small framed she was. Her soft hand disappeared into his. He shook it gently then released his hold. Ken and Dan recognized Paul's instant attraction to the doctor.
"Not sure if you heard but we have a case." Paul felt like a high school boy seeing the most beautiful girl in school. He knew for certain he was smiling and felt embarrassed by it. He turned and pulled the remaining items from the plastic bag that held his belongings. "We are in a bit of a hurry doc."
"You may have a severe concussion and we treat those things seriously. I'd prefer if you'd stay for a few hours longer, so we can monitor you." Dr. Hernandez gaze was one of concern for her patient.
"I have to go. We," he looked at Ken and Dan, "are working on something."
Dr. Hernandez looked at the three men knowing how stubborn they could be, "Sit for a second, let me get one more set of vitals." She patted the bed indicating she wanted Paul to sit for a moment.
Paul stopped getting dressed and did as he was told. The doctor pulled her stethoscope from her lab coat, and as she placed the ends in her ears, Paul saw the white band and large diamond on her fourth left finger. Someone has just taken out a small pin and popped his balloon. As she auscultated Paul's lungs, Dan held up his left hand then pointed to his wedding band and mouthed, "She's married." Paul nodded in agreement, and both Ken and Dan had a silent laugh behind the doctor's back. Dr. Hernandez then took his pulse and wrote them down on his chart. "If this is some he-man thing, I'm not impressed. I'd rather have you to stick around and rest for a few more hours but if you
have to leave and you don't feel well, come back, and I'll check you over. Can't have our boys in blue fainting on the job."
Dr. Hernandez completed her exam, scribbled some notes on the chart, "One note of caution Mr. Hammond. If you feel anything what-soever out of the ordinary, I want you back here. Got it."
Dan and Ken laughed from the back of the room.
"Boys. You don't change, even when you get older, just bigger versions of children. Geez." Dr. Hernandez then turned to Paul, "Dizziness, nausea, headaches, stuff like that."
Paul shrugged his shoulders, "Hey, it wasn't me. I never said a thing."
*****
Standing alone in the autopsy room, Paul looked at the stark white walls and stainless-steel tables and instruments and wondered why the room had to look like a surgical suite. He stood over the autopsy table looking down at the Caucasian female right arm. It had warmed up to room temperature and other than not being attached to the rest of the body, it looked perfectly normal. This was the worst part of the job. He remembered the first time he watched an autopsy. The woman had been beaten to a point where the family had difficulty recognizing her. Most of her facial bones had been fractured, and she had been either kicked or punched so viciously that her internal organs had also shown signs of trauma. Her spleen had ruptured, one of her lungs had collapsed, and her aorta had torn. Paul had watched the procedure from the back of the room as the lead detective stood beside the coroner. After the autopsy was complete, Paul excused himself and went to the bathroom and vomited until his throat burnt from the acid. He rinsed his mouth several times and chewed almost an entire pack of gum before going back to his desk.