by Perry Prete
Paul examined the loose tissue around the shoulder and immediately understood the initial assessments that the arm had been ripped from the torso. The milky white head of the humerus protruded from deep within the muscle. The striated muscle fragments weren't cut but rather stretched to the point they pulled apart.
"Having fun with my patient Mr. Hammond?" The voice of the coroner came from behind but echoed in this vile room Paul came to despise. Paul didn't turn around; instead, he continued to look at the arm on the table. "Not much eh Mr. Hammond?"
The coroner stopped when she was standing to the detective's right. Paul looked straight ahead and saw their reflection in the glass cabinet door before them. Maura was by anyone's standard, a good-looking woman, odd but a good coroner. Paul didn't associate much with any of the post-mortem staff. Maura grabbed a small stainless-steel probe from the instrument table and began to touch the ends of the muscle. "See here Paul; the muscle has literally been pulled apart." She flipped a section of the skin over, "This is the exciting part," with her gloved hand, Maura lifted the edge of the skin, "I'm not even sure how much tension it takes to rip skin apart."
Paul felt that twinge in his stomach that almost caused him to vomit right there. He clenched his teeth, held his jaw firm and hoped his stomach would calm down. Each time Maura would pull or tug or talk about ripping things, Paul felt another wave of nausea come over him.
"I'll have to research the tensile strength of skin and muscle and see if we have evidence of how much it would take to rip off an arm. Look here." Maura pointed to the wrist. "It's kind of exciting, freaky as Hell, I'm gonna have to really look, but I would've expected some type of ligature mark to show where the weight was tied or what was used to pull the arm off..." Maura was stopped short by Paul's hand swiftly coming up indicating he had had enough. "OK to do what was done. Listen, Paul, I'm not insensitive, I understand not everyone can do what I do, but I could never do what you do. This is a pretty gruesome thing that's happened, and if you can't handle it, maybe you should take yourself off this case." Maura didn't pull any punches.
"I'm fine. I fell and struck my head earlier today, and I'm just a little, well, under the weather. My stomach is flying in circles, K?" Maura nodded, she understood and let the matter drop.
Maura decided to shift the attention away from the arm and to the variety of items on the green cloth on the table to the left of the amputated arm. Using the pointer, she touched several of the items, "These were in the open wound, bits of gravel and small stones, a few bits of paper, this little bit of nylon string," she flipped a short, two-inch piece of nylon string over, "I'm not sure what this is? Nylon string from a weed whacker or something."
Paul leaned in close, "It's fishing line."
"You sure?"
"Pretty sure. Too thin to be from a weed whacker. It's clear and thinner than the line used for a weed whacker. I haven't fished since I was a kid but I'm sure it's fishing line."
Maura flipped the tiny bit of fishing line over, "Why would you end up with a short piece of fishing line?"
Paul thought about it, "Cut a piece off from the knot, not sure. This other stuff, gravel and dirt, can be found anywhere but a fishing line, not sure. When do you think I can get your idea of what this stuff is?'
"I'll send my report as soon as I'm done." With that, she flipped off her nitrile gloves, tossed them in the hazardous waste receptacle and left Paul alone with the arm. Paul heard the door close behind him, and remained there staring at the appendage.
December 25
Paul arrived at the police station just before nine. He was scheduled to be off today, he wasn't even on call but wanted to finish up some work and not be disturbed. If a call did come in, he thought he might even take it and let the guys with families stay home. He pulled out his cell phone, plugged it in to charge it, and dropped his backpack to the floor and kicked it under his desk.
It had been three days since Paul missed the call on his cell. He picked up the tethered phone to the power cord, swiped up on the screen and tapped the phone function. He looked at all the calls on his phone and saw the familiar number. His thumb hovered over the icon to call the number back. It was Christmas day; she was most definitely with her family. Bad idea. He dropped the phone to the desk, looked at it and pushed it to the back.
Paul dropped hard into the swivel chair, arched his back until he heard a sickening crack and realized this was a truly bad idea. He scanned his desk, looked inside his backpack, then cursed loudly that he had forgotten his thermos of fresh coffee. He passed several coffee shops on the way into the station, but every one of them was closed. He stood and looked over his partition wall around the room. It was eerily silent; no one else was in the small office dedicated to the detectives. He went to the coffee station and found a pot of coffee half full. He didn't want to make a fresh pot just for himself, so he decided to risk the day-old coffee. Paul added a few extra sugar packs, microwaved the Styrofoam cup for a minute. He walked from the coffee machine, through the maze of tiny desk partitions, carrying a hot, stale cup of coffee, and sat at his desk. He couldn't remember a day when the office had been this quiet. He brought the cup to his mouth; the hot liquid instantly burnt his lips. Instinctively, Paul pulled the mug back and spilt coffee over the papers on his desk and his lap.
"Fuck." The outburst would normally attract attention but today, nothing. He brushed hot liquid from his pants then touched his upper lip. "Shit that was hot." Paul realized he was talking out loud with no one to hear him. He picked up a file that coffee had pooled on, tilted it and let the coffee drain into the wastepaper basket. Still standing, it was then he saw the FedEx envelope on his desk. He let the wet file drop to the floor and picked up the plastic envelope. Again, he looked around the room, wondering when and who placed the envelope on his desk. He studied the label and noticed it had been sent on December 22 and arrived the following day. Somehow, he missed it.
Paul tore the envelope open, looked inside, then dumped the contents onto his desk. The air left his lungs and couldn't breathe. He fell back into his chair.
January 18
Paul sat at the far end of the table in the conference room as Ken Simmons and Dan Levy tinkered with the laptop connected to the overhead DLP projector. After several minutes, both men gave up and asked Paul to join them as they crowded around the laptop. Ken set the laptop in the centre of the three of them and found the picture file sent to them by the Medical Examiner.
Paul read the final report on the arm found in the snow bank. He had highlighted the areas that stuck out: "tissue was frozen" obvious he thought, the arm was discovered in a snow bank, "undetermined possible ligature mark around the wrist, with the area frozen, difficult to determine if the marks were made by a ligature or something pressing against the skin while it was being frozen". Paul knew he would never know for certain if there was something tied around the wrist. "cancerous tumor growth, size 0.5 cm in circumference, at the proximal head of the humerus".
"Poor girl."
Ken turned to look at Paul, "What?"
"The arm. The girl had cancer. Not sure if she knew or not but sad. Just reading from the autopsy report of the arm."
Ken went back to the laptop, clicked on the image file, and a series of tiny thumbnail pictures appeared on the screen. He double clicked on the first image, and it opened to show the body of deceased pig secured to a table with nylon webbing. The skin had a frostbitten appearance, white and waxy, the four legs sticking straight out to the side. Ken tapped the mouse to move to the next picture, then the next. The tests performed on the pig showed failures of dismembering the legs from the body. After several test pigs had been used, eventually, one test showed success. It showed approximately the same type of skin tearing and muscle separation as the arm. The test was repeated several times to ensure the method used was possibly the one used to remove the arm from the body discovered in the snow bank. The pig's body was frozen, one leg tied to a vehicle, the other three leg
s were secured to a stationary concrete pole in the parking lot. The vehicle then pulled away slowly and ripped the single appendage off the swine resulting in injuries similar to the arm found in the snow.
Ken leaned back in his chair, "So how does a guy figure out how to do this? I mean, we had to buy what, four or five pigs, let them freeze outside, hog tie them to something," the other two men chuckled, "Yeah, I said hog tied, anyway, how do you figure out this stuff without having a place to test the methodology? I mean, there has to be a reason for this. Why rip an arm off and leave it to be found?"
Paul bolted upright, "What if the arm wasn't what he wanted. What about the tumour? The poor girl had a growth on the bone in the upper arm. Do you think she even knew? Maybe we're looking at this the wrong way. What if the arm wasn't the prize but the garbage?" Puzzled, Ken and Dave looked at him. "K, serious, listen, you buy a chicken from the market, take it home and you want to make, I dunno, a chicken salad sandwich. You skin the chicken, pull the wings off, maybe pull the legs off and pull the meat from the carcass. You throw the wings away right. Some people gnaw on them, but most people throw them away. They get all hard and dried out. What if the arm was a discard, not any part the guy wanted?"
Ken suddenly understood, "I get it, for whatever reason, the guy needs to remove the arm, takes it off and doesn't need it anymore. He tosses it the way you toss the chicken skin and wings into the trash. But why does he need the rest of the body? OK, another theory, what if the arm getting ripped off was an accident?"
"Sorta like the arm got caught in something, and the body was pulled," Dave broke in, "and rip." He tugged on his own arm to prove his point.
"A total unforeseen accident. There may not have been any planning in the process, it was just a fucking accident."
Paul sat back in his chair. He was now faced with multiple scenarios that may have been the cause of the arm injury. And there was still no body, no way of knowing if the victim was even dead.
Ken studied the report, "Did you read the report on the fragments found in the wound?" Dan and Paul shook their heads that they both hadn't had an opportunity to review the findings. "Says here that the gravel was just that, gravel. Stones are no different than anything found in the area. The only odd finding was the 3.5-centimetre-long monofilament fishing line." Ken looked up from the report, "What do you guys make of the fishing line?"
Dan spoke first, "Garbage?" They all agreed.
February 28
Freezing rain battered the bedroom window, waking Nicole before the alarm went off. Still purring, her cat was sleeping on her tummy, sending gentle ultrasound waves deep into her stomach. She blindly reached down and began to stroke the cat who increased the intensity of the purr the longer she stroked her fur. She opened one eye, and from across the room, she could make out the time displayed in large red LED numbers, 5:27. She didn't have to be at work for another two and half hours, and she doubted very much that many of her co-workers would show up for today if the freezing rain continued. Nicole decided to stay in bed for as long as she could, after all, she thought, the alarm was still set to go off in another hour. She closed her eyes, enjoyed the tender cat massage on her tummy and fell back to sleep until she woke naturally almost three hours later.
Her bedroom was awash in bright light as the sound of freezing rain continued to beat against her window. Nicole sat up with a start, confused she looked around the room for the time displayed on her alarm clock on the opposite side of the bedroom. The clock wasn't working, the dim, tiny light on her cordless phone indicating the phone was charging wasn't illuminated either. She reached to her right, grabbed the TV remote and clicked the power button. Nothing. Her cell phone was downstairs in the kitchen on charge. She hopped out of bed and sprinted down the hall to the kitchen. She could feel the cool tile floor beneath her feet. She pulled the cell phone from the counter but the charging cord anchored itself to the outlet pulling the phone from her hand sending it crashing to the counter, bounced and dangled in front of the drawers by its cable. This time she made sure to hold the phone and disconnect the cord before bringing it to view.
She tapped the power button, entered her four-digit security code and saw the time. It was a little after eight. "Shit." Nicole dialed the office, and it went straight to her supervisor's voice mail. She waited for the message to finish then left a brief message about being late. She hung up and called Simone's cell who worked in the same department, Customer Service. Simone picked up on the second ring and was met with her usual musical way of speaking. "Hey, girl." When Simone spoke, she almost sang to you. It was the main reason the company put her in charge of customer service. She routinely received the highest overall scores for customer satisfaction. The two had worked side by side for years and except for the occasional spat, were as close as sisters.
"Simone, is the office closed?" There was still obvious panic in Nicole's voice.
"Haven't you heard girl? The whole city is shut down, ice everywhere. Power lines are down; traffic sucks, most of the stores are closed. I'm just sitting here having a Chai Tea and a scone." You could hear music playing in the background.
"If the power is out everywhere, how come you're drinking a Chai Tea? Is Starbucks open?"
"Honey, I have the world's best boyfriend remember. He stopped by, chained up a generator thingy to the side porch and ran a few power cords into my house. I made a Chai Tea and let a few scones thaw out on the counter. You can't have Chai Tea without a scone. It just don't happen girl." Simone laughed in her singing voice. "Do you have power at your place?" she asked.
"No. I freaked when I woke up late and tried calling the office. Are we closed today?"
"Office is closed until further notice. Why don't you come over here and spend the day with me keeping warm? I heard the power could be down for hours."
"And how would I do that darlin'? I don't have a car remember." Nicole was using her sarcastic voice.
"Pack up a few things, I'll send the BF over to pick you up in his big truck, and we can spend the day shooting the shit. You up for that?"
Nicole agreed and said she would pack up a bag and wait for Simone's boyfriend to stop by. She hung up her cell phone, found a night bag and filled it with toiletries, clean clothes, her cell phone charger and a few other odds and ends. She made sure Tabitha had a clean litter box, fresh water, a full bowl of hard kibble and a full can of moist food before she left.
Even in a four-wheel-drive pickup, the ride from Nicole's apartment to Simone's house was more treacherous than a poorly thought out roller coaster. The winter had been a mixture of heavy snow, high snow banks and the occasional mild temperatures that brought rain and flash thaws and now freezing rain. Nicole secured the seat belt tightly and held on firmly to the grab bar on the "A" pillar by the windshield. The truck would catch a frozen rut, twist itself before the wheels caught and righted itself. The wheels would slip again; the truck would slow; the tires catch a little traction and pitch forward. Nicole would let out these little shrieks, and Simone's boyfriend would laugh loudly. She could see how these two got along so well. They both had a zest for life that somehow how bypassed her.
A short time later, Nicole sat with Simone enjoying that Chai Tea she spoke of earlier and a partially thawed scone. After finishing her drink, she asked if she could steal a few moments for a quick shower then headed for the washroom. Nicole had managed a new record for a quick shower, she figured just under two minutes. She quickly toweled dried and put on fresh clothes and pulled her wet hair back. Even though there was enough power from the generator to keep the hot water tank running, Nicole wanted to make sure there was plenty for the others. Simone had plugged in a few lights, the fridge, a space heater and a power bar to keep her phone and tablet charged up. Simone surmised between music, news and some saved movies on the tablet; she was good for a few hours as long as there was gas in the generator. The two girls sat at the table, drank too much tea, partially frozen foods and laughed like eight-year-old gir
ls on a sleepover.
"Do you know how to play Cribbage?" Simone asked as she stood to find the board even before Nicole could answer. "Of course, you do, who doesn't know how to play Crib. The playing cards are in the top drawer." Simone pointed to the bank of four drawers to the right of the stove, asking Nicole to retrieve the deck of cards. She didn't have the heart to tell her host that she has never played the game. With only one light plugged into the extension cord, the low light cast long shadows across the kitchen. Nicole decided to use her cell phone flashlight app held high over the open drawer as she rummaged through the junk Simone has collected. She pushed stuff aside and flipped papers over looking for playing cards. "Did you find the cards yet girl?" Simone said out loud. "Would kids today even know what to look for or how to play cards if they didn't have their cell phones and tablets?" The thought makes her laugh even more.
Nicole turned some papers over; a few photographs fell from the pages and without warning, she let out a blood-curdling scream. She dropped her cell phone and it landed in the drawer. She fell back against the opposite counter, covering her mouth with both hands. The light from her phone shone straight up in the air as Nicole began to cry.
"What the fuck?" Simone came running into the kitchen to find she friend shaking uncontrollably.
"There's something moving in the drawer." Nicole pointed to the drawer then covered her mouth again.
Carefully, Simone stepped closer to the open drawer and with her hand shaking, she reached in to retrieve Nicole's cell phone to use as the flashlight. She pointed the tiny beam of light into the junk scattered about in the deep drawer, "Where?" Simone asks.
"When I flipped over that stack of papers on there," Nicole points, "something fell out and moved." She noticed the finger she was using to point with was shaking and bouncing up and down.
Simone found a metal barbecue skewer and used it as a poker to turn items over in the drawer. One by one, stuff she had tossed in the drawer was turned over and moved aside. Nicole let out another scream that made Simone jump back. "There, there," she yelled.