The Mind’s Eye

by Perry Prete

  Paul couldn't resist, "Fine. No more talk about what happened. Honestly, I'm dying for my moussaka. I haven't had it in years. So glad you decided to come here."

  "I don't even know what I ordered. What was it again?" Nicole asked. Paul tried several times to pronounce the dish. Hearing Paul attempt to speak Greek, the hostess who had been by earlier with the glass of water, leaned in as she passed the table, "Pastitsio," then continued. "What she said." Paul pointed at the hostess.

  Nicole sipped her tea, "Can I ask about the case?" Paul nodded.

  "Is it true what they say that the police have almost no leads and that two cases may be related?"

  Paul righted himself in the chair, leaned forward on the table, "I wish we had more leads. I had a reporter come by today asking if the two cases were related and talked to me about his theory that the girls were killed because they were similar physically. That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

  Shocked, Nicole gave him a puzzled look.

  Paul continued, "Your visions, your play-by-play review, the ability you have, did you see anything about physical characteristics that would link the two bodies?"

  Nicole thought about what Paul had just asked. She went over the scenarios that played in her mind when she studied the photos and came up blank. "I can't recall anything that would've linked the two girls. Did the reporter say what the similarities were?"

  For a moment, Paul questioned whether he should reveal details about the case but decided to show some of the details was worth the risk. He pulled a small manila envelope from his suit jacket pocket, searched through the contents then held them out face down for Nicole. "Are you sure you want to see these?"

  She nodded in agreement.

  Nicole took the photos, carefully hid them from the other patrons in the restaurant and quickly glanced at them. She then held them close to her chest and peered down looking at one then the other. One photograph was the severed arm found in the snow, now lying on a stainless-steel table. The other was a close-up of the dead girl lying beside her bed. Not knowing what Nicole was looking for, both photos showed details of the hands. She studied the picture of the severed arm and begun to see the photo come to life. She saw a man dressed in a disposable smock with black nitrile gloves pull the severed limb from the freezer and place it on the stainless-steel table. He stood aside as the photo was taken then casually picked up the arm and placed it back in the freezer. The picture stopped moving.

  Nicole closed her eyes waiting for the images to clear themselves from her head, no headache, no stabbing pain, nothing. She opened to eyes, and the first thing she saw was Paul's concerned expression. "You OK?"

  "Yup. On to the next one."

  She held the second photograph, the image began to morph, and shadows began to move through the picture. Nicole starts to see men in white Tyvek suits and masks walking about the bedroom and camera flashes momentarily brightening the room. The camera zooms in close to the dead girl with her hand in the frame. A dark aura shone around any part of the dead girl. The flash brightened the room, the picture is taken, the technician moves on. The photo slowly freezes and then paused.

  Again, no ill effects from looking at the pictures. Nicole was surprised she didn't feel the stabbing pain coursing through her skull.

  "What am I looking at?" Nicole asked. "I've seen these already."

  "Do the hands appear to be the same?"

  Nicole didn't have to look at the photos again. With her eyes closed, she replayed the scenarios in her mind and saw the images as if she was staring at the photos themselves. In her mind's eye, she could move about the objects as if they were in three dimensions.

  Startled, Nicole looked at Paul, "They could be from the same girl. The bone structure, the, the" she stuttered, "fingers, even the nails, they are identical. Even the skin looks similar. Were the girls the same age?" Before Paul could answer, she answered for him, "No of course not, we don't know how old the first girl was. Stupid question. How could I have missed this? I'm an idiot." The couple at the table next to the them turned to hear Nicole. Paul smiled politely, but in his head, he silently told them to "Fuck off."

  Paul pocketed the photos to keep anyone from seeing the gruesome scenes. He tapped his pocket to make sure they were secure then turned his attention back to Nicole. "You did nothing wrong. Nothing. I missed seeing the similarities too. Actually, the whole team did."

  Nicole composed herself, "Then how did the reporter know?"

  Paul thought for a moment, "Somehow, he figured it out. How or why I'm not sure. I guess that's the good thing about having more people on the case. Like asking you for help. You have insight we just couldn't imagine. You haven't told anyone about any of this?"

  Nicole shook her head, "No. No, of course not. I understand. I wouldn't do that to the investigation," she paused, "or you."

  "I have a few more pictures to show you. I haven't shown these to you yet. This is not exactly first date material, but I have to know. Can you, I should ask, would you look at these? For me? Please."

  Nicole thought for a moment, then nodded.

  Paul straightened out his back, reached into his pants pocket and pulled out several wrinkled sheets of paper folded into four. He unfolded the first one and was about to hand it to Nicole, "You sure?"

  "I'm sure."

  Nicole took the paper and glanced at it. Her stomach turned for a moment, "Not what I expected. Sorry, I didn't..." her words trailed off. In her mind, she saw a flash of light, a camera flash maybe. It burnt her eyes. She refocused as the image began to swing back and forth. The movement caused her stomach to turn once again. The image caught a shoe then swung back into the darkness then back to the suitcase, then back to the foot. It was then she realized that she saw the events unfold through the eye of the camera.

  The image raised, the torso in the suitcase reappeared, focused, and she was blinded again by the flash. Nicole waited for a few moments for her eyes to clear. The person controlling the camera moved around, framed the torso from another angle and took another shot. The flash blanketed the scene in white light. The camera dropped but hung for a moment then swung again. Nicole closed her eyes tightly and the image faded.

  "How can anyone do something like this?" She folded the paper back up and slid it across the table.

  "Did you want to see another?" Paul asked.

  "I don't think it would do any good. I saw everything from the camera's perspective. All I saw was a shoe. And it was dark. Not sure it was a man's or a woman's shoe. Sorry." Nicole was apologetic. "Besides, any more of that," she pointed to sheets of paper held firmly in Paul's hand, "and I won't be able to eat."

  "Don't be sorry. You've been a big help. Seriously." Paul reached across with his free hand and touched hers. Nicole felt the warmth of Paul's hand. It felt good. She smiled at him. He was about to pull his hand back, but Nicole quickly took hold and squeezed.

  Paul looked past Nicole to the server as she carried out a tray and presented two dinners before them. She asked if there was anything more they needed. They both declined and continued their conversation while they ate.

  May 1

  The cell phone buzzed on the nightstand, and the tiny screen illuminated one side of the bedroom. Paul was lying on his stomach, watching the phone vibrate and bounce along the table. He closed his eyes and desperately hoped it would stop. Eventually, the light went off, the phone ceased vibrating, and he decided to fall back to sleep. He can't recall if it was only a moment or several hours later when the phone began its assault against his sleep again. It continued to buzz until Paul fumbled for the phone in the dark. He swiped at it, sending it flying to the floor. "Damn."

  Paul sat up, swung his legs over the edge and reached for the phone, tapping the green button on the screen. "What?" His voice was stern and unhappy.

  "Sorry to bug you. We found another body." Paul recognized Dan Levy's voice. "It's not pretty. Oh, and guess what? Remember those anonymous pictures we got in the mail mo
nths ago?"

  Paul replied with an exhausted "Ya."

  "It's a dismembered body in a suitcase, carbon copy of the pictures."

  Paul sat upright, now wide awake. "Where?"

  "I'll text you the address."

  Paul disconnected, put the phone down on the nightstand, rubbed his eyes and said out loud, "I have to turn on the light. Cover your eyes." He clicked the small lamp on his side of the bed.

  Nicole pulled the covers over her head, "What's going on?" she said, her voice muffled.

  "They found another body. On the positive side, you've got a great alibi. I guess I can remove you from my list of suspects." Paul felt a pillow hit him across the back. "You stay and sleep in. I'll be back as soon as I can. Text me when you wake up." Paul stood, walked to his dresser, stepped on something, picked it up and knew what it was. "Nice purple thong by the way."

  From under the covers, Nicole explained, "Thank Simone. I was gonna wear white cotton granny panties. Never figured you were going to see me naked on the first date."

  "I'll give her the details about last night next time I see her." He placed Nicole's thong on his dresser, pulled open a drawer and rummaged for clean underwear and socks. He pulled out a pair of khakis and a sweater to help keep him warm against the night air.

  "What time is it?" Nicole asked.

  "Just after three." Paul walked around to Nicole's side of the bed, kissed the only section of her head that wasn't under the cover. "Whatever you do, don't look in my closet."

  "Why?"

  "That's where I keep all my private guy stuff that girls don't ever want to know about." Paul laughed as he went back to his side of the bed, turned off the light and left the bedroom.

  "Jerk," Nicole yelled, "Now I hafta look."

  It was another thirty minutes before Paul arrived on scene. He stopped to pick up a coffee on the way and had it finished before he arrived. It wasn't difficult to find the address Dan had texted Paul, the red flashing lights from the cruiser light bars lit up the scene and acted as a beacon against the still night. As he drove down the residential street, Paul noticed homeowners were standing outside in their winter jackets and pajama bottoms watching the police. The Spring leaves on the trees lay motionless. A lone media truck was parked to the left side of the street, blocking someone's driveway. The camera operator was standing close to the barrier tape aiming his lens at the blue plastic barricade erected around the end of a driveway.

  Paul parked his car half a block north of the scene, secured his handgun to his belt and made sure he had his police ID handy. He shook the paper coffee cup one last time, thinking there might be a few drops left inside and tilted it back. What was left in the bottom of the cup wasn't worth the effort. He released the trunk latch, dug through some junk, found his police jacket and donned it before making his way to the scene. He felt the late night crisp air bite at him.

  As he neared the barrier tape, one of the reporters asked a question which Paul didn't hear or chose not to hear, then stuck a microphone in his face for a response. He ignored it and kept walking; Paul was positive he had just been called a "motherfucker" by the reporter. He ducked under the tape and made his way to where Dan was standing. Without saying a word, Dan handed Paul a Styrofoam cup of coffee. He sipped the tepid drink and grimaced.

  "I think it's left over coffee from the last homicide a few months back." Dan turned and made his way to the waist-high blue tarp square barrier that was erected at the base of a driveway. Several LED lights were strategically positioned around the area to illuminate the scene. Paul peered over the edge and noticed several plastic garbage cans and a recycling bin full of paper waste and a large antique style brown leather suitcase in the centre of the barrier. The brown leather was dirty and washed-out from years of use and reminded Paul of something he would see in the old movies from the forties. The brass clasps were tarnished, and the well-worn handle hung from brass D rings. The lid of the suitcase was lined with a lime green faded material with a tiny black floral pattern giving away its age. Small spots of bright red blood dotted the material. The nude torso of a young Caucasian woman was forced into the bottom half of the suitcase. The arms had been removed at the armpit, and the portions of the collarbone were visible as they pushed against the wall of the suitcase. The legs had been removed from the groin up along the line of the pelvis. The curve of the pelvic bone was glistening white under the bright LED lights and looked oddly like that part of the chicken carcass that held the section of meat Paul liked the most. His stomach did a little flip and knew immediately; he would no longer want that particular piece of chicken anymore. The girl's body forced itself against the inside edges of the antique suitcase, making the rectangular frame bulge out along the length.

  "Have you moved anything yet?" Paul asked.

  Dan shook his head side to side. He instead pointed to the man sitting on the curb a dozen feet away, cradling his small dog. Two thick blankets were shouldered around him, and his tiny yorkie sat obediently on his lap. The man appeared scared and looked as if the slightest movement might make him vomit. "Guy says he couldn't sleep and took his dog out for a walk. The dog started to sniff around the garbage cans and knocked over the suitcase. I guess the body was forced in or something and the old latches couldn't hold it. The lid popped open, exposing the contents and the guy thought it was some prank Halloween body part. You know how they have the hand that sticks out the trunk sorta thing." Dan looked up at the man with the dog, "Anyway, he touched the body and pretty much pissed his pajama's right here. He called 911, and he's been sitting there ever since. We can't even get a statement until he calms down. I think we hafta get Mental Health Services down here for the poor bastard."

  Paul hadn't noticed that garbage cans and recycling bins had already been placed at the end of every driveway. He decided that his lack of sleep and having a few too many drinks at dinner was the reason he missed the obvious. "I assume the homeowner," Paul pointed to the house whose garbage collection they now had scene tape protecting, "denies any knowledge of the suitcase."

  Dan chuckled, "You mean Mrs. Claxton. Well, the suitcase could definitely be hers considering she probably remembers using that style of bags. She's just shy of ninety-five, still lives alone. Weighs all of eighty pounds soaking wet. Denies ever seeing the suitcase and pays the neighbors kid twenty bucks a week to mow the lawn and take out the garbage. We haven't found the kid yet."

  Paul lifted the barrier tape, stepped closer and knelt beside the open suitcase. He pulled a pen from his shirt pocket and ran the tip of the pen around the edge of the suitcase. He squinted at the body inside the lower half of the suitcase. It was obvious the girl was slightly larger than the opening and was forced in to make her fit. Paul noticed areas where the decades-old material had been stressed where the end of the clavicle rubbed against it. He noticed a small puncture wound over the liver, pointed at it and asked Dan, "Liver temp?"

  "31.5 C. But, the coroner says that she's never taken a temp on a body with no arms or legs or head and stuffed in a suitcase, so she has to make some calculations. Figures she died maybe around midnight. That's a rough guess."

  Paul took out his phone and used the flashlight app to look inside the suitcase. "There a little blood around the bottom near where the arms and legs and head should be." Paul stood and closed his eyes, "Christ, I can't believe I'm looking at this so dispassionately. Poor kid can't be any more than what, twenty-something." He took in a deep breath, "Fuck this is sick." Paul stood, looked around at the crowd that had gathered along both sides of the street, and asked Dan, "Do they even know what happened?"

  Dan look at the crowd, "Not a clue. I'm sure they're talking. The only guy that knows anything is too scared to even speak with us yet. I think he has to change his pants first. I doubt he told anyone before we got here."

  A thought struck Paul, "Could she be the snow plough girl?"

  Dan moved closer to Paul, "I doubt it. Coroner thought of that. She was sure the girl was k
illed tonight. No sign of the tissue being frozen. There was no crystallization in the tissue, and the body isn't partially frozen. So?" Dan shrugged his shoulder.

  "Do we have one of those instant digital cameras? You know like the Polaroid cameras we had way back." Paul looked at the crime scene techs waiting for a response. Instead, one of the techs pulled a white camera from his bag.

  "There are still Polaroid cameras. It's got a full pack of ten in it," the tech offered.

  Paul held the camera and rolled it over several times. "It looks like a kids' camera."

  "Those packs of sheets are expensive. So, don't be going nuts with the picture taking. And you don't have to shake the pictures when they come out of the camera." The tech made sure Paul was aware he was responsible for the equipment and wanted it back when he was finished.

  Paul took a picture of the body in the suitcase standing over it. The camera spit out a small two by three undeveloped photo. Paul grabbed it and immediately began to wave it in the air. The tech looked at Paul and shook his head but remained silent. Paul continued to take several more pictures of the body and the suitcase from various angles. As each sheet spit forth from the camera, Paul instinctively shook the sheet before placing it in his pocket. Paul continued to take pictures until he felt he had enough. He handed the camera back to the tech that let him borrow it.

  Paul considered showing the pictures to Nicole when he got home. He had another body, and it was too soon to link to the other two bodies, but only a fool would refuse to make the connection. From the scene, he doubted forensics would be gathering much in the way of evidence at the scene. He clenched his teeth and covered his mouth with his hand. Paul felt the moisture from his breath on his cold hand. He stood beside the barrier and waved all of the people under his command to gather around. He thought about what he wanted to say, and in his mind, he was screaming out orders. He paused and began to speak, his voice was muted but stern, "Keep this quiet. Don't give out any details to the press. Nothing and I mean nothing gets out." He pointed to everyone at the scene who was paying full attention to Paul. "I don't want any details getting leaked; I want everything to stay internal. Pack this up," he swirled his hand around the suitcase, "keep the body inside. After forensics is finished with the scene, and they take lots of pictures, and I don't mean dozens, I mean hundreds. Every angle, close-up, wide-angle, scene shots, get pictures of the houses, all these people standing around, the garbage, everything, and when they feel it's OK, close the lid, keep all the evidence inside and take it back. I'm going to talk to the guy that found the suitcase. I want the garbage schedule, which company picks it up, where it goes to. Is the schedule posted online? How would someone know to drop off the suitcase late at night to get picked up and put in the landfill? Anything and everything is important. Got it?"