The Mind’s Eye

by Perry Prete

  "I'll post results and email them to you," Maura yelled at Paul as he left the room.

  Maura turned back to the torso on her table, "OK. Let's find out what secrets you're hiding."

  Maura picked up a scalpel and held it just above the right clavicle, "I'm sorry honey." The blade sunk deep into the skin, and as Maura pulled the blade across to the sternum, the skin slowly spread apart. There was no blood; the body was void of most or all of its fluids. Maura reached the centre of the sternum, then reached across to the left clavicle and made the same cut across the chest until the two incisions met then she continued down to the navel.

  "I hate this part honey, but I'm hoping you can tell me something." Maura placed the scalpel down on the stainless-steel side table, took in a breath and continued with the autopsy.

  Behind her, the door slowly squeaked open, Maura didn't hear any footfalls entering her room, "If you need anything, Paul, I told you I'd send anything I found after I'm done. If you forgot something, just come and get it. No icky stuff yet."

  "Hey, Maura."

  She recognized the voice but couldn't place it. She turned to find Carl Kadner leaning in the open door.

  "I'd never think of bothering you while there's icky stuff on the table," Carl snickered.

  "You." Maura exclaimed, "Out. Get out. The last time I saw you, you broke my sister's heart. She cried for days when you never called her back."

  "You and I both know, it wasn't going to work. Let's be honest Maura, your sister, well, she's special. And not in a good way." Carl slowly walked into the room. It was a strategic move, calculated, in case Maura threw a scalpel at him. He stopped within a few feet of the table. He casually glanced at the torso of the girl that lay on the table; a "Y" incision already cut into the chest with one side of the skin pulled over the right breast. Pale red muscle and white bone were visible. Carl felt his stomach turn, but he maintained his composure.

  Maura stepped between Carl and the table, "What do you want?" "Well, frankly, that." Carl pointed to the table behind Maura.

  "Well Carl, you aren't getting any of that or anything else for that matter."

  Maura firmly planted her gloved fists against her waist to prove her point. "And how did you get down here anyway? This area is restricted."

  Carl smiled coyly.

  "No, no, no you didn't. Did you say," Maura pointed at Carl then back at herself then back to Carl, "that you and me." Maura's face became red with rage.

  "No. I said I was almost family. That I was serious with your sister and wanted to talk to you about some very personal stuff." Carl moved to one side to get a better look at the torso.

  Maura repositioned herself between Carl and the table, "That's pretty much the same. You and my sister are never gonna happen, never did happen." Maura flung her hand in the air and pointed towards the door, "Out. Now. Out."

  "Maura, I just need some information. Please."

  "That's it. That's the reason you're here." Tiny balls of spit hit Carl in the face. He didn't attempt to wipe his face clean. He thought that might only enrage her further. "You're still a reporter. You? They haven't fired you yet?" "This is my first crime story. Please, Maura. I'll call your sister. I promise." Maura let out a loud laugh, "I don't want you to ever call my sister. Again. Ever."

  Carl took one step back, the barrage of wet balls spitballs continued. "Fine. I'll never call her again. How's that? Just give me some info, and I'll never see or talk to your sister again."

  "Never?" Maura's voice lowered. Carl crossed his heart.

  "You don't have a heart," Maura told him.

  "I won't use your name, take any pictures, you'll just be a confidential informant." Carl flicked his eyebrows up and down.

  Maura turned to the autopsy table and pointed, "You see that thing dangling from the ceiling? Do you?"

  Carl nodded so rapidly he thought he would give himself a headache.

  "That thing is recording everything we say. I'll edit out this part of the conversation and keep it on my system only as proof of our conversation. If, for any reason what-so-ever, my name gets used or suggested or anything," Maura stepped towards Carl, "so help me God, I will practice my scalpel technic on your scrotum, cut out your balls, drop them on the floor and stomp on them until you see your testicles flattened into tiny mounds of goop."

  Carl had a sudden urge to vomit.

  "Got it?"

  Carl nodded, "Got it."

  "Good." Maura stepped aside, "And never call my sister again. Come here."

  Carl stepped around Maura to get a better view of the torso on the table. She looked Carl up and down, noticed the antique suit he was wearing and wondered what her sister saw in him.

  *****

  Upstairs, Paul was sitting at his desk, he cradled a cup of coffee in two hands and blew across the top. He took a sip and placed the cup on his desk beside the phone. He opened the new three-ringed binder labeled "JANE DOE" in bold black marker down the spine. It was empty. There wasn't a single piece of paper inside yet. Most of the files were computerized, and the case hadn't generated any reports yet. The scene notes still had to be transcribed and would then be placed in the binder.

  Paul took another sip of the coffee as he wondered how many binders would be filled with evidence on this case. On the floor, he had six more binders filled with evidence on the cases he oversaw, the arm found in the snow, Abigail Schneider and now the torso in the suitcase would be added to his list of cases. Paul shifted in his chair; something was digging into his thigh.

  Paul emptied his pockets and tossed the offending object onto his desk. His personal cell phone landed on top of the new "Jane Doe" binder. He picked it up, tapped the corner of the phone on the desk and thought now was the time to call her back. He didn't have to look up her name in the contacts, Paul knew the number. Paul dialed the number as he was about to tap the green button to connect the line, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  "Hey, bud. Any luck?"

  Paul didn't have to look up and recognized Ken's voice.

  Paul breathed in deeply and sighed. "Maura likes Young Frankenstein, does a horrible Igor impression. She is also one fucking scary woman." He spun around in his chair and propped both feet on the corner of his desk, "Nicole went over the crime scene photos and we got something on the unsub. Problem is we can't legally use it, but it gives us something to go on." "What did we get?" Ken firmly planted his ass on the desk opposite Paul's and crossed his arms. He looked down and noticed a new dark stain on the carpet by the corner of Paul's desk.

  "White male, thin, not much hair on the arms and bites his nails." "Actually, that's a helluva lot more than we had before. We can work with that." Ken changed the topic of conversation, "Scuttlebutt around the office is that you had a date last night. Any truth to that? I think the last time you went on a date, we were still using VHS tapes."

  Paul enjoyed being the subject of ridicule by his co-workers, after all, he gave as good as he got. "I think it goes further back. My dates are as rare as 8 track tapes."

  "Do we know her?" Ken asked.

  "I'll post all the details on the bathroom walls as they develop."

  Ken stood, "Just glad you broke your slump," and walked back to his desk.

  It was another few hours before Paul had scanned all the crime scene photos in the log, notes below each and all his notations included. He knew he would have to wait for the uniformed officers on scene to enter their notes and Maura to document her findings.

  In black permanent marker, he wrote the date and case number on the white stripe beneath the image of each photo and placed all the photos in protective sleeves. Each sleeve then went into the binder. The Chief was big on electronic documentation but mandated all physical evidence and notes still be kept as a backup just like in the old days. The Chief made it a habit of sporadically reviewing case notes on the system without the detective knowing it.

  Paul had created a small case board that hung by the side of his desk. It was
supposed to show the progress of the case, pictures of the victims to keep their faces current, photos of suspects, of persons of interest and pertinent details. Instead, it had little more than an arm on an autopsy table, a blow-up of the photo from the drivers license of Abigail Schneider and now the torso from the suitcase. He sat back, placed his arms behind his head and stared. The images, already frozen in his mind, remained motionless. He wished he had Nicole's ability to have the dead speak to him. All three pictures declined Paul's request to tell their story.

  Paul gathered his jacket, pocketed his two cell phones and realized he hadn't called Nicole and wasn't even sure if she was still at his house. He thought about calling her to see where she was but didn't want to seem needy. It was Saturday, he was supposed to be off this weekend, but circumstances often prevent him from having a normal life.

  He picked up his office phone, then slowly placed it down on the cradle and left for the day.

  *****

  Katy was at home, thinking about her date she had the previous night. Will was a little odd but cute and something about him stuck with her. They had exchanged cell numbers and promised to stay in touch. She wondered if one day was too soon before calling. She picked up her cell phone, swiped up to bring the screen to life and found Will's number. She paused for a moment, "Fuck it." She dialed the number and paced around the apartment until he picked up. After quite a few rings, the call went directly to voicemail. Unfortunately, Will hadn't set up his voice mail and the system wasn't able to record her message.

  Disappointed, Katy disconnected and hoped that he would still see that she had called. She thought about calling again and fought the urge to redial. Instead, she put the phone down on the kitchen counter and hoped he would call her soon.

  *****

  Saturday at the newspaper office was always quiet. Most of the staff were gone by five. Carl and a few others remained behind as they finished a story or used the company phones to make long distance calls while the boss was gone.

  Carl sat at his desk, frantically typing away. He flipped his notepad pages over then back again to make sure he had every last detail for the story. As agreed, he would omit any reference to where he got the information or how he happened to come across privileged information. He had a promise to keep, and if he wanted to continue using Maura for more information, he had to keep his word.

  "The sound of a real typewriter is so much better than the plastic sound of keys from a computer keypad."

  Carl spun around in his chair to see Sam standing behind him. "How long have you been there?" he asked.

  "A few minutes. Long enough to read over your shoulder. Isn't some of that a little over the top? You certainly have a flair for the sensationalism."

  "It's a sensational case." Carl never looked up from the monitor. "You're sure the body was drained of all fluids before they found it?"

  "Torso. No legs, no arms, no head, just the torso. And yes. No fluid. It was drained." The plastic clicking continued as Carl spoke. "The killer managed to drain the body of all fluids. Whatever method was used was ingenious or barbaric."

  Sam grimaced and shook his head side to side. "You're making it sound like whoever did this was some freak."

  Carl looked up from the keyboard, "He kills a girl, dismembers the body and stuffs it in a suitcase. Isn't that the quintessential definition of a freak?"

  "You're supposed to be impartial. Not judgmental. It would sound so much better if you were on a real typewriter." Sam reached down under the yellow vinyl bag that held the trash and pulled out a small case. He casually pushed Carl aside and placed it beside his keyboard. "Anybody can write. This," Sam tapped the case, "is how you become a journalist kid." Without saying another word, he began to push the cleaning cart down the aisle.

  Carl looked down at the case on his desk and considered what Sam had just said and realized he was writing an article for the tabloids, not a newspaper.

  He pushed his keyboard to the back of his desk, placed the case before him, opened it to find a portable typewriter inside. He removed the lid from the case, put it on the floor and positioned the typewriter at the edge of his desk in front of him. The word "UNDERWOOD" was embossed in gold on the gloss black finish beneath the space bar. He pulled a sheet of paper from the printer tray and fed it through the roller. The gears made a sound like no other machine he had heard.

  Never having used an actual typewriter, Carl looked at the machine, played with the arms and buttons and knobs before figuring out the basic functions of the machine. He looked at the keys, held down the shift key and pushed hard on the first letter and watched as the metal arm swung upwards, the ink ribbon moved to place itself between the page and the arm before it struck the paper. He looked at the brilliant black letter "C" on the page. Carl turned and looked over his shoulder to see Sam cleaning some of the other desks further down the aisle. He smiled and went back to his work. He slowly struck the rest of the keys to put his name at the top of the page. Sam was right. There is no other sound than that of a typewriter.

  *****

  Paul backed his SUV into the driveway just before seven. He had spent most of his day off at the station working. Not his favorite place to be but until recently, he hadn't had much of a life. He hoped that Nicole was still inside but understood if she wasn't. He unlocked the side door, as he entered the foyer, the smell of, he wasn't sure what, but it smelled good. Paul called out to Nicole, no answer. He went directly to the kitchen.

  On the kitchen table, an inverted plastic bowl kept Paul's dinner warm. Beside the bowl, a short note, "Wasn't sure what time you would be back. Enjoy". Paul lifted the plastic bowl to reveal a large plate of fresh jambalaya. He never had jambalaya, but it looked good and smelled even better. He sat down, started to eat and texted a quick message to Nicole thanking her for dinner.

  He finished his meal, cleaned the dishes and sat on the couch in front of the television. It was on, but Paul wasn't watching. His eyes became heavy, and he thought about calling Nicole, but he wanted to wait until she texted him back first. He fought to stay awake as his eyes continued to close. Eventually, sleep overtook him, his eyes shut, his mind was blank, no dreams, no images, nothing but restful, tranquil sleep. Something that Paul had not had in a long time.

  *****

  Katy ran for her phone. The phone displayed the icon of a shadowy male figure and the name "Will" beneath it. She swiped the button to the left to answer the call, "Hello."

  There was only silence on the other end, "Hello," she repeated.

  "There must be a lag on the line. I can hear an echo." The voice was hollow and distant.

  "Will?" Katy asked.

  "I must be in a dead zone. I was just asking if you wanted to meet for a drink?"

  "Sure. Where?" she yelled back.

  "How about the sports bar on Franklin Street in an hour?"

  She knew it would be a late night, but Katy was looking forward to seeing Will again. "Sure. An hour. See you then."

  Katy ran to the bathroom, ran the shower, disrobed and stepped in.

  Will was already at the bar when he called, found a table near the front where he could watch the girls arrive and see if they were there to meet anyone or were alone. He held onto his beer with two hands, the condensation formed between his palms and glass and flowed through his fingers. He didn't drink from the bottle; the contents became warmer with each passing minute. He was concentrating on the girls as they passed his table. He studied whether they were alone, their features, their skin, their bone structure, admiring or dismissing them.

  A group of girls walked passed his table, stopped and they gathered in front of him. They stood in a group, talking, laughing. Of all the girls in the group, Will focused his attention on one girl, a young redhead, her skin pale, smooth and flawless. His gaze followed her bare left arm down from the end of her short sleeve shirt, down her slender forearm to her hand. Will's attention focused all the way down to her hand and fingers. Her hand was curled, f
ingers hidden under her jacket she had removed when she walked into the bar. He never removed his eyes from her hand, waiting in anticipation for her to reveal her fingers. She was only a few feet away, the bar crowded and noisy, but Will heard nothing, saw nothing other than the smooth skin of her hand and the fingers that remained hidden.

  As he waited, his grip around the bottle tightened, had he found her, everything was perfect, Will just needed to see her fingers. The group turned, the redhead slipped her jacket from the left hand to her right, she raised her left hand to pull her hair around her ear. Will recoiled in disgust at the sight of the false nails glued over the tips of her fingers. The black aura swirled around her hand, obscuring her face and hair. He turned away, infuriated at wasting his time on the redhead. He could feel himself getting upset, his teeth clenched, his desire burned inside to reach out and strike her. It was taking more and more restraint to quell those feelings.

  The group of girls were assigned a table; they laughed as they walked deeper into the bar and disappeared behind a wall. Will felt his temper cool. He closed his eyes, forgetting about the girl that upset him.

  Will hadn't noticed the time pass until Katy walked in and took a seat next to him. "Hey, stranger. Thanks for the call."

  Will didn't seem startled, didn't react, he simply turned, smiled at Katy, "You want a beer?"

  She smiled and nodded, "Wine please."

  Will raised his hand to catch the server's attention. He stopped by the table, took their order and left. Will placed his hand on hers, "I'm so glad you decided to come."

  Katy laughed, "Your hand is soaking wet."

  Will handed her a napkin, "Sorry, I was holding onto my beer. Makes me look more manly holding a beer than drinking iced tea all night."

  Surprised, Katy asked Will if he drank.

  "No. Never did. I always order a drink, but I never drink it. Just out of

  habit. I was bugged a lot in school. A habit I picked up."

  "There's nothing wrong with not drinking. A lot of people don't drink anymore. Same goes for smoking." Katy returned the gesture and placed her hand atop of Will's. "In fact, it's nice to meet someone who doesn't drink. You don't smoke, do you? Cause that is a deal breaker."