The Mind’s Eye

by Perry Prete

  Will smiled, "No." He squeezed Katy's hand then pulled his hand and locked his fingers around the bottle again. He looked at Katy's hand and felt nothing. He was glad she didn't have what he wanted.

  The server returned with Katy's glass of wine and a fresh bottle of beer. Before he could place the drinks on the table, Katy slipped a twenty-dollar bill on the tray, told the server to take the glasses back and bring back two large iced teas, regular iced tea, not Long Island iced teas. "It'll be fun to be out and not have a drink."

  *****

  The two girls sat in the living room apartment and shared a bottle of whisky that Simone had purchased earlier in the day. Nicole was sitting with her legs tucked under her, giddy like a high school girl ready to tell her best friend all her secrets Simone poured a shot glass of the expensive whisky and handed it to Nicole, "This stuff is old and supposed to be good. Well, according to the guy at the liquor store. Here."

  Nicole took a sniff and grimaced, "This is a little out of my comfort zone. You know me, I'm not a big drinker."

  "Sugar, I'm trying to get you drunk, so you tell me all the lurid details from last night." Simone fell hard into her chair, but she balanced the small glass in her hand and didn't spill a drop. "Tell."

  Nicole sniffed the drink, grimaced once again, "Never had whisky before," and tossed back the drink. "Wow. That is good." She held her glass out for a refill.

  Simone put her glass down, grabbed the bottle and refilled Nicole's glass. Nicole downed the refill with the same enthusiasm as she did the first. "Whoa." She blew out. "That's warm."

  Simone took her seat, decided enough was enough, "So, did he rock your world?"

  Nicole smiled coyly, "More than once actually."

  Simone cocked her head to one side, "More than once?"

  "It was unbelievable. You know how it can take more than a few times before you get a rhythm going, you know what he likes, he knows what you like?" Simone nodded and swallowed her drink in one gulp. "Well, it was awesome the first time. I just hope that things don't go downhill from here. I don't think Paul's been with anyone in quite some time. He was possessed. A man on a mission. A point to prove. He knew which button to rub, where to touch, everything. And does he know how to use his tongue? Wowzers. I mean, life is too short to be with someone if they don't know or care about how to get you off or take the time to learn how to please you. Remember I had that problem with the ex. That asshole couldn't find his way around even after I showed him a chart to tell him where all my good parts were located."

  The two girls shared a laugh.

  "Oh, oh." Nicole jumped in her seat, "You'll never guess."

  "What?" Simone almost yelled.

  "He's a moaner."

  Simone let out a loud, "Nooooooo."

  "And a talker. I think it was the first time in a long time someone other than himself got him off. He thanked me at least a dozen times." Nicole started to blush. "Gimme another shot of that stuff." She held out her shot glass. "If I'm gonna tell you all this shit, I better be drunk, so I have an excuse."

  May 3

  "You're kidding me. You're flipping kidding me. What is this?" Nora Watson threw the stack of papers on her desk; it slid off the end landing on the floor by Carl's feet. "Who types out stories today on a typewriter?"

  Nora stood behind her desk, beads of sweat dripping down her forehead. The heat from the sun breaking through the window behind her desk combined with her mood, caused her to perspire. She looked out the glass partition to see the office staff staring at her questioning Carl after reading his story.

  Carl picked up his story and threw it back on Nora's desk. "Are you pissed because it was done on a typewriter or the content? Because it's a damn good story."

  "Why can't you write a story like the rest of the reporters on staff? Every time I give you an assignment for the simplest of things, you turn it into a conspiracy, a hidden treasure or some creature terrorizing some town."

  "Hey, I never once wrote about a hidden treasure."

  "Last month you almost got arrested for impersonating a police officer to get interviews from witnesses. Before that, you stole a car. I asked for a briefing of the murders that have gone on in the city in the last few months, and you tell me we have a serial killer on the loose. How do you figure we have a serial killer? Huh? Tell me that? The police don't even think it's a serial killer. Why can't you please, for once, keep it simple and just do as I ask?"

  To emphasize his frustration, Carl picked up his story and slammed it down on her desk again, "I never said I was a cop, I just didn't deny it. It's called commandeering a car, not stealing. Big difference. And did you read the story? If you read it, you wouldn't be asking me why I came to that conclusion. And I'm pretty sure they know it's the same person who killed all three girls."

  "Really? And why is that?" Nora sat down in her chair. It creaked under her weight.

  "Again, did you read my story?"

  "Why don't you enlighten me?"

  "If you read my story, I wouldn't have to," he yelled in frustration. Nora stood and went to the small table beside her desk and poured herself a cup from the coffee machine, didn't offer one to Carl, and sat back down. "If you wrote something worth reading, I'd read it."

  "Funny." Carl flipped through a few pages, found what he wanted and began to read, "...the skin was cut with surgical precision. The joints, shoulder and hip joints, where the limbs were removed, were carefully separated. For what reason, the police do not yet know."

  Carl proudly stood as if he had made his case. This time, he held onto his story instead of throwing it back on Nora's desk.

  Nora sipped her coffee and tilted back in her chair, "That's two of the three girls. What about the one left behind in her bedroom?"

  "Again, if you bothered to read my story you'd know. The similarity between the girls, their physical characteristics were identical. They think the second girl was left untouched because she had terminal cancer." Exasperated at having to explain himself, Carl continued, "Next time you decide to toss my story in the trash, perhaps you'd read it first."

  "Where did you get this information anyway?" Nora asked.

  "A friend."

  Nora laughed, "Can you confirm what you've written?"

  Carl nodded.

  "Edit the story, cut out the superfluous crap and put it on the computer." "Superfluous? I'm surprised you can pronounce that word and even more surprised you used it correctly in a sentence," Carl screamed.

  "You'd be more surprised if I used "fired" in a sentence. Just have it ready for today's edition. And if you insist on using that typewriter, use it for your drafts only. Send me the e-version." Nora pulled the keyboard tray out from beneath her desk and began to work.

  Carl turned to walk out, smiling, "Hey, Nora, be happy. I'm saving you money using that typewriter. It's manual, no electricity and I'm not using any toner for the printer."

  "Maybe I'll buy you a new suit with the money I save. Now get back to work."

  Carl slammed the door to Nora's office and walked back to his desk. He sat down, pushed the typewriter to the side and pulled out the keyboard and placed it at the edge of the desk. He flipped through his story, refusing to remove the "superfluous" content and typed it out as he had shown Nora then sent it to the content editor to be placed in the day's edition. He didn't bother to copy Nora when he emailed the story.

  Carl knew he would get yelled at by Nora or worse after she read the day's edition, but the story had to be told. He pushed his chair away from his desk wondering if he would have a job waiting. Regardless of whether or not he had a job, there was still something he had to do.

  *****

  The two adult German Shepherds ran freely in the backyard. They were hungry, waiting for Will to feed them. Between feedings, the dogs were lucky if they managed to catch a slow squirrel running along the grass or a groundhog between feedings. Will liked to keep them hungry. He felt it kept them angry.

  Will opened the
door to the basement, walked down the carpeted stairs, flipped the light to the rec room. The recessed LED illuminated the large room where he kept his antique pinball machines and jukebox. He favorite toys were lined up along the far wall, plugged in and powered up, ready for a quick game whenever the need struck him.

  Will found that the rhythmic sound of the bells and music and the concentration required as he followed the steel ball around the mazes help keep his mind busy. He ran his fingers along the games as he passed them on the way to the freezer room. He opened another door where he kept his cold storage, canned foods, preserves and a large commercial grade walk-in freezer.

  He grabbed the silver handle and pulled hard, releasing the lever and swung the door open. The blast of frigid air hit him; he shivered then walked into the right side where wire shelves held the frozen meat for the dogs. To the left, he kept his prize. He found two sections of frozen thighs he had removed and portioned from the girl before placing her in the suitcase.

  Will removed the two large sections, closed the freezer door and walked upstairs to the back of the house. Will slid the patio door open, whistled and the two dogs came running from the far end of the yard. As they approached, he raised his hand; the dogs sat on command. He tossed the heavy portion of the girl's thigh one by one into the grass. Each piece hit the ground with a loud, dull thud, then rolled for a bit. The dogs never moved. They stared at their master, waiting for his permission for them to feed.

  Will waited for a few moments, then yelled "Eten", the Dutch word for "eat". The dogs turned and ran to find their food in the long grass.

  The dogs each found their piece of the meal. The larger alpha male had the choice of the two pieces of flesh, taking the slightly bigger chunk leaving the other portion for his sibling. The dogs bit hard, their teeth sinking deep into the frozen flesh. Each dog was taking off into different directions with its prize. It would take more than a full day for both dogs to gnaw through the frozen skin, flesh to the bone. The dogs would eventually devour everything, including the raw bones and would be satisfied for a few days before needing another feeding. Any uneaten portion would be buried deep in the ground, perhaps dug up again later to be finished off.

  *****

  The department phone rang on Paul's desk. He reached over his keyboard and his coffee to answer.

  "Ya." His usual response when he knew the call was internal.

  "You're cheerful first thing in the morning." Paul recognized Maura's voice.

  Paul deflected the direction he knew the conversation was going, "What's up?" His voice hadn't changed tone. Paul could hear Maura shuffling papers about, waiting for her to say something, "Maura," he called out.

  "Hang on. I got an email today and printed it out. I wanna read it to you." Paul heard Maura swearing as she continued to search for the missing email. "Got it."

  "What's it about?" asked Paul.

  "We finally got the DNA results back on the arm found in the snow last year. You'll never guess who it was." Maura expected Paul to respond. Instead, the line went dead. "Hello. Hello." Not getting a response, Maura hung up the phone as Paul burst through the swinging door to the lab.

  "What do you have?" He was panting as he spoke.

  "What did you do, fly down the stairs?"

  Paul was in no mood for an idle chat, "Come on." He put both hands down on his knees and took in a deep breath. "Whoa. I'm in bad shape."

  "Do you remember the missing case from last November, a few weeks before Christmas, the girl that just disappeared when she was out shopping?" Maura hopped up onto the stainless-steel counter, swinging her feet.

  Paul was out of breath and couldn't answer; he shook his head.

  "The arm belongs to her." Maura handed Paul a sheet of paper that confirmed the DNA match. He looked at it, not certain he understood the meaning of the explanation but found the word "MATCH" and the person's name, Paige Kirkby.

  "That's your CODIS copy by the way," Maura said.

  Paul studied the sheet, then looked at Maura, "If she had DNA taken, why didn't we get a match on her fingerprints?"

  Maura returned to her desk, opened the case file, found the documents she was looking for, then handed them to Paul.

  "What's this?" He turned the paper over as if the answer was on the back of the sheet.

  "That Mr. Hammond," Maura paused, "is Paige Kirkby's school fingerprint and DNA sample taken when she started school twenty some odd years ago. When I got her DNA match, I noticed there were no priors, so I checked with the lab, and they sent her school info."

  Paul squinted his eyes, puzzled.

  "Did you ever have kids, nieces, nephews?" Maura asked. Paul shook his head.

  Maura continued, "God. OK. In some school districts, when a child starts school, the school board encourages the parents to get all the children under a certain age fingerprinted, DNA swabs and photos were done. In this case, if you recall, the fingerprints from the arm that was recovered were badly scarred. That's probably why we didn't get a hit by AFIS or CPIC. DNA is the gold standard, not fingerprints. You can't alter DNA."

  "So, the scarring on the fingertips is why we didn't get a hit on them?" "It was probably done intentionally to slow down the identification of

  the arm. Or dragging the arm through the snow by the plough damaged the prints. Most people don't have their DNA on file. The killer probably took a chance that the vic wasn't in the system or didn't even think about DNA. He or she was wrong. Dead wrong."

  Paul contemplated what he was hearing. It was luck that Paige Kirkby had her DNA taken as a child. He was finally standing upright and had caught his breath.

  "Shit," Paul exclaimed. "What?"

  "If I recall that case, it's considered a missing persons case. I think she was here to go to school or started a new job or something. The parents don't live here in the city. I'm gonna have to go notify her parents that we suspect her daughter is dead or missing. Oh man. I just thought of something. What if her arm was surgically removed for some valid reason and it just got, I don't know, lost and ended up in the snow bank."

  Stunned, Maura looked distraught, "Christ. I'd rather just get the news that my daughter is dead rather than hear that we found her arm. What do you tell them?" Maura's tone changed, "Hi Mr. and Mrs. Kirkby, we found your daughter's arm. We don't know where she is or if she is still missing or perhaps dead?"

  "I'm going upstairs to check missing persons, then check with all the state hospitals for surgical procedures and see if she did have an, what would you call it, an "armectomy"," Paul air quoted as he chuckled, "before I even contact the parents."

  "It's just a regular amputation you jerk," Maura told Paul. He laughed back. "Just checking to see if you knew."

  Maura looked invigorated. She ran to the cold storage drawer that held the arm, placed her hand on the handle, then paused, "Well, you do your thing, looking up whether or not Paige Kirkby is still missing or if she's been found or had surgery, and I'm going to look at the arm again to check for medical reasons why or if the arm needed to be amputated for medical reasons."

  As Paul turned to leave, Maura shouted at him, "Check with all the hospitals and medical schools."

  Paul stopped at the door. "Medical schools?" He looked confused. Maura released her grip on the handle, "It just hit me, Paige could have died of natural causes and donated her body for medical reasons, and the arm was removed as surgical practice for medical students. Or the students could've removed it and did something stupid as a practical joke that got out hand. No pun intended."

  "Christ. Really? A joke?" Paul had a look of disgust on his face.

  "You don't want to know what we did as medical students to the medical cadavers. It's one thing to donate your organs for transplant; it's another to donate your body for medical research. Oh my God, I just, what a great way to get rid of a body."

  Paul walked back into the autopsy room, "What?"

  Maura joined Paul, "Think of it. You want to kill someone, right?
Well, the DMV makes it mandatory that you list your wishes when you renew or get a new driver's license. You have to register if you want to donate your organs and or tissue or body for medical research." Maura held out her hand, "Gimme your license."

  Paul obliged and pulled his driver's license from his wallet and handed it to her. Maura flipped it over and pointed out the section to prove her point. "On the back, it has a code for what you want to donate at the time of death. If someone is computer savvy, you can hack the system and change your wishes. When you die, the hospital has an obligation to expedite the organ retrieval. After that, if you donate your body to research as well, it gets shipped to the nearest school or lab or whatever. Gross. I know you're dead, but you're lying there naked with people prodding and poking at your body. Not for me. Believe me; I know what we have to do. I hope when I die, I hope it's by natural causes and never have to have an autopsy done." Maura handed Paul his license back.

  "You can hack into the government site and change the code?" Paul asked.

  "Have you seen the sites that have been hacked in the last few years?

  So, I doubt that the government site that controls organ donations is that secure. A halfway intelligent kid on his or her smartphone could probably hack the system in no time at all."

  As Paul replaced the card back in his wallet, he didn't want to think of those things that were done on the silver table a few feet away from him. He promised himself he would check to see what he had promised to donate at the time of his death.

  He took the stairs one at a time going back up to his office, thinking about all the ways a person's arm could end up in a snow bank. He had a lot to check on before contacting the parents. Paul secretly wished that he would find that Paige died of natural causes, whatever it was, and donated her body for medical research to help find a cure for the disease that ended her life and some immature medical students decided to do something stupid with her body. If only. Nothing was ever that simple. Paul hoped against the odds that this one time, things would turn out to be that easy.