The Art of Dying: A Ray Hanley Crime Thriller

by Derik Cavignano

  The stench of death tugged at Ray’s gag reflex, and it was through sheer determination that he kept his gorge down.

  A wall-mounted video camera recorded the procedure as Tina presented the case for the record, giving a play-by-play account using a slew of medical jargon Ray didn’t fully understand. After tilting Finkleton’s head back and noting the degree of rigor, she examined the wound on his throat and the ring-like bruise they’d first noticed when they lowered him into the body bag. She projected her voice toward the camera.

  “A dark red ligature mark measuring 2.5 centimeters wide encircles the anterior of the neck just below the laryngeal prominence. It appears to be consistent with strangulation by rope or cord.”

  Tina leaned over Finkleton and shined a light onto his face. “Evidence of petechial hemorrhaging in the conjunctival surfaces of the eyes and in the mucosa of the lips. Presence of needle marks on the jugular vein, possibly to administer medication or anesthesia. Both the superior and inferior extremities appear to have been amputated premortem, with each wound closed via cauterization around a length of 16-gauge stainless steel surgical wire. The wounds appear recent and well-tended.”

  Tina brandished her scalpel and sectioned a piece of cauterized flesh at Finkleton’s shoulder, exposing the white gleam of bone where the limb had been severed. “The wire appears to be threaded through a hole drilled into the bone.”

  “Christ,” Ray muttered.

  Tina passed the sectioned tissue to Luis, who sealed it in a plastic container.

  Doc Death leaned over the body. “No spurs observed. The cut appears to have been made with a professional-grade bone saw.”

  Ray craned his neck for a better look. “You sure about that?”

  Doc nodded. “Using the wrong saw would splinter the bone and cause severe trauma. But this is clean. Whoever did this possessed the requisite knowledge and tools for the job.”

  “Where would someone get a bone saw?” Ray asked.

  “I suppose you could pick one up online from a medical equipment company. It seems you can get anything online these days. But hospitals and medical schools would have them as well.” Doc Death gestured to the tray of cutting tools. “We’ve got one right here. Tina will use it to open Mr. Finkleton’s skull in a few minutes.”

  Ray felt his stomach flutter, but clenched his jaw against it. If he blew chunks in here, Doc would never let him watch from this side of the glass again.

  “Hand me the 18-gauge needle,” Tina said, turning to Luis. She removed the cap and inserted the needle into Finkleton’s right eye, drawing fluid into the syringe. She repeated the process on the left eye. “Vitreous procurement yielded 8.5 milliliters of fluid.”

  She handed the syringe to Luis, who emptied it into a glass tube and held the contents up to the light.

  “Remind me what that’s for again,” Ray said.

  Tina blinked at him behind blood-speckled goggles. “Postmortem, the cells in the eyes release potassium at a constant rate. Measurement of the potassium levels helps to establish time of death.”

  Doc chimed in. “It’s often more reliable than examining blood or other bodily fluids, since those can be affected by certain postmortem chemical changes.”

  Ray nodded, his eyes wandering to the white dome of plastic sandwiched between Finkleton’s lower torso and the surface of the table. “Are you ever going to take that egg out of his ass? I’ll bet there’s a surprise inside.”

  “What was in the others?” Doc asked.

  “The names of Finkleton’s artists. People whose careers he helped build.”

  “Do you think one of them could be the killer?” Tina asked.

  “It’s possible,” Ray said. “Right now, we’ve got a lead on an artist Finkleton refused to work with. Someone whose talent he insulted. From what I understand, Finkleton wasn’t well-liked. He obviously pissed off the wrong person.”

  The egg was buried halfway into Finkleton’s rectum and Tina strained to extricate it with a pair of surgical tongs. “This is a first for me,” she said after the egg popped free.

  Ray lifted an eyebrow. “If it ever becomes routine, it’s probably time to call it quits.”

  Tina examined the egg in the light, gripping the larger end with the tongs. “It has a few pin-sized holes in the shell, but otherwise seems intact.”

  “Go ahead and open it,” Ray said. “I’d like a peek before it’s shipped to the crime lab.”

  “It’s taped shut,” Tina said, reaching for a scalpel. She swept the blade around the center line, turning the egg with the tongs. “I’m almost afraid to open it.”

  “Just don’t touch the plastic,” Ray said. “I want it dusted for prints.”

  Luis handed her another pair of tongs and she pried off the top half of the egg, revealing something black and bristly inside. Before Ray could even register what the thing was, it crawled out of the shell and scurried up Tina’s arm.

  She dropped the tongs and stumbled against the table, a screech escaping her lips.

  Ray tore the goggles off his face and swatted the spider off her arm. It landed on the floor and skittered toward Luis, who nearly fell over the cart, screaming, “Holy shit! Holy shit!”

  Doc Death grabbed a plastic container from the cart and brought it down over the spider, trapping it inside. He sank to his knees and studied it through the plastic. “It’s a baby tarantula.”

  Ray let out a shaky breath, his heart thumping like techno bass. “I guess that’s supposed to be the killer’s idea of a joke.”

  “Well, it’s not funny,” Tina said.

  Luis shuddered. “Man, I hate spiders.”

  “Do you think you can continue?” Doc asked.

  Tina glared at him. “Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I can’t deal with a little spider.”

  Luis raised his hand. “I think I might need a minute.”

  For the next hour, Tina removed Finkleton’s organs and placed them on a steel tray where Luis would take temperature readings, weigh them, and collect fluid and tissue samples for further analysis.

  “Let’s get a closer look at that neck wound,” Tina said. She sliced open Finkleton’s throat and peeled back the layers of flesh, as if fileting a fish. She leaned in for a closer look, her face inches from the incision, her pale-green surgical mask rippling from her breath. “His vocal cords were severed.”

  “Finkleton was probably making too much noise,” Ray said. “Which means the killer might’ve kept him locked up in his home.”

  Tina continued with the procedure, leaning over Finkleton’s midsection. “I’m now examining the contents of the patient’s stomach. Anyone want to guess what Finkleton’s been eating?”

  “What?” Ray asked, although he had a feeling he already knew.

  “Flies. And by the spoonful, from the looks of it.”

  Doc Death clucked his tongue. “Imagine being propped up and force-fed like that.”

  “What do you mean ‘propped up’?” Ray asked.

  “When we were prepping for the exam,” Doc said, “we noted bruising on Mr. Finkleton’s back and buttocks, almost like bedsores. Except based on the position of the bruises, it appears he was kept vertical rather than horizontal.”

  “You mean like leaning against a wall?” Ray asked.

  Doc Death nodded. “Precisely. And being kept in that position for an extended period would’ve been tantamount to torture.”

  “So he wasn’t kept in the harness?” Ray asked.

  “Based on the pattern and severity of bruises, it appears the harness was used solely for the hanging.”

  As Doc spoke, Tina made an incision behind Finkleton’s left ear and swept the blade across the crown of his skull. She peeled back Finkleton’s scalp and reached for the bone saw.

  “You might want to step back,” she said. “This could get messy.”

  ***

  Ray stared at his plate and cursed himself for ordering roast beef. All that pink meat leaking juices int
o the bun reminded him of Finkleton on the autopsy table. Tina, on the other hand, had already devoured half of her sandwich. “What’s the matter?” she asked, blotting her lips on a napkin.

  “I lost my appetite.”

  “When did that happen?”

  “Around the time you fired up the bone saw.”

  “Judging by the look on your face, I’m surprised you didn’t faint.”

  “I’d stab myself with a scalpel before I let that happen.” He picked up his sandwich and took a bite.

  “What do you think?”

  He gave her a thumbs-up despite the wave of nausea that washed over him as he swallowed.

  “I told you this place makes the best sandwich.”

  Ray took a swig of Coke and nodded, hoping the carbonation would settle his stomach. Tina watched him with a bemused grin, and he found himself wondering why she’d asked him to lunch in the first place. “I noticed Doc Weintraub’s still looking over your shoulder.”

  “You’d think after ten years he’d stop micromanaging my cases.”

  “Try having Spinonni for a boss.”

  “Oh God, no thank you.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and laughed. “It’s nice catching up outside of work. It reminds me of old times.”

  “Yeah,” Ray said, not sure where this was going. “What have you been up to, anyway? You still doing triathlons?”

  “I try to get in a few a year, but I haven’t felt like training lately.”

  “Why not?”

  “Mark and I broke up.”

  “Oh. Sorry to hear that.”

  “You already knew, didn’t you?”

  “I heard a rumor. What happened?”

  “I finally realized he’s a self-centered jerk who’ll never change.”

  “I could’ve told you that.”

  “I should probably stop dating cops, right?”

  “Bunch of assholes,” Ray said. “You should try firemen. Everyone loves firemen.”

  “You were never like that. Beneath that macho exterior, you’re actually a very sweet guy.”

  “It’s brave of you to finally admit it.”

  She smacked his arm playfully, but the smile soon faded from her lips. “Is there something wrong with me?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “What if I’m destined to be alone?”

  “Come on, you’re beautiful, smart, and interesting. What’s not to love?”

  “It wasn’t enough to keep you around.”

  “Hey,” he said, reaching for her hand. “That was a long time ago, and I’ve always regretted the way things ended.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” Instead of being honest with Tina about meeting Michelle, he’d told her they were just too different and he wanted out of the relationship.

  “So now what?” she asked.

  “Well, if you decide to give cops another try, you might have a shot with Billy.”

  “I’d rather become a nun.”

  “I think that might be a fantasy of his.”

  “Gross. What happened with him today? Did he get locked in his cave again?”

  “Technically, we’re on administrative leave until tomorrow and he had no interest in working on his day off.”

  “Well, since you’re off, you won’t mind coming to my place to hang a mirror.”

  “Is that why you asked me to lunch?”

  “You’re the detective, you tell me.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Come on, Ray. It weighs fifty pounds. I can’t hang it by myself and I’m having trouble finding a handyman who’ll accept a five-minute job.”

  “Tina—”

  “Please?” she said, batting her lashes.

  “Okay, fine. But stop giving me the Bambi eyes.”

  ***

  Tina lived on a tree-lined street in the South End, halfway between the medical examiner’s office and Huntington Ave. Her unit was on the second floor of a restored Victorian brownstone with bow windows and black shutters.

  “What do you think?” she asked, opening the door. “Bring back any memories?”

  He stepped into the foyer and looked around. The living room was furnished in a modern style that Michelle hated—a black and white motif with steel accents. An exposed brick wall balanced out the modern touches, along with a rustic wooden bookshelf crammed with medical texts.

  Being in her condo felt strangely familiar, like finding an old pair of jeans in the back of the closet and discovering they still fit. He peered around the corner. “Did you get the kitchen redone?”

  “I added some subway tile and refurbished the cabinet doors.”

  “It looks good.”

  “Thanks. Let me show you the mirror.”

  It was leaning against the exposed brick wall, more artsy than functional, with a series of interconnected squares that reminded him of a mosaic. Tina had already made marks for the screws, and once she brought over the toolbox, he drilled holes for the anchors.

  She disappeared into the hallway as he searched for a matching pair of screws. A few minutes later, he attached the mirror to the wall and stepped back to ensure that it was level. With all the squares pitched at different angles, the mirror returned a distorted reflection of the living room, along with a blurred image of Tina standing beside the couch.

  It wasn’t until he turned around that he saw she was naked.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she said, “but I’ve got one more job for you.”

  Ray stood with his feet rooted to the hardwood, his eyes moving down the length of her body, from where her curly brown hair fell across her bare shoulders to the familiar shape of her breasts and the tattoo of a butterfly on her pubic bone.

  She padded over to him, smiling coyly. “Do you remember how you could never get enough?”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  Her hands slipped around his waist and her touch sent a shudder coursing through him. “I see the way you look at me in the field, Ray. I know you’ve thought about this.”

  She guided his hands over her breasts, and for a moment he couldn’t pull himself away. But then he shook his head and let his hands flop to his sides. “I can’t do this, Tina.”

  “Are you sure?” She inched closer, staring up at him, the light from the mirror dancing in her eyes. “Maybe this will change your mind.”

  She unbuttoned his jeans and sank to her knees, pulling his boxers down with her.

  “Tina...”

  He knew he should push her away, hike up his pants and run for the door, but the wet heat of her mouth closed around him… and all he could do was groan.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “How’d it go yesterday?” Billy asked. “I miss anything good?”

  Ray sipped his coffee. “The autopsy was interesting.”

  “Yeah? Did Tina miss me?”

  The mention of Tina filled him with self-loathing, but he played it cool to avoid arousing suspicion. “Not that I could tell.”

  “She’ll come around,” Billy said, “once I turn on the charm.”

  “You actually think you have charm?”

  “Of course not, but I can fake it. Did I tell you what happened with Kelly?”

  The last thing Ray wanted was to hear about Billy’s love life, but Billy didn’t wait for a response. “I’ll tell you what, that chick was a freak in the bedroom. The things she did would make a porn star blush. Too bad she turned into a full-fledged psycho bitch.”

  “You don’t think you had anything to do with that?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You cheated on her, didn’t you?”

  “We weren’t exclusive.”

  “Did she know that?”

  “If she didn’t, she does now.”

  Ray shook his head. As much as Billy behaved like a dirtbag, what Ray had done to Michelle was ten times worse, and there was nothing he could do to take it back.

  Sergeant Call
ahan poked his head into the breakroom. “The lieutenant wants to see you.”

  Billy groaned. “What’d we do this time?”

  Callahan motioned to the hallway. “Let’s go.”

  Ray and Billy exchanged a glance before following Callahan to Spinonni’s office, where the lieutenant sat behind his desk berating the station’s janitor, Henry.

  “How can we be out of cleaner?” Spinonni asked. “Isn’t part of your job knowing when to reorder supplies? Were you planning to sit on your ass until the supplies magically appeared? Until a leprechaun shat out a bottle of Windex?”

  Ray could only see the back of Henry’s snowy-white head, but he knew the old janitor must be seething.

  “It takes a special solution to remove that much graffiti,” Henry said. “And the last time you only gave me enough money for one bottle.”

  “Are you saying this is my fault?”

  “No sir, I just—”

  Spinonni reached into his drawer for the petty cash envelope and threw a fistful of bills at Henry. “Get two bottles this time, and don’t forget to bring me the receipt.”

  Henry stooped down to retrieve the bills before shuffling out of Spinonni’s office with his shoulders slumped. He met Ray’s gaze as he passed through the door. “He’s all yours.”

  Ray patted the old man on the back. “Thanks for warming him up.”

  Spinonni waved them into his office. With his hair-trigger temper and monster beer gut, the lieutenant was a heart attack waiting to happen. But since only the good die young, Ray figured Spinonni would ride out the apocalypse with the rats and the cockroaches.

  Spinonni smoothed out the bristles of his moustache and waited until they’d settled into the chairs opposite his desk. “Sergeant Callahan tells me you’ve got a lead on the Finkleton case.”

  Ray nodded. “We think the same guy did both Finkleton and Danny the Mule.”

  “Because they were both disfigured? I hope you’ve got more than that.”

  “He made them into things,” Ray said. “Finkleton into a spider and Danny into an elephant. Plus, the autopsies showed Finkleton and Danny were kept alive for as long as possible by someone with medical training.”