Roman looked at him with a puzzled look. “Feel the body?” he asked. “What the hell for?”
Fontenot grabbed Roman’s hand and placed it on the corpse’s abdominal area before he could react. He withdrew it in an instant.
“Holy shit!” Roman exclaimed. “That’s hot!” Roman calmed down and poked the corpse with the end of his pen. “You sure he is dead?”
Fontenot stared at the body as if expecting it to sit up at any moment. “Well, he is dead now, I think. Besides missing most of his throat, he has no vital signs. He was pronounced at 8:10 and it’s now…” He checked a wall clock, and said “10:36.” Maynard produced a handkerchief and wiped some accumulated sweat off of his brow.
“You told anybody else about this?” Roman asked. He again placed his hand on the corpse.
“That’s where it gets interesting. The deputy coroner was here, but now I cannot find him anywhere. He must have started the autopsy.” Fontenot indicated towards the bloody scalpel on the neighboring corpse. “It’s like he just decided to go home for the day; won’t answer his cell or anything, plus his car is gone. I would call EMS, but this guy has no vitals. I mean, he was already pronounced at the scene, he should be dead. No pulse, no heart rate, nothing. I was an Army medic in Iraq back in ’03, so I am not a complete moron.” Fontenot paused, expecting Roman to make a comment about his weight and military service. Hearing none, he continued, “It’s like he no longer has any blood, just this black ooze, which I cannot identify. I would like to perform some more tests, but that’s not my job, and the boss would probably fire me for doing this on my own. I can probably send a blood sample to the lab, but that’s probably a 48-hour turnaround or longer. Anyway, I just wanted you to know.”
“Maybe your boss will be back in a few minutes?” Roman offered.
“Maybe so, but the fact is this corpse isn’t acting like a corpse. If this guy wakes up and it turns out someone screwed up and he is really alive by some miracle, I don’t want to get blamed for it and sued. That’s why I called you, got it?”
“OK, black ooze and hot body,” Roman said. “I got it.”
Fontenot looked at Roman quizzically and asked, “Exactly how long have you been a cop?”
Seeing he wasn’t going to get a response, he continued, “This black ooze just started leaking out when I called you.” Fontenot’s face revealed his confusion. “Like I said, the deputy coroner was already in here getting ready. I brought this new body in and left. I came back in no more than ten minutes later to see if he wanted a sandwich, and he was gone.”
Roman watched with fascination as some sort of black ooze seeped out of the corpse’s neck. The ooze was beginning to pool on the side of the table and slowly drip onto the floor.
“I’m no doctor, but that is much thicker than blood. It’s almost like honey.”
Fontenot opened a cabinet and retrieved a petri dish. He squatted with some difficulty and, using the lid, scooped up some of the ooze into the dish. Satisfied that he had enough, he put the lid back on. Black ooze was all over the outside of the dish and on his hands. Fontenot wiped them on his white lab coat.
“Sounds like you have a problem,” Roman said. “Let me know when that blood or whatever it is gets identified. I just came from another crime scene with the same cause of death, dude torn to pieces. I thought I saw blood, but seeing this, it may be the same kind of ooze,” Roman replied. “Any info you can give me will be appreciated.”
“No problem. Just remember, I scratch your back, you scratch mine.” Fontenot’s cell phone emitted the first few notes to the Knight Rider theme song. He pulled out his phone from his pocket and read a text message. He replaced the phone and walked past Roman back into the hall. “Find your own way out, OK? I have another pickup to make.”
“Wait,” Roman said abruptly.
Fontenot stopped and turned around in the doorway. Roman walked over to the partially dissected body and knelt down. He picked up a handheld voice recorder.
“It’s still on.” Roman stood up, showing the recorder to Fontenot, who went back inside as Roman pressed the stop button. He hit rewind, and hit stop again. Pressing play, he heard part of his previous conversation with Fontenot. He rewound the tape a few more times until he heard an unfamiliar voice. He backed up a few seconds at a time, until Fontenot stopped him. “There. That’s sounds like the beginning of his report,” Fontenot said.
Roman let the tape play, and a firm, confident voice spoke evenly and calmly.
“Cursory examination of the deceased shows the projectile has penetrated the left frontal lobe of the brain in a lateral direction, proceeding to the pons, ventral to the cerebellum. Visual examination of the base of the skull indicates a possible fracture of the temporal bone. Cerebrospinal fluid is pooling in the left ear and leaking out of the nose.” Following an audible click, the recording continued. “Beginning Y-shaped incision. There is no visible evidence of chest trauma … HEY! You are not supposed to be in here!” They could hear a crash, most likely the recorder falling to the floor. A slightly muffled voice said, “Don’t do anything foolish. I know how to use this. I implore you to drop your scalpel. We have much to talk about and very little time.”
“You will never get away with this,” the first voice replied.
“That’s my boss!” exclaimed Fontenot.
“Oh, I think I will. But as of right now, I can’t have you conducting any examination on that body that was just brought in.” The conversation became inaudible. Roman fast forwarded the tape and pressed play again. The conversation resumed.
“Back door, let’s move.” There was more conversation, but it was muffled. Footsteps could be heard fading away, and the recording went quiet. Roman fast forwarded, checking periodically for any other conversation, until he heard Fontenot’s voice talking to him. He clicked the recorder off.
“Now we know what happened to your boss,” Roman said.
Fontenot looked terrified. “This is getting way out of hand. I’m out of here.”
“Relax. I’ll call this in. We’ll find him, but you need to stick around. I’ll have some uniformed officers over here in a minute.”
CHAPTER 15
“Any unit in the vicinity, 41-25 in progress, corner of Orleans and Louise,” Roman’s car radio announced.
“This is Lincoln 78. I’ll take it, E.T.A. five mikes,” Roman said over the radio as he threw his recently lit cigarette out of the window. He didn’t give two shits about smoking in a government vehicle today. He didn’t think until after he had already answered the call. What am I doing? I’m a detective now. I don’t take assault calls. Oh well, some habits will die hard. He had put an APB out for the deputy coroner based on information he’d obtained from Fontenot, but there was nothing else to work with. The deputy coroner’s Mercedes was missing out of the parking lot, and he hoped it would turn up before the day was out, giving them more information.
“10-4, Lincoln 78,” dispatch replied. No other responses to the assault call came over the radio.
After a five-minute drive, Roman pulled his vehicle into the driveway of a dilapidated, boarded up house. In the front yard of the house, with his back to the street, was a heavily muscled bald man standing at least 6’4”, wearing a leather motorcycle jacket. He fit to a tee the description of the homicide suspect that he had obtained from the homeless guy earlier in the day. When the man turned, Roman could see that he was strangling a rather heavy female weighing at least 200 pounds. He had her at least two feet off of the ground and was holding her throat with both hands. He appeared to be trying to bite her on the face but she was putting up a spirited defense. Despite her screams, no one came to her rescue. A couple of bystanders watched from neighboring yards and through windows, but no one attempted to intervene.
He quickly removed his worn brown leather bomber jacket and tossed it on the passenger seat. He exited his vehicle and drew his Glock 19 from his hip holster. He took cover behind the driver’s side front wheel an
d aimed at the suspect from over the hood of the vehicle.
“Police officer!” Roman shouted. “Drop the woman, put your hands up, and don’t move!”
Upon hearing Roman’s voice, the man threw the woman to the ground. She landed in a heap at his feet. Roman didn’t detect any signs of her being bitten, which was good. The woman didn’t move. The man turned to Roman and began to walk toward him, his right hand outstretched. His mouth was bloody, and chunks of flesh could be seen dangling between his teeth.
“You take one more step, and I will open fire!” Roman shouted. He took aim, lining up the sights on his Glock. He had about 25 yards to the suspect. He could feel the adrenaline starting to course through his body.
Three loud pistol reports emanated from Roman’s pistol. The man spun around from the impact of the 9mm Hydro-shock rounds, all which struck him in the upper chest. He dropped to one knee, but didn’t fall.
What the hell!
The man unsteadily got back to his feet and took another step toward Roman. Roman fired two more times, center mass. The Hydro-shocks expanded as designed; creating a large wound area on the man’s chest. Roman watched with disbelief as the wound area seemingly closed up before his eyes. Roman holstered his Glock and jumped back into his vehicle, got on the radio, and shouted into the mike head, “I’ve got shots fired, send backup!” He dropped the mike head and reached for the 870 Remington shotgun that was secured in the roof rack on the ceiling.
“Eat buckshot!” He moved tactically towards the suspect closing the distance to fifteen yards, lining up the ghost ring sights center mass.
Roman fired, the shotgun bucked hard into his shoulder, sending eight pellets downrange. Roman was sure he hit him, he saw him flinch hard after the impact. Roman held his breath for what seemed like an eternity before the man fell face first on the pavement, letting out in inhuman scream. Roman flinched at the sound, quickly racked the action, sending another shell into the breach. By this time, sirens could be heard in the distance, rapidly approaching. Roman walked back behind his vehicle, resuming a cover position behind the front wheel, keeping his eyes on his suspect the whole time.
Without warning, the suspect abruptly raised himself off the ground, stood, and faced Roman. He did not advance any closer. The buckshot had done some damage, tearing a few gaping holes in his chest. There was no blood; instead the wound looked almost as if it had been burned. Roman noticed that his eyes were solid black, just as described by the homeless guy in his statement. No whites could be seen. His face was heavily scarred, and Roman noticed what looked like blood on his lips. Black veins snaked through his pale, almost translucent skin. The image reminded him of some sort of twisted interpretation of Frankenstein’s monster. As he stared with awe, the man’s lips parted, and raspy words escaped his dry, cracked lips.
“I have killed before, and I will kill again.” The deep, crackling voice emanated from a twisted, evil grin. Having issued his prophecy, the man turned and ran down the street at a breakneck pace. Roman fired another blast before the man turned into an alleyway, but he couldn’t tell if the rounds hit or not. Roman ran over to the woman, lying on the ground. She had a weak pulse and was breathing heavily but appeared unhurt.
One marked police cruiser pulled onto the scene with sirens blaring and lights flashing. Roman frantically yelled at the officer to pursue the suspect down the alley. The cruiser pulled away and headed in the indicated direction. Roman ran back to his vehicle and radioed for EMS. By this time, bystanders had crowded closer to the scene, leaving the safety of their homes and yards. Roman leaned on his open vehicle door, trying to figure out how his rounds could have failed to stop the big man.
Even if he had body armor … no way, Roman thought to himself. His cellular phone vibrated in his pocket. He grabbed it and recognized Captain Martinez’s phone number.
“Yes sir,” Roman answered, in a defeated tone.
“Drop what you’re doing and get to my office now,” Martinez said in a clipped, irritated tone.
“Sir, I was just involved in a shooting,” Roman answered calmly. “I think it was the suspect from the Seebolt’s homicide I was at this morning.” There was not much else he could do now, other than taking statements and seeing if the pursuit would catch the suspect.
There was a long pause on the line, and Roman could detect other voices in the background. Martinez finally replied, “Understood. Get here as soon as you can.” The line went dead. By now, two other units had arrived, and the unit that had gone in pursuit the assailant returned. The officer got out of the vehicle, shaking his head.
“He just vanished on me,” he reported to Roman. “He’s around here, though, and we’ll find him.”
Roman gave the officer his card. “I have to go back downtown. Let me know if you get any leads.”
The officer nodded and took the card before walking off.
I won’t be taking this one. He was pissed off that the savage assailant had gotten away, at least for now. Roman fired up the Crown Vic and hit the accelerator hard, leaving two skid marks on the potholed pavement. A beat up, rusted lime green Ford Mustang slowly pulled out from a space halfway down the block and followed him.
“You are making quite a name for yourself already,” Martinez told Roman. “So far, I’ve heard about two bodies, a missing coroner, and a shooting, all involving you in some way or another. Do you actually have anything to report, or are you just dicking around out there, playing John Wayne?” Martinez slowly walked behind his desk and grabbed a cigar from a box in a drawer. He clipped off the end, produced a lighter from his pants pocket, and lit the cigar, taking a few deep puffs. He walked to the window and looked at the scene below.
“Seebolt seemed impressed with you,” he continued, “so I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt. It’s your first day; don’t dig yourself any deeper into a hole. Pending the outcome of this shooting, I don’t want you running around all over town getting involved in everything you come across. What the hell were you doing responding to an assault, anyway? I want a report on my desk no later than 8:00 a.m. tomorrow regarding you discharging your weapon. Internal Affairs will be looking for you, so don’t go far.” He waved his hand to dismiss Roman, who left the office with a befuddled look on his face.
Roman walked to the cubicle that had been assigned as his work station. A laptop computer and a telephone sat on a battered metal desk that had a torn desk chair behind it. That was all the furniture. With a heavy sigh,
Roman sat down in the chair. Might as well take a break for a moment. He dropped his L&M’s and car keys on the desk and hit the power button on the laptop. As the Windows XP splash screen loaded, he didn’t feel like spending the next couple of hours writing the report. The vibration of his cellular phone in his jeans pocket interrupted his thoughts.
He got out the phone and answered while he waited for the computer screen to load.
“Yeah, Roman, this is Maynard down at the coroner’s office. We have a big problem now.” Fontenot’s voice sounded shaky.
“OK. What happened? Did you figure out what that black stuff is?” Roman asked.
“Uh, no. It seems as though you may have been right after all.”
“Right? What do you mean?” Roman started typing on the laptop, not yet very concerned about what Fontenot was saying.
“The Mexican guy from this morning is gone—just gone.” The pitch of Fontenot’s voice rose with every word. “He just up and vanished.”
Roman stopped typing and closed the lid on his laptop. “What do you mean, vanished?” He grabbed his cigarettes and keys, got out of his chair, and headed out of his cubicle and toward the parking lot.
“Exactly what I said—he’s gone. When the cops came in here and did their thing, I never put the guy in the freezer. I mean, I just forgot.”
“OK, so what?”
“Well, I stepped out, went to down the street to grab a burrito. I took my time. I mean, it’s a little stressful, you know. I got the co
roner calling me, yelling that he has to end his vacation early and all this—”
“Get to the point!” Roman interjected sternly.
“Sorry. Well, I picked up another body, same cause of death, massive trauma to the neck, massive blood loss—”
Roman was already on the stairs that led to the parking lot. “Yeah, I know. I was there,” Roman said, cutting him off.
“Yeah, well he also had contusions and a broken nose, and some cuts to his face, not to mention the chunks of flesh bitten from his body. Like I said, I went to the scene in the van to collect the body after forensics did their thing. I brought it here, and the damn thing is twitching, right before my eyes!”
Roman could hear the panic in Fontenot’s voice. “I’m fifteen minutes away,” he told Fontenot. “Anybody else know about this?”
“Hell no, are you crazy? No, no one but me knows. Luckily, I’m alone here. All your cop buddies took off, but I can’t keep it quiet much longer. I rigged some restraints, so the body should stay put. Either someone stole the first one, or it came back to life too and is walking around somewhere. Who knows? Maybe the same guy who kidnapped the doc stole the body. It sounds like Day of the Dead. Get your ass down here, fast!” Fontenot hung up the phone. Roman ran down the last few stairs, taking two at a time.
First day on the job and I’ve got walking corpses at the coroner’s office. He got in his car and gunned it out of the parking lot.
CHAPTER 16
Half a block before Roman reached the parking lot of the coroner’s office, his cellular phone vibrated. He quickly pulled to the side of the road and parked his car and fished the phone out of the right pocket of his worn leather jacket.
“Roman,” he answered, a lit cigarette in his mouth.
“Roman, this is Maynard.” Fontenot’s voice than began to waver. “Uh, look. Plans have changed. I need you to meet me at the corner of Hickory and St. Paul, at the Williams Chicken.”
Dawn of the Mad Page 13