Sinister Intent

by Karen M. Davis

  Casey glanced at the wall clock again.‘You two had better be off or you’ll be late for the post mortem. Have fun,’ she called over her shoulder as she retreated into her office.

  Josh grabbed the car keys, threw them up into the air and caught them in the palm of his hand.

  ‘Fun at an autopsy? Now that would be a first!’

  CHAPTER 20

  Lexie hated the morgue. The mere thought of the place filled her with a sick anxiety she couldn’t shake. Could there be anything more confronting than standing where she stood now, in the sterile surrounds of the autopsy suite, besieged by rows of cold, steel tables, laden with dead bodies being courteously dissected?

  Besides those in the room no longer breathing, there were numerous pathologists, technicians and assistants, all adorned in scrubs, routinely going about their work. Just another day at the office!

  Lexie could hear water pipes thumping. A fan wheezed somewhere in the distance. The smell of formaldehyde and the unmistakable aroma of death saturated the air and permeated her mouth, the pores of her skin, her hair.

  The body of Robert King, aka Bluey, lay upon the slab in front of her while the pathologist worked steadily on the corpse. They were about halfway through the process and lines of concentration creased his sombre face as the scalpel sliced into the pancreas. He mumbled something about fats, carbohydrates and proteins, that we’re all made up of the same biochemical ingredients. He glanced up to see if she was paying attention.

  Lexie gave a mechanical nod.

  My brother lay on a slab just like this one . . . And I could have ended up here too.

  Glancing away, she watched Mark Byrne, the crime scene officer, painstakingly take photographs of the corpse from different angles. Not surprisingly, in this environment she had no trouble keeping her focus off Josh or his close proximity. Mentally she had already slipped into a numb void, watching the pathologist work as though from a distance. She felt herself dissociate, her mind slipping back, rewinding to her very first week in the job.

  It had been part of her induction; all probationary constables straight out of the police academy were required to observe an autopsy. It was a part of her training she had been dreading and, to be honest, she had found the brutality of the procedure deeply disturbing. Yet once it was over she had been relieved and proud of herself for surviving the ordeal without fainting or losing her breakfast. There had been a moment when the morgue attendant led them to the storage facility, telling them the room had the capacity to hold up to three hundred and thirty bodies at any one time – just in case a jumbo jet went down. He’d laughed at the look on Lexie’s face as he slid the giant metal doors open and a frosty gust of stale air engulfed them, but she’d held her nerve.

  The morgue attendant had encouraged Lexie and three of her academy buddies to go in and have a look around.

  ‘You may as well get used to dead’uns; you’re going to see enough of them,’ he’d laughed again.

  Lexie wasn’t comfortable with treating the dead as objects of fascination, but being the only female in the group, she was out to prove she could deal with anything, so, without looking back, she’d reluctantly ventured into the cold, bleak storage room.

  What she didn’t know was that the morgue attendant, purely for his own amusement, had held the others back. Moments later she heard the metal doors slam shut behind her. Everything went black. Her heart pounded violently and she was racked by paralysing panic as she realised she was trapped in an above-ground necropolis.

  Lexie shivered at the memory, remembering how her body had trembled. How she’d hugged herself against the cold and clenched her jaw to stop her teeth chattering. How she’d been terrified to move for fear of stumbling into a gurney, knocking into a body.

  She’d opened her mouth to scream – then closed it again. She’d wanted to cry – but didn’t. She knew she couldn’t show any weakness; that’s what they wanted. Minutes, or was it seconds later, the doors sprung open and light filled the room. She let out a relieved breath and walked out of there as swiftly and as calmly as she could manage. Since then she had not, and would not, set foot inside that frozen room again.

  Was it any wonder she had nightmares?

  ‘Not a smoker.’ The pathologist’s voice snapped her back to the present. ‘Nice healthy tissue.’

  Did it really matter that his tissue was healthy? He was dead!

  As the pathologist continued to cut through organs with scissors and knife, she wondered how anyone could do this day after day. Was it possible to become accustomed to ripping flesh from bone, dissecting chilled organs, inhaling the aroma of death?

  The fluorescent lights gave no hint as to what time of the day or night it was outside the confines of this room and the white floor, with its in-built drains flowing steadily with bodily fluids, was beginning to make Lexie feel nauseous. When he lifted out the stomach and placed it on the cutting board, slicing it open to drain its contents, Lexie could no longer resist the urge to block the putrid smell. The odour was vicious, the sort of scent that burnt the lining of your nose and remained, like a bad aftertaste, in the back of your throat. She grimaced with disgust, as she clamped her fingers around her nostrils.

  She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was now 9.45 am. They had been working for almost sixteen hours straight. She rubbed her tired eyes, seeing everything through a haze of exhaustion. Last night and this moment seemed as surreal as a bad dream. How long could someone go without sleep, she wondered, glancing sideways at Josh, who was staring vacantly into the bloody hole where Bluey’s skin and ribs had once been. His hands were shoved into his pockets and his face was notably pale.

  The pathologist started on the heart and she forced herself to pay attention.

  ‘Heart’s in good condition,’ he said, ‘not too much use to him now, of course.’

  This bloke was a real comedian. Pity she was not in the mood for humour. She just wanted him to hurry up so she could get out of here.

  ‘The three bullets entered here,’ he said, indicating an upper chamber of the heart, ‘almost in the same place under the shoulder bone. The shooter was a skilled shot. Though normally, being wounded in this area of the body would not be fatal.’

  ‘Then what killed him?’ Josh asked.

  ‘It appears one of the bullets has travelled down and lodged in his aorta, blocking his blood supply and causing a cardiac arrest. Most unfortunate.’

  I’m sure Bluey would agree, Lexie thought, glancing at the bullet that had killed him, now safely encased with the other two in a glass evidence jar. To maintain continuity they would take the evidence back to the station, where it would be entered into the exhibit book and then later delivered to ballistics for profiling.

  The pathologist was ready for stitching. Lexie found herself staring, transfixed, as Bluey’s head wobbled from side to side as the needle wove in and out, threading a crooked line through the severed skin of his neck. Repulsed but fascinated, it struck her now as it had so often before, that this body, the remains of Robert King, no longer appeared human. It was a brutal reminder that life can be so instantly snuffed out. Only yesterday he had been alive, blood flowing though his veins, drinking beer, playing with his kids, and now he resembled something out of a wax museum.

  An anonymous corpse was much easier to deal with, she reasoned. It lacked individuality, a personality, unlike this man whom she had witnessed taking his last breaths.

  Something bumped her shoulder. Lexie looked up at Josh. He had moved closer. His face had turned grey and before she realised what was happening, he slumped and slowly collapsed against her. She grabbed his arms trying to steady him, but he was taller, heavier and, while trying to keep him upright, she lost her balance, slipping to the floor with him.

  The pathologist peered over the body giving them a quick glance. An amused smirk twitched the corners of his mouth as he continued working. Using a gloved finger, he pointed to a bench against the far wall.

  ‘T
here are towels over there,’ he informed her coolly.

  Paying scant attention to the body being stitched above them, Lexie propped Josh against the leg of the autopsy table.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked, noticing his eyes were staring and glassed over.

  He didn’t answer.

  Jumping up, Lexie raced for a towel. She soaked it with cold water and returned to his side.

  ‘Are you sick?’ she asked, squatting next to him, draping the towel around his neck, dabbing the cool ends across his face. The noises of equipment clanging and voices in the background faded into insignificance.

  His legs were stretched out in front of him and his eyes were now closed. She put her hand to his forehead and could feel the heat radiating off his skin. As she moved the wet towel over his hair, little beads of water fell onto his shirt. His head dropped forward, letting her take control. Lexie was good at taking control.

  His head fell a little to the left, his forehead brushing her breast. She ignored the tingle and continued to wipe the towel across his hair, easing wet strands off his face, unsure of what else to do. What was wrong with him, she wondered. Did he have a weak stomach?

  Suddenly, his head snapped up. His green eyes stared straight at her as he gave her a shy smile. The dimples came out in full force, their effect almost propelling her backwards.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said in an unsteady voice. ‘I can’t believe I did that. I’m so embarrassed.’

  His steady gaze held hers.

  ‘Here I am, waiting for you to keel over and instead it’s me who collapses.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘You’re stronger than I gave you credit for, Lexie.’

  She glanced away quickly, afraid he might see straight through her.

  ‘Yes, I’m real tough,’ she replied, her voice laced with sarcasm.

  Josh smiled, not looking embarrassed at all, Lexie thought. Was he flirting with her? She moved back, putting some distance between them.

  ‘Do you feel a bit better?’ she asked, more abruptly than she’d intended, still aware of his intense scrutiny.

  Josh fixed the towel around his neck and paused before answering. There was confusion – or was it conflict – behind his eyes.

  ‘I’m not sick. My sister got rushed to hospital the other night, after I saw you at the pub. I spent the night there with her, then I was called into work. I’ve had hardly any sleep and I probably haven’t eaten enough either. I think my body shuts down if I don’t get enough food.’

  Enough food? From what Lexie could tell this guy never stopped eating.

  ‘I’m just tired, felt a bit faint, that’s all. I’ll survive.’

  ‘Oh.’ Lexie couldn’t think of much else to say. ‘I hope your sister’s all right,’ she added, getting to her feet.

  Offering her hand, she helped him up, breaking the contact as soon as he was steady. Josh stretched and looked at the pathologist apologetically.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he offered.

  The pathologist’s deep chuckle reverberated off the sterile walls and echoed around the room.

  ‘Like I don’t see that almost every day!’

  Josh raised his eyebrows at the ribbing.

  ‘I’ll meet you outside,’ he told Lexie.

  She watched him turn and walk towards the door without looking back.

  CHAPTER 21

  As soon as Josh and Lexie walked into the detectives’ office, they were summoned by Casey Blair.

  ‘Just thought we’d have an informal, mini briefing to get up to speed,’ she told them, before her nose suddenly wrinkled in distaste. ‘No offence – but you two stink.’

  Lexie visibly cringed.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Josh apologised, knowing there was nothing they could do about it.

  He’d doused himself with the aftershave he kept in his locker for just this reason but the smell of the morgue was the type of stench that clung to you and no amount of soap, cologne, or formaldehyde could eradicate the odour.

  Casey took off her wire-rimmed glasses and rubbed her eyes. ‘How’d you go at the autopsy?’

  Josh gave her a rundown of the post mortem, which had told them nothing they didn’t already know. He left out the part where he’d collapsed. He still couldn’t believe he’d done that and the fewer people who knew about it the better. Nothing like that had ever happened before so he could only attribute it to exhaustion, possibly hunger, or maybe his body was crying out in protest that he hadn’t had his regular hit of alcohol. Maybe he just needed a top-up of bourbon to keep him going.

  No, that would make him an alcoholic.

  A heavy feeling invaded his chest at the thought of Lexie, so composed and completely in control, witnessing his moment of weakness. He decided it was a combination of hunger and fatigue; nothing more sinister than that.

  ‘I’ve just entered the bullets as an exhibit so I’ll take them to ballistics for profiling,’ Josh continued. ‘While I’m there I’ll check how long it will take for DNA tests on the casings. We already know what type of gun we’re looking for, so wouldn’t it be nice if we could get some forensics to help us out a little? Wouldn’t hurt if we could find the actual gun either,’ he added, wistfully.

  ‘Now, that would be too easy,’ Casey scoffed. ‘Get someone else to courier the bullets to ballistics – ’

  ‘I’d rather keep the chain of continuity going, so it – ’

  Casey cut him off. ‘You have an interview with Rex Donaldson,’ she glanced at her wristwatch, ‘in close to an hour.’

  Josh was surprised and breathed in deeply. He gave Lexie a quick glance. She was biting her fingernails.

  ‘How did that happen?’

  ‘Rex Donaldson rang the office. He asked for you but since you weren’t here, I spoke to him. He didn’t sound happy but he was at least co-operative. His girlfriend had given him your card. Apparently he had been meeting with his members, informing them of Bluey’s death and appealing with them to keep the peace. He’ll be here at 12.’

  ‘Kate Bushell will be coming in with him but since she seems to have a problem with Lexie, I might get Batman to interview her at the same time. That way they can’t confer, and he might even be able to work his charm and get something useful out of her. You never know.’

  Josh nodded, a thousand thoughts swimming around his head.

  ‘I was intending to ask everyone we speak to if they know of anyone called the “Grub”. Do you think that’s the way to go or is it better to keep that bit of information up our sleeves?’

  ‘Normally I’d say keep it up your sleeves, but since we have nothing else to go on I think we have to ask the question. Not that I expect you’ll get a straight answer. You know what they’re like. They live and die by that stupid bikie code of silence.’

  Casey gave him a knowing look and then turned the conversation back to business.

  ‘Now, I just have to get through this before you go off and prepare for your interview,’ Casey said, reading from notes in her hand.

  ‘Homicide has been to the crime scene. They’ll continue to assist us until we get a strike force set up. Grumpy has arranged to get a statement from Derek Gormely – the president of the Devil’s Guardians – this afternoon.’

  Casey paused to flick her brown fringe out of her eyes.

  ‘Sleeman and Burgh have spoken to Max Croft. He has an alibi – he was in the clubhouse at the time of the shooting. The surveillance branch has confirmed this, as they saw him come out of the place at 9.30 pm with two other members. Croft claims he was in there setting up for a party later this week, and having a few drinks. He got there around 5.30 pm; said we could check their cameras to prove it.’

  ‘When asked about Maggot, Croft freely admitted that the man is a bit “nuts”. He’s apparently lost his girlfriend recently which Croft says has made him a bit more unpredictable than usual, but he was adamant that the man’s not capable of murder.’

  ‘Of course he’s going to say that,’ Josh said.r />
  ‘Of course,’ Casey agreed. ‘His last contact with Maggot was Saturday morning. They met at the clubhouse and Croft told him to pull his head in, to stop shooting off at the mouth and making stupid threats. And that’s the last time he’s seen or heard from him. Burgh has told him to contact us if anyone hears from him. Croft was apparently very co-operative, even stating they didn’t want any trouble.’

  ‘All these bikies being so co-operative is almost scary,’ Josh said. ‘Makes me suspicious.’

  ‘Everything makes you suspicious, Harrison. I’ve told Burgh and Sleeman to organise a telephone intercept application for Dorothy Magentagitt’s phone. If he’s going to call anyone it will be his mother, and as luck would have it the gangs squad have already got intercepts on some of the Assassins’ phones regarding one of their investigations.’

  Casey looked down at the notepad in front of her.

  ‘They’ve got Metho Max (Max Croft), Maggot (Barney Magentagitt), Snake (Tony Thornton), Chuck (Charlie Bennett), and the Phantom (the president, Jeff Coglan); all these phones are already being monitored.’

  ‘Gotta love those nicknames,’ Josh joked.

  ‘Mmmm, anyway, Mal Laycock, the boss of the gangs squad, has informed me his staff will continue to monitor those phone lines. They’ll let us know if anything comes to light regarding our investigation, though he’s warned me not to be too hopeful. Unfortunately the bikies’ lack of talk over the airwaves has led him to assume they’ve been tipped off. They’re not talking about any trouble, not even in code. He’s just hoping that someone will get complacent and slip up eventually.’

  ‘I still think it’s strange we get tipped off that there’s going to be “trouble” at the Assassins’ clubhouse, and a shooting occurs at the Devil’s Guardians. Max Croft’s alibi is rock solid because he knew we’d be watching,’ Josh said. ‘Perfectly orchestrated, if you ask me.’

  Casey shrugged and took a sip of coffee from the mug on her desk.

  ‘I’m still waiting on the results of the call charge records. When I get the number of the caller who gave us the tip-off we’ll chase that up.’