by Linda Ladd
“Good grief,” Bud muttered, still staring at the films. “I’ve never seen anything like this, either.”
Buckeye nodded. “Certainly not this extensive. I believe this victim was slowly and methodically beaten to death, no question in my mind.”
Claire stood beside Bud and studied the skeletal fractures, her mind hovering on the very edge of disbelief, too. “How could anybody do something like this to another human being?”
“The victim probably didn’t stay conscious very long, unless the perpetrator saved those blows to his head for last. The pain he suffered would’ve been excruciating. And look at the body. I’ve never seen so many bones actually broken and piercing through the skin, except maybe in the very worst car crashes. Look how many there are, and all over the body. This took some time and effort and know-how.”
“A crime of passion,” Claire said. “Whoever did this hated this guy’s guts, no doubt about it, not to my mind.”
“Yeah. Or maybe there could’ve been more than one assailant,” Bud said. “It would take a long time to inflict this much damage. We got overkill here. Big-time.”
Claire moved back to the body and felt the heat from the lamps warm her cold face. There was water on the steel table under the body from the thawing process. She stared down at the sharp, splintered ends of broken bones sticking out of both forearms. There was another huge wound where about six inches of blunt bare bone from the broken right femur was visible. Some of the victim’s fingers and toes were smashed absolutely flat; others had metacarpals protruding. Some of the breaks jutted out at impossible angles. Lord have mercy. It was a horrific sight. She finally averted her eyes, something she usually didn’t have to do at an autopsy. Shivering, she shook her head and turned away, not wanting to examine the body further. “You think a fistfight might’ve gotten out of control?”
“Maybe it could’ve started that way, but it looks to me like the victim didn’t do much to defend himself, or he couldn’t. Maybe he was too drunk to hold his own or there were too many assailants. There are rope burns around his wrists that look as if he were bound, maybe hung up somehow. Take a look at his hands. No defensive wounds. All those injuries have been inflicted by the killer.”
Buckeye was right. She didn’t think the poor man had been able to defend himself because he had been strung up by the arms. They needed to go back to the park and look for any evidence of that. Suspended from a tree limb, maybe. “Any idea yet who this guy is? Any tats or identifying scars?”
Buckeye shook his head. “Nope. No ID or clothing or jewelry, either. Shaggy’s in there right now running his prints through our databases but hasn’t got a hit yet so he’s probably not gonna get one.”
“What can you tell us?”
“Caucasian male. Twenty to twenty-five years old, I’d say, maybe a little older. In good physical condition, good muscle tone. Looks like he was healthy and well-nourished before he was killed. Some scars, but nothing noteworthy. Looks like he might’ve gotten them in fistfights. I’ll have to wait until I get inside to see what kind of internal damage was incurred, but it’s gonna be extensive. I’d be pretty comfortable saying there is lots of internal bleeding, probably ruptured liver and stomach and other internal organs, certainly collapsed lungs, one or both, probably both. More than one rib is protruding. You can see some of the damage right here.” He pointed to the frontal x-ray of the victim’s chest.
Claire grimaced. She could see it all right. Every rib was cracked or broken in two. “This killer is brutal and thorough. He knew his physiology and didn’t stop until nearly every bone in this man’s body was splintered. Looks almost like a ritualistic killing. You know, method to his madness, something like that. I bet this isn’t the first person he’s beaten to death. God, I’m afraid we’re gonna turn up some more homicides with similar MOs.”
Buck said, “He probably just hid the others better.”
Bud frowned. “Then why did he leave this one out in the open where we could find him?”
Claire looked at Buck. “Could be he dumped the body when it was dark and snowing hard. The wind could have been swirling up so that he couldn’t see the bottom of the cliff. Truth is, we probably would never have found him this soon if he hadn’t landed sitting up in the water like that. That’s pretty hard to miss. Maybe not even until the spring thaw. Maybe not even then, if the animals got to him first. Or, it could be that he did him and dumped him out in the lake somewhere and the wind and waves pushed him in against the shore, right down there where we found him.”
They all stood around the table in silence, staring down at the broken and battered body of the unknown young murder victim.
“We might ought to order a full search at the bottom of all the cliffs throughout the park,” Claire said at length. “Serials usually have their favorite dumping grounds. Maybe the park is his. Maybe he sinks them to the bottom, and this one got loose and came up, or maybe the ice shifted and pushed him up.”
Bud wasn’t convinced. “Doesn’t make sense to me. Tourists are everywhere around there, taking pictures, and so are the park rangers. Too dangerous for him.”
“Hey, Claire. Bud, my man. ’Sup?”
That was their resident hippie, Shaggy, back from his office and the running of fingerprints. He was decked out in his usual surfer garb, despite the winter weather outside. But he did have on long-sleeved white thermal underwear under his black-and-white-and-red orchid-flowered Hawaiian shirt. He had recently cut off his dreadlocks, or at least they didn’t hang all the way to his shoulders anymore. But he still had his earrings, all eight of them in each ear. But, despite his bohemian fashion sense, he was absolutely top-notch at his job and probably the best criminalist in the state of Missouri. Canton County got him because he loved the lake and everything that went with it. Claire adored the guy. He was one of her best friends, although they didn’t spend as much time together since Black had come along and tended to monopolize her off hours.
“You get a hit on those prints?” Buckeye asked quickly.
“Nope. How’s he cookin’? Done yet?”
“He’s thawing quickly now.”
“When you cuttin’ him, boss?” Shaggy asked, staring down at the broken corpse. Then he leaned closer to the victim’s face. He stood up and shot a startled look at Bud. “Hey, you know what, man? I think I might’ve seen this guy before. Wow, and just the other night, too. Dudes, I can’t believe this. I think I know this dude.”
Claire couldn’t believe it, either. But she sure hoped to hell that Shaggy could ID the deceased because they certainly didn’t have any other way to get his name. She watched Shaggy lean down close to the victim’s bearded face again. It was still bluish and pale and smooth as marble, looking almost like a clothing store’s mannequin but he’d been a nice-looking guy. The whole body was pale, in fact, except for some faded tan lines around the neck and the upper arms, as if he had always worn a shirt when out in the sun.
“Well, who is it?” she prompted.
“Well, I tell you what I’m a thinkin’. This dude here? He looks an awful lot like one of those cage fighters I saw over at the Lake Inn Resort a coupla nights ago. You know the ones, don’t ya, those mixed martial arts guys that beat the crap outta each other inside a chain-linked cage. God, they are stinkin’ beasts, I tell you. Blood sprays out everywhere and runs down their arms when they hit each other. It’s great stuff, man.”
“Yeah, that’s the MMA guys, all right. I’ve seen them on the tube,” Bud said. “They’re crazy, those guys. They box, wrestle, use their feet to kick, and everything else you can think of. And then there’s the bare knuckles guys. Talk about savage.”
Claire looked down at the body again. “Well, that certainly fits our victim’s injuries.”
Bud said, “They don’t use baseball bats, but just about anything else goes. I doubt if this was a sanctioned match, if it even was an MMA fighter. Maybe a black market bout like they do out in the boonies where nobody can find them
. I’ve heard of that going on around here. Practically everywhere else nowadays, too, or so I’ve heard. You know kids wantin’ to be like the heroes they watch fight on TV.”
“How stupid can somebody get,” Claire said, irritated. “Who would agree to get into a ring without any rules and just beat up on each other?”
“Hey, Claire, there’s big money in the cities for winnin’ bouts. It’s a big deal in St. Louis, with fights held in the arena and everything. Kansas City, New Orleans, lots of places have ’em now.”
“Any fight clubs or karate places around here that would cater to a guy like this?” Claire asked Shaggy.
“Yeah, lots of ’em.”
“Where’s that place where you saw him fight, Shaggy? We need to pay them a call.”
“It’s the Lake Inn Resort, over off Highway 54, down in a hollow right on the lake.
You know, it’s got a big flashy red-and-green neon sign that moves like a fisherman catching a bass. ’Member? The bass looks like it’s jumpin’ up the line and into the boat with him? You’ve seen it. I know you have.”
Buck said, “Yeah, they have bass fishing contests out there, too. It’s pretty redneck, but they’ve got a great golf course. I played there once. Best round I ever played.”
Claire didn’t remember the place, but why would she? She spent all her time at Black’s hotel and resort, quite a honey of a place by the name of Cedar Bend Lodge, which was way too classy and upscale to host any sort of a bloody fight night. Nobody dripped blood on Black’s elegant décor, uh-uh, a very big no-no. Except for her, oh, yeah. She’d come home bleeding a time or two, much to Black’s chagrin. Hers, too, actually. “Well, we’ll just have to pay them a visit. Can we get a picture of his face, Buck? Maybe somebody can give us his name.”
“Sure. Shaggy’ll get it for you. You need it now?”
“Yeah. We’ve got time to get out there before dark. I want to interview everyone involved in that fight you saw, Shaggy. Was it held on the property?”
“Yeah. Lake Inn’s got a big convention center kinda place out back for parties and dances and whatnot. They put up this cage thing right in the middle of it. First time I’d ever been down there. Wow, it’s awesome to watch. You just can’t sit on the front row or you might get some blood spatter on your clothes, especially if they start pushin’ each other’s faces up against that cage. I tell you, it’s awesome, dudes.”
Claire frowned. “That’s not awesome. That’s gross.”
“Nah. They mop up any spilled blood quick enough. Haven’t you ever been to a prize fight, or nothin’?”
“No, and I won’t be going to one anytime soon. Like I said, they are stupid shows put on by stupid people.”
“Well, I sat way back on the bleachers, but I sure do think this’s one of the guys who was fighting that night. Not positive about it, but pretty sure.”
“Did he win or lose?”
“He won. Bloodied up the other guy pretty bad. He was bigger and looked stronger, but this guy here, well, he was like some kinda whirlin’ dervish, or something. Quick as all get out. He just didn’t ever stop until his opponent was pinned down and called for an end to it. Never seen anything quite like it. He had some wrestlin’ skills, oh, yeah, you shoulda seen it.”
“Well, I still think it’s dumb. Two grown men getting inside a ring and punching each other until one is knocked unconscious. Just plain ignorant.”
“I thought you liked to kickbox.”
“I do, but I do it for my own self-protection, not to entertain a crowd of bloodthirsty people holding their thumbs up or down like in the gladiator days.”
Nobody disagreed with that, but Claire had a feeling all her male colleagues liked boxing and fighting and bloodletting just fine, and the bloodier, the better. Black certainly did. Men and their testosterone jollies. Jeez.
“Hold on, I’m gonna pull up that place’s site on the net and see if I got this right. Don’t move.” Shaggy ran off toward his office with his usual boyish enthusiasm.
Claire looked at Bud. “Guess we need to do some research on cage fighters in this area, and anybody else connected to this so-called sport.”
“That’s gonna take us till summer.”
“I’m right!” yelled Shaggy from the other room. They watched him through the window as he came rushing back into the autopsy room. “His name is Paulie Parker. Ring name is Parker the Punisher. He’s a real tough kid, who’s been comin’ up fast in MMA circles. He fought last week, too, up in KC. I saw it go down on the tube but didn’t put that together till now. That’s how I knew about him comin’ down here. He won up there, too, beat up the other guy real good. Broke his nose.”
“Maybe we’d be better off getting the names of his opponents. All of them probably have some issues with this Parker guy,” Claire said.
“The guy Parker beat over there at the Lake Inn? Name’s Frankie Velez, but he calls himself Pancho Villa, you know, after that Mexican guy who did somethin’ down in Mexico once upon a time. Don’t remember what. But Parker’s from down around here. They say he lives somewhere out around the lake.”
“Any address on him?”
“No, but it says he got his start at a fight club over around Lebanon. They called it the Knock Down Drag Out.”
Bud laughed. “Well, that’s highly appropriate. Pretty much nails what goes on in those places.”
“Okay, Bud, let’s go. Shaggy, you got a location for that place?”
“Highway 54, too. That’s all it says. Can I go, too, Claire? Maybe we could watch some of the guys spar? Get some autographs, stuff like that?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Okay, but if you see that Pancho dude anywhere, tell him that I’m a big fan of his. He just had a tough night, and the Punisher’s an all-out beast.”
“Oh, yeah, sure, can’t wait to meet him,” Claire said, letting her unenthusiastic tone do the talking.
Shaggy just grinned. “Want me to see what else I can pull up on those guys?”
“Sure, and print it out. That would help us big-time. Thanks.”
“No problem. I do love me that MMA stuff. I’ll e-mail you anything else I find, too.”
Buckeye said, “Well, first, you’re gonna finish processing this guy. Then you can play on the Internet.”
“No problem. Not much to process, except his DNA.”
And there lies the problem, Claire thought, but at least they had some good leads now. Mixed martial arts was a new concept for her, new and alien and absurd, at least from her point of view. But to each his own. And Parker’s fighting connections matched the kind of wounds found on his body. It wasn’t going to be a slam dunk, but it was a start. So square one, here we come.
Afterward, they stood by, breathing masks in place, and reluctantly viewed the autopsy, and then they took off, fairly eager to get out of the morgue and away from the horrifically injured body and into the interviews. They were halfway out the door to the parking lot when Shaggy came running down the hall after them. “Hey, Bud, dude, wait up. I got something to tell you!”
They stopped, came back inside, and waited by the door for him. Shaggy skidded to a stop in front of them, but then started hemming and hawing around like he was big-time nervous or had forgotten what he was going to say. But that was Shaggy for you. Nobody ever knew what he was going to say next, even him.
“Bud, I’m just gonna have to say it, man. Brianna’s come back home. She wants to see you.”
Mightily startled by that little tidbit of news, Claire darted a quick glance at Bud. His face had blanched as white as their beaten and broken corpse, mouth open a little, if only by the pure shock. Nope, he had not been expecting that to come out of Shaggy’s mouth, either. Brianna Swensen was Shaggy’s sister, and an old girlfriend of Bud’s, one who had been involved in one of their homicide cases and had been terribly injured as a result. Bud never mentioned her anymore, but Claire was pretty sure he had never gotten over her, either.
“Bri
’s here? At the lake?” he finally got out after a few seconds of stunned silence.
“Yeah, she’s stayin’ out at my house. She wasn’t sure you’d even want to see her, or nothin’.” Now Shaggy really looked uncomfortable. “You know, the way she just took off on ya, and all that crap.”
Awk-ward, Claire thought. Then they stood there in a very uncomfortable silence and waited for Bud to say something. He didn’t. Still flabbergasted, she guessed. They waited some more.
Finally, at long last, Bud said, “Sure. I want to see her. Sure I do.”
Despite the double amount of sures, he didn’t sound the least bit overeager, oooh, no, not at all. It sounded more to her like Bud was dragging his feet or being overly polite or mumbling out something that he wouldn’t remember later. But it was enough for Shaggy to don a great big wide grin. “Awesome, man. I’ll tell her. Maybe she’ll give you a call. Or you can call her. You got my home number.”
Bud nodded, turned around, and headed out the door. He didn’t say a single word more, just climbed into the driver’s seat and started up the engine. Claire joined him, waiting for him to want to talk about it. He backed out and drove out of the parking lot in silence. Okay, he was mulling it over in his head and didn’t want to get chatty about his old love. Claire could relate. There were people she didn’t want to talk about, too. People she didn’t want to think about, either. A lot of them, in fact. Bud knew she was there any time he wanted to talk about anything. He was her rock at times, and vice versa. So they rode on in silence, Bud no doubt mulling over in his head all the ramifications of Brianna being back, meaning the good, the bad, and the ugly. Claire spent the quiet time thinking about Black and wishing they were back in that hot tub again with all that water sloshing over the sides.