by Neal Griffin
“An investigator from the medical examiner’s office. In the meantime, I need you to find this guy’s face for me.”
“Excuse me?” The voice had pitched up again, this time with a reluctant, nervous edge.
“His face.” Tia aimed her flashlight at the area beyond the head end of the body. “I bet it landed somewhere between ten and fifteen feet over that way. There should be at least one or two pretty good-size pieces. Careful where you walk. If you find something, don’t touch it. Just holler at me.”
“Why do I need to do all that?”
The pushback made Tia wonder if Youngblood might have a point. A trainee wasn’t expected to ask a lot of “why” questions. Careful not to come down too hard, Tia let Rich know the friendly banter was over.
“First, because I said so, and I’m the detective and you’re the trainee. Next, the distance from the body is going to tell us a lot about the angle of the gun. That will go a long way to confirm this is exactly what it appears to be. A suicide.”
Rich looked off into the dark of the woods, uneasy. “And it is, right? I mean, it’s a suicide?”
“Pretty good bet, yeah. But this is somebody’s kid. They might need a little more convincing. And to be honest, I’d rather not get dragged back out here next week when some soccer mom on a family nature hike calls to report she found a rotting chunk of Mr. Hairy Cranium. So, consider it housecleaning.”
He stood unmoving for several seconds, staring into the woods.
“Rich?” Tia said, unamused by his hesitancy.
He sounded lost in thought. “Yes?”
“His face, dude.” Tia gave him a push toward the darkness. “Go find his face.”
Tia watched him walk away, his flashlight scanning the ground directly at his feet, each step a bit more cautious than the last. Pulling her cell phone from her pocket, she scrolled through her contacts until she found the right number. After two rings, the familiar voice came across, tired but pleasant.
“Hey, Tia. I don’t guess this is a social call, huh?”
“Morning, sunshine. It’s your week on callout rotation, right?”
Tia could hear the woman stretching herself more awake. “Yeah. What’s up?”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to crawl out of that nice warm bed and come join me in the woods. I got one I need you to take a look at.”
“Okay. Where are you?”
“Oh my God!”
Tia looked in the direction of the panicked voice and saw Rich frantically checking the bottom of his boots with his flashlight.
“Tia? You still there?”
It looked like Rich had found what she’d sent him looking for. “I’m in Skeel’s Woods, off County Twelve. I’ll text you the GPS coordinates. And hey, can you bring me a coffee? Wouldn’t you know it, I dumped mine getting out of the car.”
THREE
The jagged fragment of human anatomy included a cheek, the entire left eye, and most of the forehead. Discounting the dozen or so strands of veins and shredded skin, Tia figured the chunk of flesh was about five or six inches across at the widest point. She estimated the distance to the body as twelve to fourteen feet, but she’d wait for an exact measurement until the MEI arrived. Tia knew once she wrote it down it was official and she didn’t want to risk recording two different distances. She used her cell phone camera to take a few shots of the overall scene as well as the location and position of the body. All of this would be repeated by the investigator, with more advanced equipment, but Tia always liked to have her own reference material.
“So what’re you thinking?”
Still on her knees, Tia looked at the trainee—who was now apparently her trainee. Rich stood back, keeping distance between himself and the remnant of human face. She couldn’t blame him. The wide-open, disembodied eye was pointed directly up, creating the optical illusion of following her wherever she stood. The close-up examination had been a bit unsettling.
“About trajectory,” she replied, directing her conversation at the eye. “Definitely upward. Hell of a load. I’m guessing double-ought buck for sure.”
She stood, careful not to disturb the evidence. “Whichever, I bet a few pieces of this fella damn near took flight for a second or two.”
“Seriously?”
“Considering the velocity of a shotgun round? Twenty, thirty feet in the air, I’ll bet.” She motioned toward a stand of nearby trees. “Go on and climb that maple right there. Wouldn’t surprise me if you found a few more chunks of skull and hair in some of the lower branches.”
His response was immediate and stern. “Wait a minute. I don’t think I can—”
“Relax, Rich. I’m kidding.”
His relief was obvious even as his eyes went to the branches overhead. “You really think? In the trees?”
She heard the inexperience in his voice, a tone that separated veterans from rookies. At some point, he would harden and be less impacted by the darkest aspects of police work. Then again, Tia knew the best cops never lost their sense of morbid curiosity. When they did, when curiosity was replaced by dull routine, crimes went unsolved and crooks went unpunished. Complacency among beat cops was the single biggest flaw in most police departments.
Jimmy Youngblood was a perfect example of a career lost to slothful bad habits. Even investigating a headless body in the woods, although inherently intriguing, was work to be avoided. Tia saw it as a mind-set that could eventually lead a cop to wind up staring down the barrel of a crook’s gun, his last earthly thought being, Ah, shit. Never saw that coming.
A flash of lightning was followed by a low rumble of thunder. The smell of imminent rain hung in the air and Tia hoped the investigator would arrive soon. She gave another thought to calling Dispatch to request someone bring out a pop-up shelter to protect the scene. Puller’s next inquiry interrupted her thoughts.
“If we already know he shot himself then why all this, this—work? Seems excessive to me.”
Tia shook her head at the trainee. “Man, I can tell who’s been training you.”
“Well, yeah, but maybe Youngblood has a point. If it’s just a suicide, why worry about the details?”
“A few hours ago, ‘it’ was a ‘him,’ and like I said, he belongs to someone.”
“Well, that’s fine, but I’m throwing these boots away as soon as I get home.”
“Then you’re going to go through a lot of boots. You might want to give some more thought to your career choice.”
Before Rich could reply, a wave of light passed high through the trees, accompanied by the distant thrum of an engine.
“Great,” Tia said, getting to her feet as she felt the first light drops of rain. “That’ll be the MEI. Let’s get finished up and get out of here.”
A moment later the familiar pickup truck of the Waukesha County Medical Examiner’s Office rolled up and stopped at the yellow tape. The engine of the raised truck revved then went silent except for the random heat pings of the contracting metal. A moment later, the driver’s door opened and Investigator Olivia Sorensen stepped out.
“Hey, Tia. Okay if I walk in?”
Olivia “Livy” Sorensen had joined the Waukesha County Medical Examiner’s Office around the time Tia had gotten jammed up in a high-profile, officer-involved shooting. It had been straight-up self-defense against an armed suspect, but some federal outfit had tried to hijack the case. A U.S. Attorney working out of Milwaukee empaneled a grand jury and Tia found herself in the crosshairs of a federal witch hunt. When the feds kept sniffing around, Livy Sorensen, the newly appointed but highly experienced Waukesha County investigator, who had processed the shooting scene, shut them out. Tia hadn’t known any of that at the time, but her boss, Ben Sawyer, had filled her in later. He let her know this Livy Sorensen woman definitely had her back.
Tia went wide around the body, signaling Rich to follow. Standing at the tape, dressed in a gray jumpsuit, Livy had already begun jotting notes. Big-boned and just over six and a h
alf feet tall, Livy towered over most of the cops she dealt with. Her imposing figure was literally topped off by bright red hair cut in a Lucille Ball poodle style.
Around the PD and other county departments Livy was known as “the Amazon.” No one said it around Tia because they knew she would have their ass for it, but in the end, it didn’t matter. It never took anyone long to figure out that not only was Livy Sorensen a top-notch forensic investigator, she also wasn’t the type to worry about other people’s opinions. It was an attribute that made Tia proud of her friend … as well as a little envious.
“Hey.” Tia smiled, lifting the tape as high as she could so Livy could duck under. “Thanks for rolling out. Shouldn’t take long.”
Once past the flimsy barrier, Livy offered Tia a steaming cup. The aroma was clean—no vanilla, gingersnaps, spice, or other adulterations. Just the smell of pure coffee.
“Italian roast. Black.” Livy winked. “And I made it at home. No Starbucks.”
“Thanks, but you didn’t have to do that. 7-Eleven would’ve been fine.”
“What? And listen to you carry on about what real coffee is supposed to taste like?”
Tia sipped from the cup and her craving subsided. Coffee was the one liquid pleasure left in her life and she took it seriously. “It’s supposed to taste like this. Brewed, not cooked. Thanks.”
The two women shared more than an appreciation for good coffee. They were soul mates of a sort: two small-town Wisconsin women who’d run off to have big-world experiences. Tia had served four years in the Marines, three of them attached to a recon unit in Afghanistan, working as an interrogator-translator. Livy had spent five years with the Cook County Medical Examiner’s Office in Chicago, Illinois. Both women eventually returned to their hometown, only to be treated like misbehaving schoolgirls. Now, they worked in environments dominated by men who liked to be treated as unwavering authorities.
They each developed strategies to get the job done, usually by working around and outpacing their male counterparts—and doing all that without offending the men too deeply. At least Tia had the good fortune of working for a boss who got it. Police Chief Ben Sawyer didn’t buy into the mentality that police work was for men only. Over at the ME’s office, Livy didn’t have it so good.
“So what’ve you got?” Livy asked.
A flash of lightning was followed by the loudest thunder roll of the night so far. Both women looked to the sky and Tia sped up, speaking quickly and without emotion.
“Deceased male, around sixteen to eighteen years of age, time of death is probably pushing about three hours, maybe a bit longer. Mechanism of death is a shotgun and the weapon is on scene. Blast beneath the chin, I’d guess somewhere between a fifty- or sixty-degree angle. Some good-size remnants recovered from nearby. Pretty sure death was instant.”
She took a deep breath and shrugged. “All indications are suicide, but I figured someone from your office should take a look before we bag him up.”
“Pretty sad story, already,” Livy said.
“Yeah,” Tia said. “No real upside.”
That was one of the many things Tia admired about Livy. After logging hundreds of crime scenes with agencies throughout Cook County, it was safe to say she’d seen just about every way a human life could end. But she hadn’t become cold or callused.
Rich walked over to join the conversation and Tia was glad to see he was managing to get around without the need of a flashlight.
“Youngblood texted me. He’s wondering how much longer we’ll be out here.”
“I’ll bet he is,” Tia said. “Rich, this is Livy Sorensen. Livy, Rich just hired on with us.”
Livy smiled and extended her hand. “Hey, Rich.”
“Hi.” Rich made eye contact and accepted the handshake. Tia was glad to see that other than a slight raising of the eyebrows, Rich showed no reaction to a woman who was a good eight inches taller and outweighed him by a hundred pounds. “So what, you’re like a doctor, then?”
Livy shook her head. “No, but I get that a lot. I’m an investigator and I work for the deputy medical examiner, Mortimer Kowalski. He’s the doctor. I respond to crime scenes with suspicious deaths. Suicides, occasional homicides. Most of the time I’m out on farming accidents.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. OSHA always wants to know why a worker fell out of a barn or how a farmer got run over by their own combine. Worker safety. Product liability. Pretty routine.”
Noting the stiffening breeze, Tia said, “Well, safe bet this was no farming accident. We’d better hurry. Ready to walk in?”
“Sure. Let me gear up.” Livy ducked back under the tape and went to the bed of her pickup. She hefted a canvas backpack onto her shoulder and, with the same arm, effortlessly lifted out a tackle box the size of a medium suitcase. From a metal storage bin, she pulled a camera mounted on a tripod, balancing the long metal legs on her other shoulder. Rejoining Tia and Puller, Livy nodded, indicating she was ready to go.
“Here, Livy,” Rich said, “let me help you with some of that.”
Tia couldn’t help but notice he seemed much more personable with Livy than he had been with her.
“Thanks, Rich.” Livy smiled, handing him the tackle box and tripod. Tia watched him struggle under the weight of the equipment as he led the way to the body. Tia stepped off to follow until Livy touched her lightly on the elbow.
“Did his name tag say Puller?” Livy asked.
“Yep.”
“So his name is—”
“Let it go, Livy.”
“Poor guy.” They followed in Puller’s wake, stopping about fifteen feet away from the body.
“Here’s our boy,” Tia said. “Like I said, he did a hell of a number on himself.”
Tia took a long sip of her coffee while Livy began making her own assessment of the scene. Livy pulled a Mini Mag from a cargo pocket of her jumpsuit and lit the area. “I don’t see an inner perimeter.”
“Uh … yeah. That’s a bit of a story. See, the first off—”
“Forget it. Not now.” Livy shook her head, all business. “Anything been moved?”
“Nope. Just like we found it.” Tia stopped. “I mean him. Found him.”
“You touch anything?”
Tia tried not to be put off by the interrogation-like tone. She knew when Livy got in work mode, there was no joking around.
“Yes. His crotch to confirm gender. The T-shirt with two fingers.” Tia held up her right hand. “And my palm against his abdomen. For all of it, I was gloved. I also tweaked his chest.”
“And?”
“He was cool to the touch and supple.”
“All right. Wait here, please. Don’t come any closer.”
Jesus. Tia smiled. Like Jekyll and Hyde.
Livy pointed her flashlight at the ground and took three large, carefully placed steps until she stood between the body and the shotgun. She lit up the weapon and bent at the waist for a closer look at the gun’s barrel. With her feet planted, she twisted her hips to turn toward the body, moving the beam of light as she did. Back to the shotgun. Back to the body. Tia couldn’t help but be impressed by Livy’s flexibility. Finally Livy stood still, face and red hair lit by the indirect glow of the Maglite.
“Um … Tia?”
The officious tone was gone, replaced by something that fell between confusion and deep concern. Tia’s coffee cup stopped halfway to her mouth.
“Yeah?”
Livy turned back for one last look at the gun, then pointed her light to the upper torso. Several seconds passed until finally Livy extinguished the Maglite and stood tall. Tia had kept her distance, so all she could make out was Livy’s bear-size shadowy figure among the surrounding trees. When Livy spoke her voice was low and came from the dark.
“We got a problem.”
Thunder struck overhead and a hard rain began to fall.
FOUR
The first rays of the rising sun broke through the trees, turning the ai
r humid and warm, indicating a muggy Midwestern morning lay ahead. The wet ground was spongy under her feet and the waterlogged tree branches hung low, still heavy from the rain. She made no effort to hide the mounting frustration over a callout assignment that could now be officially categorized as a Newberg Cluster Fuck.
“Oh, sure. Of course.” Tia looked up to acknowledge the bluing sky, accented by billowing white clouds. “Now the sun comes out.”
The brief storm had been nothing more than a good summer drenching, but it had been enough to compromise the entire crime scene, which was what Livy was now calling it. More specifically, a homicide crime scene. Despite Livy’s expertise, Tia wondered if the woman was overreacting. Tia had called Livy to follow protocol. Nothing more than a professional courtesy. But to her, this still felt like a straight-up suicide. She was beginning to regret that decision.
“Get him loaded up and wait for me, okay, Gina?” Livy scratched out a signature and handed a metal clipboard back to the latest arrival, a woman dressed in a gray jumpsuit that matched hers, with the letters ME stenciled in red on the back. “We’ll head straight to the morgue. He’s going to be first up today.”
“You got it, Livy.” She laid the clipboard on the black rubber body bag atop the metal gurney. A heavy-duty brass zipper ran the length of the bag; a large plastic tag marked “JOHN DOE” was looped through the eyelet. The body bag contained not only the near-headless corpse but also a Hefty kitchen trash bag filled with a dozen or so various-size pieces of skull, skin, and scalp.
Gina’s partner in body recovery was also a woman, trim and attractive, dressed in matching overalls. The two women had worked as a team during the packing-up stage, appearing indifferent to their close contact with a body in a state of moderate rigor mortis. Tia had been impressed with the ability of both the ladies to forcefully push, pull, and contort the stiffening corpse into the body bag.
Livy turned to Tia. “You probably ought to show up at the morgue by ten. We’ll sit down with Mort and brief him on the exact circumstances.”
Tia looked at her watch: 7:45. “Geez.”