“That was over a decade ago, and he ripped open abdomens and fed on the intestines and organs like a frenzied mad dog, but he didn't take any bones off with him to bury someplace.”
Sands stated the obvious, “This case is not about cannibalizing flesh, otherwise he'd never have left this.” He hefted the snake of flesh in the bag.
Sands gave Petersaul instructions, “See that our several pounds of flesh go with the body to the lab for autopsy.”
“If he's not a cannibal, what the fuck is this freak? A blood drinker?” demanded Petersaul.
“From the amount of blood spilled here, again, I'd say no,” said Jessica. “Matisak was a blood drinker, and he controlled the bloodletting to maximize his treasure with each killing. No, this Spine Thief is something new, something I've not encountered, nor do I know of anything like it in all the literature of police science and police history.”
“Whataya think he does with the spines?” pressed Petersaul, her curiosity palpable.
Jessica looked at Darwin Reynolds, seeing his own need to know there in the black depths of his eyes. “Bone marrow perhaps. Perhaps he feeds on the marrow he can can extract from the vertebral column.”
Petersaul uttered a string of expletives and added, “Uggh… euuuu, no… ykkk!”
“Maybe he has some fucked-up notion that spinal fluid has life-giving properties… wants to feed his immune system to keep trim and forever young,” Jessica continued. “Or he thinks it replenishes his own spinal fluids to do so, to vampire off someone else's manna. Or some such ridiculous notion, since ingesting the stuff can only send it out his ass.”
“Kinda like a spine vampire maniac, isn't he?” said Darwin.
“You might argue that… That he likes his blood thick and congealed. Consomme as opposed to bisque, cold as opposed to liking it fresh and hot.” “But why? Where… I mean how does any man ever get such a notion?” Darwin asked.
“Rather, how does any man act on such a notion?”
Sands's voice, as he continued to tape, interrupted their conversation, “Serious blow to the head appears to have been caused by a blunt instrument, possibly a tool such as a hammer, given the diameter of the wound.”
Some time had passed as they processed the crime scene when Ira Sands shattered the silence. “With what we now have, Dr. Coran, I believe we can begin thinking of closing this crime scene down.”
“I'm in agreement.”
“And back at the morgue, if you will follow my lead, I feel we can get most, if not all, necessary tests under way. Unless you care to lead this dance.”
“Generous of you to offer, Dr. Sands, but no, I am happy to follow your lead, sir.”
“Are you all right?” he asked. “You look a bit peaked. Airline food, perhaps?”
“No, I came by FBI jet. I will be fine, really.”
“That was some operation you performed, separating flesh from carpet. Enough to excuse anyone a bit of queasiness, my dear.”
Jessica had again been staring at the enormous gash to Joyce Olsen's backside, the missing serpentine section of flesh that left a gaping hole large enough for a small animal to climb into. She thought of the dog trapped with the dead woman for over a week. Out of one eye, she saw the bag with the flesh in it being forced down into a large Tupperware container, the lid snapped and patted down by Agent Petersaul.
“Tupperware party?” joked another agent with Petersaul.
“I'm hosting a big one,” she snapped back.
Light laughter followed.
“Is it all right?” Ira Sands was saying to Jessica. She only half heard him. “Do you understand?” he continued in her ear.
Jessica could not recall the last time the sight of a wound had so disturbed her to the core. Jaded, having seen so much, it crept up on little cat feet, this dizzying combination of clamminess, perspiration, and nausea. Surprised she could still get this affected, her thoughts returned to her first FBI case: the body of a young woman called Candy found hanging by her ankles, the fly infested leavings of Mad Matthew Matisak after he'd jammed his now-infamous handheld Spigot into her jugular, in order to control the flow of her blood as he robbed her of every ounce.
It had been Jessica, the novice FBI M.E. who had discovered the small, telltale hole made by the spigot within the massive throat slashing, which had been done to mask the mark of the spigot. But while she eventually put him away, it had been at a dear price, losing her first real love to Matisak's madness.
He had maimed her physically, too. She'd had to use a cane for almost two years following his attack on her. To this day, the psychological scars he'd inflicted remained.
She felt some strange and eerie connection here but could not make it out. Just a feeling, a foolish one, as foolish as Darwin's notion that the killer was like the Claw. This maniac was no Matisak, either. Still, she felt the same iciness and fear of this demon as she had with Matisak. She felt it in her throat, her chest, her heart and her stomach.
“Come now, Dr. Coran,” said Sands in a bid to help color return to her face. “I've read your book. You've seen bodies without hearts, others missing their brains even.”
“All… all the… same, not… notwithstanding, I fear, Dr. Sands, I'm feeling just a might… light-headed.” She finished with a little gasp.
“Go out and come back in. No one else need know. Go,” he encouraged her.
She stared into his kind eyes, studying them, as another voice inside her head advised she stand her ground-her father's voice. Her tough, uncompromising military father's old advice. He, too, had seen some awful deaths-horrid battlefield wounds-and in his days as a medical examiner for the military, he had learned discipline and mental toughness, but she could safely say that not even her father had ever seen anything like this. Nor had her mentor, Dr. Asa Holcraft who'd done thousands of autopsies. How was one to combat such a sight as this?
Sands placed a hand on hers and said, “Would you like us to step out together?”
She heeded his advice, getting to her feet. To hell with what the men at the crime scene thought, she told herself. She announced clearly, “Yes, Dr. Sands, I'm sorry, but I need to take a moment.”
He pointed toward the balcony off the bedroom. She stepped out into the November breeze, and she watched as the others, including Sands, filed out and into the light. They had merely needed someone to say “uncle” and to lead the way.
THREE
Is God himself a detective in the dark void, trailing a killer the deity himself created, trying to uncover the unknowable unknown created from the whole cloth of his own inner tensions?
Milwaukee awoke with-the sound of blaring horns and rush-hour traffic jamming the nearby interstate. X. Darwin Reynolds hovered nearby, taking a protective stance over Jessica, acting as a shield. Along West Allis Boulevard Jessica could see the signs of commerce dotting the horizon, Exxon, Econo Lodge, H amp;R Block, Burger King, Popeye’s, KFC, McDonald's, BP, Cooney's Funeral Home, Bridge-stone Tires, Schwinn Bike Outlet, Costco, Jewel-Osco and Joe's Crab Shack.
Jessica said to Darwin, “Imagine a Milwaukee resident of a hundred or even fifty years ago, standing here, staring at the once tree-lined avenue and asking, 'What have they done to my home, Momma, what have they done to my home?'“
Before entering the death scene a second time, Jessica filled her nostrils with Caine's Ail-Purpose Odor Firewall. The scent was an improvement on the old Vicks VapoRub.
The brutal sight was no less brutal, but the odors of a week-old corpse were somewhat tamed by Caine's
