Henry Cutsmith was bored. He was the county coroner, but the morgue was empty except for himself. There had not been a death that required his services for over a week, not since that traffic fatality out on Highway 10. That was good in a way, he supposed, but it made for some some long dull days at the office. He sat at his desk reading a book and contemplating where to go for lunch when the phone rang. Henry called it the harbinger of doom because most of the time that sound was the immediate prelude to finding out someone had died.
"Coroner's office," he said into the receiver.
"Henry? This is Sheriff Brown. I'm up in the Kofa refuge, and we have really stepped in some shit here. I'm sending Deputy Collins down to escort you to the scene. Bring all of your equipment."
Cutsmith had known Travis Brown for twenty years, and he had never heard his voice quaver like it did today. "What's going on, Travis? What happened?"
"The park ranger called us in. It looks like some poachers ran into something that could shoot back, but I have never seen anything like this in my life. It is a bloody fucking mess, and I can't sort out what really happened as yet. Need you up here yesterday."
"Alright. How many bodies?"
"At least four, but I'm not sure."
"I'll be there as soon as I can." Cutsmith hung up the phone. This was weird, he thought. The Kofa Wildlife Refuge covered over 650,000 acres of southwestern Arizona, but it wasn't any kind of hunting mecca. Big game animals were not abundant in the park, and with the onset of summer around the corner, the climate and terrain could be downright inhospitable. Sometimes an inexperienced hiker or camper would wander off or get lost and die, but that was about the extent of human deaths in Kofa. He wondered what a party of poachers would have been after up there, and who would have slaughtered them for it.
Deputy Frank Collins arrived to pick him up within the hour. Cutsmith could tell the young lawman was shaken by whatever had taken place out on the Kofa. The normally affable deputy was
nearly silent and seemed to have grown three shades paler since the last time the coroner had seen him. Cutsmith kept to himself until the two were out on the road, and curiosity finally got the better of him. "What am I going to see out there, Frank?"
Collins turned to look at the coroner, and his eyes looked haunted. "It's bad, Doc. I've never even heard of anything like this outside of a horror movie. The sheriff told me not to tell you too much because he wants a fresh impression, but be prepared for the worst." Cutsmith didn't really know what to make of this, and Collins was not forthcoming with any additional information. The coroner finally decided to just wait and see what awaited him at the wildlife refuge.
Sheriff Brown met the patrol car as it pulled up to the killing scene. The site was surrounded by vehicles with flashing lights. Crime scene tape cordoned off a large area blocked by serious looking men in uniform with guns. The sheriff looked grim. "Henry," he said by way of introduction. "Let's go." The coroner got out and followed the sheriff up a small hill. At the crown, the seasoned medical examiner saw a nightmare which would stay with him until the end of his days. The smell was bad. Meat went bad fast out here, and the stench of death was nearly overwhelming. The first visual he noticed was the copious amounts of blood which had soaked into the ground. It had dried into a blackish stain upon the sand and rocks. There was easily enough to have come from four grown men. The next thing to draw his eye was a man hanging upside down from a slab of rock which rose about eight feet above the ground. He had been skinned. A pile of clothes and guts, both covered in flies, rested below the man.
"There is another one just like him on the other side of the rock," said the sheriff. "They were tied up there with tent cord with a tent spike driven into the rock to hold them."
"Where are the other bodies?"
"Over here," said the sheriff, leading Cutsmith downslope for a few yards. Another body lay in the dust. This one had also been butchered, but in a different manner. The man still had his clothes and most of his skin, but his head was missing. Something else wasn't right. Cutsmith bent down close to the body to have a better look.
"His spine is missing," said the coroner. He looked back up at the sheriff. "What the hell?"
"Yeah," said Brown. "The other guy is pretty much the same. We haven't touched anything."
"Who could have done this?"
"Don't know. What we do know is that the poachers, and it looks like they were after some bighorn sheep, fired off a lot of rounds, but at what we don't know. There aren't any signs of another party, just the aftermath of the murders. One thing more, we think there was another man with the poachers. We found some tracks leading away from the site. From the looks of them, he was in a hurry."
"The killer?"
"Maybe, but we found their campsite not too far from here. Two two-man tents and a single one man tent. It looks like there was a fifth member of this group, and from what I found inside the tent, I think it was a local. I think these poor bastards hired out a guide."
"Any ideas who?"
"Nope, but it won't be too hard to find out. There aren't too many that could have made a passable hunting guide in this place."
Cutsmith went to look at the final body, and found it with both head and spine gone. "Are you through with the bodies, Sheriff? I'd like to get them back and start the autopsies."
"Yeah, I'll detail a couple of deputies to help you bag them."
A short time later, Cutsmith was back at the morgue. The four bodies were laid out on separate examination tables. The room was kept cold, but the coroner felt a chill crawl up his spine. The autopsies had shown him how the men had died, but he still had no idea of what or who had done the deed. Cutsmith had given up smoking five years ago, but he really wanted a cigarette right now. Nothing he saw was making any sense. He was sitting deep in thought when sheriff Brown entered the morgue.
"Henry," said the lawman. "What have you found for me?"
"Nothing good, Travis." He got up and walked over to the first body. "Take a look at this." Cutsmith whipped off the cover, exposing one of the skinned victims. "This guy was killed by something I have never seen before. See this wound in his chest? It is completely cauterized. Whatever the weapon was, it cooked the flesh around the entry point, and burned completely through the body. Took out the heart. Guy was dead before he hit the ground."
"What could have done that?"
"Beats the hell out of me. A laser of some sort?"
"That's crazy, Henry. Fucking lasers."
The medical examiner shrugged, then walked over to the next body. "This one was skinned too, but he died differently. Look at this." He pointed to a very thin wound in the forehead, about an inch and a half long. There was a very similar exit wound in the back of the head. "Instant death, again."
"No bullet made that wound,"said the sheriff.
"Nope, no powder burns, no shrapnel, nothing. Almost like a dart, but that is impossible. Whatever it was made the cleanest cut I've ever seem. A surgeon's scalpel couldn't have made a cut that clean. Which ties into the next two." He pulled the tarp off the next victim. "Another hole in the chest, but this was caused by penetrating trauma. Something very sharp punched through the chest cavity and skewered the heart."
"A knife?"
"The wound is too big for a knife or arrow. A spear would be my guess, but that is the least surprising thing about our pal here." The coroner rolled the body over. "His spine was ripped out, but to do that, a killer would have to saw through a lot of bone and body tissue to free the spine from the body. Only that didn't happen. This is one cut down the body. Whatever the killer used, it went through ribs, muscle and tissue like a hot knife through butter. Again, a surgeon's scalpel could not be that precise."
"And the last victim?"
"He may have been killed with a knife of some sort. There were two incisions on either side of the heart where a blade penetrated the chest cavity. It cut the arteries around the heart. It wouldn't have been an instant death, and it would have hurt a lot. Same as the other cuts, this one was abnormally clean."
"So, I'm looking for a high-tech psycho spree killer?"
"I don't know what you are looking for, Travis. I am saying I have never seen anything remotely like this before. I can tell you how these men died, but that is about it." Both men were silent for a moment. "Did you have any luck finding the guide?"
"Yeah, or at least I know who he is. I asked around and found out that Ernie Illanipi hired out as a guide to a group of hunters looking to go out onto the Kofa."
"Any sign of him?"
"Not yet. Ernie knows that land better than any white man. If he is out there, finding him will be next to impossible. But, he has to come back in sometime. His family is here, and he won't abandon them. Sooner or later, he'll show."
"Any idea on the identities of the victims?"
"No problem there," said the sheriff. "Whoever killed them didn't bother with removing their identification, or robbing them for that matter. None of them were locals, which is something to be thankful for. We are in the process of notifying the next of kin now. Let me know if you find anything else."
"Sure thing, Travis," said the medical examiner as the sheriff left the morgue.
Two days passed without a break in the case and no word on the whereabouts of Ernie Illanipi. Sheriff Brown was dead tired from lack of sleep and the effort of trying to wrap his brain around the murders. His dazed reverie was broken by the sound of the intercom on his desk. "What is it, Sherrie?"
"A man to see you, Sheriff. Says he knew one of the Kofa victims."
Brown sighed heavily. "Go ahead and send him in, Sherrie." Maybe this guy could shed some light on what the victims were doing, and who might have wanted them dead.
A man entered the sheriff's office. He was big and he wore a suit. The sheriff estimated that it cost more than his salary for a month. They guy carried an air of command, like he was used to being obeyed, Brown could see that by the way the man walked into his office like he owned it. The sheriff stood, thinking, This should be fun. He extended his hand and said, "I'm Sheriff Travis Brown." The man took the hand and gave it a squeeze. Quite a grip, thought the sheriff.
"Malcolm West. Nice to meet you, sheriff."
"Have a seat, Mr. West. What can I do for you?"
"One of the men murdered out on your wildlife refuge was my friend, Rick Wells."
"I am sorry for your loss, Mr. West."
"So am I. What can you tell me about Rick's death?"
"I'm afraid I can't comment on an ongoing investigation."
West frowned and looked off to the side for a moment before refocusing on the sheriff. "I flew down here as soon as I got the news that Rick was dead. I asked around a bit, and heard some weird shit. The murders aren't exactly a well kept secret. Heads missing, men skinned like animals, a missing guide. I want to know what happened out there, and what you are doing about it."
The tension in the room was beginning to rise. "Do you know what Wells and the others were doing out there?" asked the sheriff. "Because it sure looked like they were poaching."
"I don't care what Rick was doing, legal or not. He's dead, and I want to get my hands on the murdering bastards that killed him."
"I cannot allow you to interfere in my investigation, Mr. West. I understand your feelings, but I must caution you against doing anything rash." West just stared at him.
"Rick Wells was my good friend," he said at last. "Once upon a time, he saved my life. Do you understand what a debt of honor is, sheriff? I will avenge his death."
"Mr. West, I'm warning you--."
"Noted." West stood again. "I'll find what I need, and then I will hunt down those responsible. Actions have consequences, sheriff, and these will be most dire." He left the office, shutting the door with a bang.
Great, thought Brown. Another thing I have to worry about. This day just gets better and better.