Cover Up: Models & Mayhem (The Depot Series)
Chapter 1: Lock up your beautiful women
New York City, 1984
The man gently drew back the white sheet from the latest delivery. No matter that he was in this business for nearly twenty-five years, he always felt a tingle of dread, mingled with a warped fascination, to discover what lay beneath. It wasn't something that he could easily explain over polite dinner conversation, nor would his friends even want to hear what went on at the job. His ex-wife tried to pretend she wasn't appalled or repulsed, but he knew better when she had often shuddered under his touch. Such was the isolated life of Stanley Greenbaum, Chief Medical Examiner of the morgue in Midtown Manhattan.
Upon seeing the body, Dr. Greenbaum's fascination turned to bewilderment, then frustration. This was the sixth case to pass through his lab in the last two months in which each victim bore the same swelled, disfiguring markings and putrid acne-like scars all over their faces and spotted around their bodies.
"I'm trying to tell them, but do they listen to me? Of course not!" He said aloud as his assistant, a young Hispanic man fresh out of med-school, entered with steaming cups of black coffee and pastrami sandwiches for a late-afternoon repast.
"Trying to tell them what, Stan?" He put his paper bags down and peered at the form disdainfully. "Not another one? ¡Qué malo! What the heck is going on here?"
"That's what nobody seems to be able to figure out, including me. You know I don't like mysteries when it comes to my cadavers."
He took a sip of the coffee. "I know, Stan, you're cut and dried. So, who doesn't listen to you this time?"
Greenbaum paced the room and pulled at the remaining brown strands of hair on the top of his head. "The Mayor, who says I have to speak to the Police Commissioner, who then tells me he'll turn it over to Major Case. I'm trying to warn them about this, Manny. I suspect we may have a serial killer on the loose, but they don't want to scare up the public. They said they got detectives on it, but I haven't seen one in here since the third victim was brought in. It's like they plum forgot."
"Hum. If it's not a shoot-em-up, stabbing, or blunt instrument, they don't want the challenge. You're not gonna want to hear this either, Stan." He pulled the clipboard from under his arm and brought it over to their shared work desk. "I just got the tox reports back from the last five girls, but they haven't been able to trace anything substantial as yet. It may as well be air." He flipped through the pages irritably. "There's nothing in here that suggests known poisons either, so we can scratch off the usual suspects–arsenic, strychnine, cyanide, all that good stuff. Whatever it is, wasn't ingested, the stomach organs are clean, no puncture marks anywhere."
"Could it be something they inhaled? Maybe a killer plant spore? Oh wait, I know these glamour types, what about drugs?"
"They turned up clean for drugs, oh, except for two, we found small traces of cocaine, but that was just your usual high, nothing that would do this. Your guess is as good as mine right now, but it got into their blood stream somehow." Manuel Santana stroked his short beard and mustache. "If they really want to frighten the public they'll call this a health scare that affects gorgeous women five feet seven and over."
The doctor wanted to fling the clipboard across the room, but instead he slumped in his chair and meticulously cleaned his glasses. "Remind me again. Is there anything about the victims that we can connect to make a case for these bumbling bureaucrats? Anything to convince them that they need to start a serious manhunt?"
Manuel clasped his hands and let out a long puff of air. "Four white, one Hispanic, one black, all in their early-to-mid twenties and in very good health. Remember their teeth? All of them had some brightening and bridgework and other corrections done, two had nose jobs, and they all sported fresh haircuts, the most popular styles. Their bodies were recently waxed, their skin is practically blemish free, signs of spa work and exfoliation…"
"What are you not telling me, Manny?"
"Well, I didn't get to do complete background checks, Stan. I must leave something for the detectives, but in my professional opinion I'd say they are all fashion models. Your glamour type guess was right. We may just have a psycho on our hands."
Doctor Greenbaum took a long swig of coffee and raised his hands. "I can just see the headlines now. Model killer stalks city! "
"Lock up your beautiful women! News at ten!" Manny added.
"I guess they're not famous; I can't even get contacts for some of them. They must be estranged from their families. If only I had some outside help…wait a minute!" Doctor Greenbaum reached for his phone.
"Who you calling?"
"I have an old friend who owes me a ton of favors with the side work I do for him. I know he can help me get to the bottom of this. He has all the right connections."
"Sounds dubious."
"He's not mafia, Manny, he's a U.S Ambassador."
"Oh. They probably run in the same circles anyway. Those guys know everybody."
Manny ate half his of sandwich and went to scrub his hands. Regardless of anything else, they still had more work to do and other bodies to tend to. He approached the table and snapped on his gloves. He glanced wryly at the cold, defaced form.
"Alright Senorita bonita, it's high time we found out what monster did this to you and your friends."
Doctor Greenbaum grew impatient after being put on hold. He scribbled on a notepad and then finally a secretary answered.
"Aha! Yes, can you connect me with Mr. Henry Towler, please? Tell him it's Dr. Stanley Greenbaum, and I need a big favor."