Chapter Three: All That I Know
Here's another installment. Enjoy.
And for feedback---please, please, please!
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"I don't know if this is a good idea," Logan growled, wheeling Professor Xavier into the Bayville police department. He raised a brow at the inquisitive stares of the officers and then stared straight ahead. "What makes you think they're going to let you help?"
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The Professor smiled up at his old friend reassuringly. "Ye of little faith," he said. "As you said earlier, the department here is stretched thin. They could use all the help they could get."
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Logan gave him a skeptical look, but said nothing more. Instead, he stopped at the information desk. Nodding a greeting at the pudgy, middle- aged officer sipping his black coffee, he drawled, "We have an appointment with Detective Walsh."
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The officer stroked his rounded chin, pale eyes peering at both of them warily. "And you are?"
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Professor Xavier offered a kindly smile. "Charles Xavier. She's expecting me."
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"Oh, right," the officer nodded, leaning over his desk slightly to point. "Walsh's office is down that hall and the last one to the right."
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Professor Xavier waving for Logan to follow him in his wheelchair. "Thank you."
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The two of them made their way down the long corridor, coffee and cigarettes mixing in the air. While Logan was clearly not pleased to be there, the Professor seemed fascinated. Having never been in any criminal institutional setting, he studied his new surroundings carefully. The two rounded the corner. Within moments, they were standing outside of a door, marked WALSH.
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Just as Logan was about to rap at the door with an adamantium-filled fist, a soft voice intoned, "Can I help you?"
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Both men turned around, Logan on his feet, the Professor in his chair. A small, young woman stood before them, holding a cup of coffee. Her copper hair framed her cherubic face in a stylish, layered bob while dark eyes surveyed the two men behind wire-rimmed glasses. She looked very young, possibly in her mid-twenties at least, which was emphasized by the fact that she was wearing heavy make-up. It was almost as if she were attempting to compensate for her youthful appearance. While she was small in build, the young woman chose to wear rather bulky clothing---an oversized, cream-colored cardigan with toggle buttons and chinos with brown hiking boots.
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"Detective Walsh," Professor Xavier greeted, extending a hand. "I'm Professor Charles Xavier. We talked on the phone this morning."
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She shook his hand firmly, her own hand cool and dry. "Yes. Nice to meet you." Her dark eyes flicked over to Logan who was leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his muscular chest. She raised her thin brows expectantly. "And this is?"
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"My associate, Logan," Professor Xavier replied, giving the other man an encouraging nod to speak.
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"Detective." Logan's gravelly voice was low. He offered his hand, his expression one of wariness.
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Walsh shook it hesitantly, giving him a quizzical look before walking to her door and opening it. "Come on in," she told them, taking a sip of coffee. She made a face as she closed the door behind them. "Bleecch. Needs more sugar."
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Logan settled into one of the wooden chairs across the detective's pressboard desk. The walls were painted a faded shade of cream, which was consistent with the rest of the station. A commendation plaque hung on the far wall where the Professor was sitting along with the detective's college diploma in psychology from the state university. Other than those two personal items, the office was rather cold and sterile. No pictures, no knickknacks---nothing that would have spoke any further as to what the detective was like personally. He saw a desk calendar with scribbles on each day for this month. Meanwhile, piles of file folders were neatly stacked on the corner of her desk, next to her nameplate.
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Walsh sat behind her desk and slipped off her glasses. She looked like a child, playing a role of police officer. "So you would like to offer your services to our department?" she asked the Professor.
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The Professor nodded emphatically. "Yes, from our conversation earlier, I understand that your department might not be able to offer full resources to certain crimes, such as the murder that took place the night before."
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"That's not an official position," the detective quickly replied. "Solving any crime is important. Yes, we're a bit understaffed at the moment, but that doesn't change the department's commitment to this town."
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The Professor nonchalantly waved his hand. "Of course, detective. It's just that since that the victim was a mutant, I would imagine that the case would have to be handled a little differently."
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Walsh narrowed her eyes, feeling that she had just been talked down to. She shook her head as she stared into the kindly eyes of the bald man in the wheelchair. He didn't seem to be capable of something like that. She decided to evade the issue again. "Professor, we're not even sure if this murder stemmed from the fact that our victim was a mutant. It could have been totally random. At this point, we don't really know."
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"But the young woman could be visibly identified as a mutant?"
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"Yes. It was obvious that she was."
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"You also do realize that mutants have been recently targeted since being exposed several months ago. It is not uncommon to hear about mutants being harassed on a day-to-day basis."
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"I believe that the Bayville police department has provided adequate security for both your Institute and the Brotherhood boarding house. This was especially true following the initial exposure of your students to the rest of the world."
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"Even so, detective, there's no denying the anti-mutant sentiment in town. Perhaps, it has pushed someone over the edge. To the extent that they actually take a life."
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"Perhaps. But what you are proposing is a theory right now. There is nothing that we have, indicating you are correct."
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"True. However, what is the department doing to follow up any leads?"
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There was a long pause. Walsh did not want to repeat word-for-word what the chief had told her earlier that morning. She was afraid she might offend the two men in the room, whom she concluded were mutants given their interest in the case. "Let's say that mutants aren't at the top of our list," she finally said.
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Logan grunted, scowling.
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The detective frowned at him. Then she turned to the Professor and asked, "So, what are you offering that goes beyond my department's existing resources besides manpower, Professor Xavier? As much as I'd like to take you up on your offer, I really don't have time to supervise someone who wants to pretend to play policeman for a day."
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Her gaze then went to the scowling Logan and she commented, "And his trusty sidekick."
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The Professor inhaled sharply. "Fair enough, detective," he said quietly. "Have you identified the girl yet?"
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Walsh shook her head. "No. We weren't able to obtain fingerprints from the body, so we're only working with dental records and photographs. Bayville hasn't had a missing person case of a teenaged, mutant girl, so she's not local that we know of. So, the records and photographs were sent to other jurisdictions' missing person departments, as well the state police department. I just sent in information to a national database--- VICAP---this morning. Right now, all we can do is wait. In the meantime, I'm waiting for our medical examiner to complete the autopsy."
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Logan raised a brow at her. "And nothing was found at the crime scene?"
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"CSU combed the area twice. Nothing. Whoever did it made sure not to leave any trace as to who they were or who our victim was. A preliminary examination of the body revealed nothing as well. Her fingernails and clothing were devoid of any foreign fibers, hairs, skin, and so forth." Walsh sounded very matter-of-fact.
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The Professor's mouth was set in a grim line. "Perhaps I can be of some assistance in identifying the girl."
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Logan gave him a silencing look, shaking his head. I What are you doing, Chuck? /I Evidently, he was not on board with what Xavier was about to say.
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I It is all right, my friend,/I Xavier responded telepathically. He then turned to the detective, who appeared to be confused regarding the nonverbal exchange that took place in front of the two men.
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"How would you propose to do that?" Walsh inquired skeptically. She was now playing with her coffee cup, but not consuming the hot, bitter liquid inside.
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The Professor leaned forward and folded his hands. "I could possibly help, using my psychic abilities." He paused and then said, "I would need to see the girl, of course."
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Walsh stopped fiddling with the cup. "That's not exactly within our standard operating procedures, Professor," she quipped. Then she became serious. "I'm not sure if I could allow you to do that. The medical examiner.."
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"I would not need to touch her," he pointed out. "Just be close enough to her in order to scan her mind."
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"Or what's left of it," Logan added under his breath. He was slightly surprised that Xavier's powers extended to nonliving beings.
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The young detective leaned back in her chair, mulling over the proposal carefully. If she said yes and gave the Professor Carte blanche to do what he wanted on this case, there was a very good chance she could be flipping burgers at the local diner this time tomorrow. However, if she declined she could very likely be looking at an unsolved case with no starting point to the investigation. Not that there was any pressure from the chief to find out who killed the girl, or anyone else for that matter. Well, anyone except for the two mutants sitting across from her.
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Yet, Walsh was known for being a risk-taker. That was why she had decided to pursue a career in law enforcement. Flying in the face of convention was something she tended to relish. It also helped her in solving cases and consequently, getting promoted to detective.
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There might be a chance that the Professor could be of some assistance. She would never know unless she accepted. If she were to say yes, things would have to be handled very discreetly. Walsh decided to place some caveats to her answer.
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Finally, she pursed her fleshy lips and said, "Well, if you don't mind the smell in the coroner's office or what you're about to see after the M.E. has done the autopsy, you can pay a visit to our Jane Doe. However, I'm going to have to stipulate that only you, Professor, be allowed inside. Mr. Logan will have to wait outside of the crime scene lab area. We don't want to attract too much attention."
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Logan's eyes flashed briefly under his stony brows. Usually, he did not like leaving the Professor's side. He peered over at the child-faced detective, who appeared to be the antithesis of threatening. His brows knitted together, demonstrating how unhappy he was about the idea. However, he decided not to voice his objections. In the end, the kid was doing them a favor. He might as well go along with it.
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The office of Bayview's medical examiner was located in the basement of the police station. During the elevator ride down, Walsh informed Xavier and Logan how it was often referred to as "The Cellar". When they finally reached the floor it was located on, both men could not help but to agree. The area was dimly lit thanks to blinking fluorescent lighting overhead. A mixture of preserving chemicals and dead flesh wafted faintly in the air, which was undetectable to normal humans but quite strong for Logan, who cursed his sense of smell. The air was quite cold, adding to the forbidding, morbid atmosphere. With the exception of some voices from the crime scene laboratory, there was an eerie stillness to the basement. It almost as if the floor were trying to give the dead some sense of peace despite unnatural manner in which they died.
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Not knowing the experience of death himself, Logan could not help but to feel somewhat apprehensive as he took in his new surroundings. He wasn't especially squeamish about being in the same area as various corpses. After all, he had fought in several wars where fallen comrades often surrounded him in the battlefields. He had the unfortunate experience to witness others meet their fate in horrific ways. Logan surmised his uneasiness might have stemmed from his own existential discomfort.
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Walsh led them to a set of double, steel doors at the end of the hallway. She pointed to a row of chairs several feet away and turned to Logan. Like most of the station, these were unadorned. "You sit and wait there, Mr. Logan," she told him. "Sorry there's no reading material to keep you busy. Usually, people don't like to stay here for very long."
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I Smart-ass, /I he thought, resisting the urge to snarl at her deadpanned expression. I Kids get mouthier and mouthier these days. /I Wordlessly, he sank into a wooden chair, hunching his shoulders. He glared at the signs that seemed to be all around him, reminding him of biohazards in the area, to wash his hands before and after coming to the coroner's office, not to enter unless he was authorized personnel, and not to remove anything from the area.
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Walsh, who had thrown on a camel pea coat in her office before going to the basement, reached out and hit the button for the automatic doors. As they opened, she motioned for the Professor to wheel in front of her. She followed close behind, taking out a bottle of Purel from her chino pocket and rubbing a small amount in her hands. She offered some to the Professor who gratefully obliged.
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"Walsh, my favorite detective." A booming voice greeted. "Back so soon?"
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Walsh grinned, pausing in front of the double sinks by the doors. "Yeah, Tom. I've recruited some help in trying to find out who our Jane Doe is." She nodded down at Professor Xavier. "Dr. Frank Tom, this is Professor Charles Xavier. He'll be consulting on our Jane Doe case. Professor, this is Dr. Tom, our M.E."
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Dr. Tom was a round, middle-aged man of Chinese descent with a head of thick, raven-black hair and a beard to match. His almond-shaped eyes were reflective behind horn-rimmed glasses, which was in contrast to his expressionless mouth. A standard white lab coat over aqua surgical scrubs draped over the medical examiner's chubby frame. When he moved away from the stainless steel examining slab to greet the two visitors, his actions were slow and deliberate.
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"It is nice to meet you, Professor," Dr. Tom drawled, "I'd shake hands with you, but.." He held up his pudgy hands, which were covered with latex gloves. "Part of the uniform, you know."
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Xavier nodded. "Understood, Dr. Tom."
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"Have you finished the autopsy?" Walsh piped up, eyeing the slab. A white sheet covered a lump that lay on the steel table.
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Tom followed her stare. "Just about," he replied. His fingers lifted the corners of the sheet hesitantly. "I've heard of things like this, but never I have actually seen it myself---in all my years in Bayville. This kind of stuff happens in big cities, doesn't it? I mean, the amount mutilation done to the body.. It's also quite sad to see this on someone so young, mutant or not."
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Walsh nodded sympathetically. "I know, Tom. Doesn't get any easier the longer you're in this business." Her tone communicated empathy, but at the same time, a pragmatic, no nonsense approach to the situation.
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Tom pressed his thin lips together and pulled the sheet down, stopping at the girl's waist. "Our Jane Doe is five-foot-three and a hundred pounds, and is between the ages of 14 and 15 years of age. Other than her skin, which indicates she was a mutant, there was nothing out of the ordinary about her anatomically speaking. She appears to have died between the hours of 10 to 11 pm. This was confirmed by the amount of digestion of the stomach contents. The girl didn't go hungry for her last night---hamburger and French fries.
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"Even though we're still waiting on toxicology screens to come back, I highly doubt drugs or alcohol were involved. The overall conditions of the organs appear to suggest clean living, but I'm going to check to make sure. Also, negative on sexual assault. I combed for hairs and searched for semen. The hymen was completely intact."
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Walsh impassively gazed down at the corpse. "Cause of death?" she asked.
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"Murder by asphyxiation," Tom answered, pointing to the series of purplish- black bruises around the girl's gray neck. "Whoever did it was strong. Cracked her windpipe completely. Usually, when we see these kinds of things, perpetrator often uses an instrument to invoke strangulation, like a piece of taut cloth. The killer used his bare hands and applied a great deal of force. However, he it took him at least two tries to choke her to death.
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"Anyway, she put up a struggle, which explains the facial injuries. I scraped the cuts around her forehead and samples from her hair and managed to extract some rocks and dirt. I'm waiting for CSU to match the specimens to those taken from the crime scene. My working theory is that she was thrown to the ground during the struggle face first and that she was killed where you guys found her. After she was pulled down on her front, she was flipped over on her back where she was finally strangled. There's no indication I can find that her body was moved.
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"However, this does not explain the mutilations," he continued, pointing to the missing section of skin on the girl's forehead and then lifting one of her hands to display the missing epidermal layer. "The killer used a very precise cutting instrument to remove the skin and was quite skilled. Never hit a vein or other major blood vessel. While there was bleeding, it was not as much as it could have been. The person probably had intimate knowledge of the human body, what to cut to inflict the least amount of bleeding."
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"Do you know what kind of weapon we're looking at?" Walsh asked.
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Tom shook his head. "No. Maybe a scalpel or a penknife? I don't know for sure. All I can tell you is that the cuts were clean and that they were done post-mortem." He cleared his throat. "I scraped for fibers from the body and turned up nothing. Ditto for the clothing. I could not find anything that would indicate the presence of another person. Again, no hairs, no fibers to speak of. The killer was very thorough in making sure not to leave trace of his existence."
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Professor Xavier gazed grimly at the corpse, finding himself almost overwhelmed with disgust for the killer. This child was made to suffer a brutal, violent death for no apparent reason. Sorrow washed over him as he continued to stare at the empty vessel before him. He shook his head somberly. Times like this often made him question his philosophy regarding peaceful coexistence between humans and mutants. How could there be when things like this happen?
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Walsh raised her brows expectantly at Tom. "Anything else?"
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"Nope. Other than the toxicology results, I'm done." Tom nodded. "I'll get my final report printed out later on today."
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She peered over at the despondent-looking Professor before giving the medical examiner an appreciative look. "Thanks, Tom."
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He began to saunter away from the slab and towards the sinks, pulling off his gloves. "No problem. Listen, I have to run upstairs for a little bit, in case anyone's looking form. Are you going to be here for a while?"
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"Yeah. Do you need for us to lock up for you?"
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"No, nothing like that. Just in case anyone's looking for me, is all."
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"You got it, Tom."
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"Thanks, Walsh."
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After the medical examiner left, Walsh turned to Xavier. "Well, Professor. I've brought you here and you're with her. Now, what can you tell me?"
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Professor Xavier frowned thoughtfully. He then wheeled himself closer to the steel slab where the body lay. Without another word, he placed his hands around the girl's head, careful not to touch her. Then he closed his eyes, concentrating. He had actually never scanned the mind of a deceased person before. Back in the detective's office, he had been merely testing the detective to see how far she would allow him to go. But there was a first time for everything.
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Flashes of light burst in front of his eyes. Xavier was almost dizzy from the vivid images that played out rapidly in his mind's eye. He squeezed his eyes close tight in concentration. There was a part of him that wanted to get all the information he could from the young girl, but at the same time, he found himself deathly afraid of what she was telling him.
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Suddenly, he jerked back into the present time, almost falling out his wheelchair. Detective Walsh raced to his side to catch him. When she saw that this was not necessary, she backed away and stared at him curiously. The Professor rubbed his temples nervously and opened his eyes to the cherubic countenance of the detective.
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"Did you find out anything?" she asked.
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The Professor struggled for a moment to regain his composure after the experience. He winced slightly. "Her name is Claire Novak," he announced. "She was a runaway mutant.. No family to speak of here; parents died before her mutant powers developed. Claire could project flashes of light from her hands and her forehead."
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Walsh watched the Professor's aged face suddenly take on a youthful light as he talked. It was eerie, seeing him channel the memories of the dead girl before them. The look of desperation and now fear played out in his features.
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"She was scouring the dumpsters outside of the Burger Hut on Main and Elm for something to eat the night she died," he continued, his voice flat. She ate and then started looking for a place to sleep. And she's walking away from the restaurant. She is tired and wants to sleep so badly. She remembers the old, abandoned factory a couple of blocks from where she is standing. She decides to go there. It is cold and raining now.
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"She is about to go into one of the buildings. There is an open door that has not been boarded up yet. But she stops because someone is calling out her name. How could they know her name? No one in Bayville knows her. She is nobody.
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"She approaches the person outside of the building. She knows the person. She.."
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Then the Professor grabbed the sides of head, his face filled with anguish.
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I I don't want to die! It hurts! Stop it! Why are you doing this to me? Helpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpme! Pleaseohpleaseohplease! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH! I can't breathe! I can't. I can't.. Someone help.. Someone..Someone. /I
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Black.
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Xavier slumped over in his wheelchair, exhausted. The anguish and terror in the girl's mind echoed in his own. He had seen and heard death in the most violent form. From his reaction, the experience shook him to his core.
Here's another installment. Enjoy.
And for feedback---please, please, please!
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"I don't know if this is a good idea," Logan growled, wheeling Professor Xavier into the Bayville police department. He raised a brow at the inquisitive stares of the officers and then stared straight ahead. "What makes you think they're going to let you help?"
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The Professor smiled up at his old friend reassuringly. "Ye of little faith," he said. "As you said earlier, the department here is stretched thin. They could use all the help they could get."
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Logan gave him a skeptical look, but said nothing more. Instead, he stopped at the information desk. Nodding a greeting at the pudgy, middle- aged officer sipping his black coffee, he drawled, "We have an appointment with Detective Walsh."
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The officer stroked his rounded chin, pale eyes peering at both of them warily. "And you are?"
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Professor Xavier offered a kindly smile. "Charles Xavier. She's expecting me."
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"Oh, right," the officer nodded, leaning over his desk slightly to point. "Walsh's office is down that hall and the last one to the right."
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Professor Xavier waving for Logan to follow him in his wheelchair. "Thank you."
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The two of them made their way down the long corridor, coffee and cigarettes mixing in the air. While Logan was clearly not pleased to be there, the Professor seemed fascinated. Having never been in any criminal institutional setting, he studied his new surroundings carefully. The two rounded the corner. Within moments, they were standing outside of a door, marked WALSH.
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Just as Logan was about to rap at the door with an adamantium-filled fist, a soft voice intoned, "Can I help you?"
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Both men turned around, Logan on his feet, the Professor in his chair. A small, young woman stood before them, holding a cup of coffee. Her copper hair framed her cherubic face in a stylish, layered bob while dark eyes surveyed the two men behind wire-rimmed glasses. She looked very young, possibly in her mid-twenties at least, which was emphasized by the fact that she was wearing heavy make-up. It was almost as if she were attempting to compensate for her youthful appearance. While she was small in build, the young woman chose to wear rather bulky clothing---an oversized, cream-colored cardigan with toggle buttons and chinos with brown hiking boots.
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"Detective Walsh," Professor Xavier greeted, extending a hand. "I'm Professor Charles Xavier. We talked on the phone this morning."
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She shook his hand firmly, her own hand cool and dry. "Yes. Nice to meet you." Her dark eyes flicked over to Logan who was leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his muscular chest. She raised her thin brows expectantly. "And this is?"
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"My associate, Logan," Professor Xavier replied, giving the other man an encouraging nod to speak.
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"Detective." Logan's gravelly voice was low. He offered his hand, his expression one of wariness.
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Walsh shook it hesitantly, giving him a quizzical look before walking to her door and opening it. "Come on in," she told them, taking a sip of coffee. She made a face as she closed the door behind them. "Bleecch. Needs more sugar."
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Logan settled into one of the wooden chairs across the detective's pressboard desk. The walls were painted a faded shade of cream, which was consistent with the rest of the station. A commendation plaque hung on the far wall where the Professor was sitting along with the detective's college diploma in psychology from the state university. Other than those two personal items, the office was rather cold and sterile. No pictures, no knickknacks---nothing that would have spoke any further as to what the detective was like personally. He saw a desk calendar with scribbles on each day for this month. Meanwhile, piles of file folders were neatly stacked on the corner of her desk, next to her nameplate.
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Walsh sat behind her desk and slipped off her glasses. She looked like a child, playing a role of police officer. "So you would like to offer your services to our department?" she asked the Professor.
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The Professor nodded emphatically. "Yes, from our conversation earlier, I understand that your department might not be able to offer full resources to certain crimes, such as the murder that took place the night before."
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"That's not an official position," the detective quickly replied. "Solving any crime is important. Yes, we're a bit understaffed at the moment, but that doesn't change the department's commitment to this town."
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The Professor nonchalantly waved his hand. "Of course, detective. It's just that since that the victim was a mutant, I would imagine that the case would have to be handled a little differently."
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Walsh narrowed her eyes, feeling that she had just been talked down to. She shook her head as she stared into the kindly eyes of the bald man in the wheelchair. He didn't seem to be capable of something like that. She decided to evade the issue again. "Professor, we're not even sure if this murder stemmed from the fact that our victim was a mutant. It could have been totally random. At this point, we don't really know."
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"But the young woman could be visibly identified as a mutant?"
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"Yes. It was obvious that she was."
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"You also do realize that mutants have been recently targeted since being exposed several months ago. It is not uncommon to hear about mutants being harassed on a day-to-day basis."
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"I believe that the Bayville police department has provided adequate security for both your Institute and the Brotherhood boarding house. This was especially true following the initial exposure of your students to the rest of the world."
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"Even so, detective, there's no denying the anti-mutant sentiment in town. Perhaps, it has pushed someone over the edge. To the extent that they actually take a life."
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"Perhaps. But what you are proposing is a theory right now. There is nothing that we have, indicating you are correct."
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"True. However, what is the department doing to follow up any leads?"
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There was a long pause. Walsh did not want to repeat word-for-word what the chief had told her earlier that morning. She was afraid she might offend the two men in the room, whom she concluded were mutants given their interest in the case. "Let's say that mutants aren't at the top of our list," she finally said.
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Logan grunted, scowling.
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The detective frowned at him. Then she turned to the Professor and asked, "So, what are you offering that goes beyond my department's existing resources besides manpower, Professor Xavier? As much as I'd like to take you up on your offer, I really don't have time to supervise someone who wants to pretend to play policeman for a day."
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Her gaze then went to the scowling Logan and she commented, "And his trusty sidekick."
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The Professor inhaled sharply. "Fair enough, detective," he said quietly. "Have you identified the girl yet?"
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Walsh shook her head. "No. We weren't able to obtain fingerprints from the body, so we're only working with dental records and photographs. Bayville hasn't had a missing person case of a teenaged, mutant girl, so she's not local that we know of. So, the records and photographs were sent to other jurisdictions' missing person departments, as well the state police department. I just sent in information to a national database--- VICAP---this morning. Right now, all we can do is wait. In the meantime, I'm waiting for our medical examiner to complete the autopsy."
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Logan raised a brow at her. "And nothing was found at the crime scene?"
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"CSU combed the area twice. Nothing. Whoever did it made sure not to leave any trace as to who they were or who our victim was. A preliminary examination of the body revealed nothing as well. Her fingernails and clothing were devoid of any foreign fibers, hairs, skin, and so forth." Walsh sounded very matter-of-fact.
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The Professor's mouth was set in a grim line. "Perhaps I can be of some assistance in identifying the girl."
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Logan gave him a silencing look, shaking his head. I What are you doing, Chuck? /I Evidently, he was not on board with what Xavier was about to say.
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I It is all right, my friend,/I Xavier responded telepathically. He then turned to the detective, who appeared to be confused regarding the nonverbal exchange that took place in front of the two men.
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"How would you propose to do that?" Walsh inquired skeptically. She was now playing with her coffee cup, but not consuming the hot, bitter liquid inside.
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The Professor leaned forward and folded his hands. "I could possibly help, using my psychic abilities." He paused and then said, "I would need to see the girl, of course."
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Walsh stopped fiddling with the cup. "That's not exactly within our standard operating procedures, Professor," she quipped. Then she became serious. "I'm not sure if I could allow you to do that. The medical examiner.."
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"I would not need to touch her," he pointed out. "Just be close enough to her in order to scan her mind."
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"Or what's left of it," Logan added under his breath. He was slightly surprised that Xavier's powers extended to nonliving beings.
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The young detective leaned back in her chair, mulling over the proposal carefully. If she said yes and gave the Professor Carte blanche to do what he wanted on this case, there was a very good chance she could be flipping burgers at the local diner this time tomorrow. However, if she declined she could very likely be looking at an unsolved case with no starting point to the investigation. Not that there was any pressure from the chief to find out who killed the girl, or anyone else for that matter. Well, anyone except for the two mutants sitting across from her.
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Yet, Walsh was known for being a risk-taker. That was why she had decided to pursue a career in law enforcement. Flying in the face of convention was something she tended to relish. It also helped her in solving cases and consequently, getting promoted to detective.
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There might be a chance that the Professor could be of some assistance. She would never know unless she accepted. If she were to say yes, things would have to be handled very discreetly. Walsh decided to place some caveats to her answer.
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Finally, she pursed her fleshy lips and said, "Well, if you don't mind the smell in the coroner's office or what you're about to see after the M.E. has done the autopsy, you can pay a visit to our Jane Doe. However, I'm going to have to stipulate that only you, Professor, be allowed inside. Mr. Logan will have to wait outside of the crime scene lab area. We don't want to attract too much attention."
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Logan's eyes flashed briefly under his stony brows. Usually, he did not like leaving the Professor's side. He peered over at the child-faced detective, who appeared to be the antithesis of threatening. His brows knitted together, demonstrating how unhappy he was about the idea. However, he decided not to voice his objections. In the end, the kid was doing them a favor. He might as well go along with it.
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The office of Bayview's medical examiner was located in the basement of the police station. During the elevator ride down, Walsh informed Xavier and Logan how it was often referred to as "The Cellar". When they finally reached the floor it was located on, both men could not help but to agree. The area was dimly lit thanks to blinking fluorescent lighting overhead. A mixture of preserving chemicals and dead flesh wafted faintly in the air, which was undetectable to normal humans but quite strong for Logan, who cursed his sense of smell. The air was quite cold, adding to the forbidding, morbid atmosphere. With the exception of some voices from the crime scene laboratory, there was an eerie stillness to the basement. It almost as if the floor were trying to give the dead some sense of peace despite unnatural manner in which they died.
P
Not knowing the experience of death himself, Logan could not help but to feel somewhat apprehensive as he took in his new surroundings. He wasn't especially squeamish about being in the same area as various corpses. After all, he had fought in several wars where fallen comrades often surrounded him in the battlefields. He had the unfortunate experience to witness others meet their fate in horrific ways. Logan surmised his uneasiness might have stemmed from his own existential discomfort.
P
Walsh led them to a set of double, steel doors at the end of the hallway. She pointed to a row of chairs several feet away and turned to Logan. Like most of the station, these were unadorned. "You sit and wait there, Mr. Logan," she told him. "Sorry there's no reading material to keep you busy. Usually, people don't like to stay here for very long."
P
I Smart-ass, /I he thought, resisting the urge to snarl at her deadpanned expression. I Kids get mouthier and mouthier these days. /I Wordlessly, he sank into a wooden chair, hunching his shoulders. He glared at the signs that seemed to be all around him, reminding him of biohazards in the area, to wash his hands before and after coming to the coroner's office, not to enter unless he was authorized personnel, and not to remove anything from the area.
P
Walsh, who had thrown on a camel pea coat in her office before going to the basement, reached out and hit the button for the automatic doors. As they opened, she motioned for the Professor to wheel in front of her. She followed close behind, taking out a bottle of Purel from her chino pocket and rubbing a small amount in her hands. She offered some to the Professor who gratefully obliged.
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"Walsh, my favorite detective." A booming voice greeted. "Back so soon?"
P
Walsh grinned, pausing in front of the double sinks by the doors. "Yeah, Tom. I've recruited some help in trying to find out who our Jane Doe is." She nodded down at Professor Xavier. "Dr. Frank Tom, this is Professor Charles Xavier. He'll be consulting on our Jane Doe case. Professor, this is Dr. Tom, our M.E."
P
Dr. Tom was a round, middle-aged man of Chinese descent with a head of thick, raven-black hair and a beard to match. His almond-shaped eyes were reflective behind horn-rimmed glasses, which was in contrast to his expressionless mouth. A standard white lab coat over aqua surgical scrubs draped over the medical examiner's chubby frame. When he moved away from the stainless steel examining slab to greet the two visitors, his actions were slow and deliberate.
P
"It is nice to meet you, Professor," Dr. Tom drawled, "I'd shake hands with you, but.." He held up his pudgy hands, which were covered with latex gloves. "Part of the uniform, you know."
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Xavier nodded. "Understood, Dr. Tom."
P
"Have you finished the autopsy?" Walsh piped up, eyeing the slab. A white sheet covered a lump that lay on the steel table.
P
Tom followed her stare. "Just about," he replied. His fingers lifted the corners of the sheet hesitantly. "I've heard of things like this, but never I have actually seen it myself---in all my years in Bayville. This kind of stuff happens in big cities, doesn't it? I mean, the amount mutilation done to the body.. It's also quite sad to see this on someone so young, mutant or not."
P
Walsh nodded sympathetically. "I know, Tom. Doesn't get any easier the longer you're in this business." Her tone communicated empathy, but at the same time, a pragmatic, no nonsense approach to the situation.
P
Tom pressed his thin lips together and pulled the sheet down, stopping at the girl's waist. "Our Jane Doe is five-foot-three and a hundred pounds, and is between the ages of 14 and 15 years of age. Other than her skin, which indicates she was a mutant, there was nothing out of the ordinary about her anatomically speaking. She appears to have died between the hours of 10 to 11 pm. This was confirmed by the amount of digestion of the stomach contents. The girl didn't go hungry for her last night---hamburger and French fries.
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"Even though we're still waiting on toxicology screens to come back, I highly doubt drugs or alcohol were involved. The overall conditions of the organs appear to suggest clean living, but I'm going to check to make sure. Also, negative on sexual assault. I combed for hairs and searched for semen. The hymen was completely intact."
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Walsh impassively gazed down at the corpse. "Cause of death?" she asked.
P
"Murder by asphyxiation," Tom answered, pointing to the series of purplish- black bruises around the girl's gray neck. "Whoever did it was strong. Cracked her windpipe completely. Usually, when we see these kinds of things, perpetrator often uses an instrument to invoke strangulation, like a piece of taut cloth. The killer used his bare hands and applied a great deal of force. However, he it took him at least two tries to choke her to death.
P
"Anyway, she put up a struggle, which explains the facial injuries. I scraped the cuts around her forehead and samples from her hair and managed to extract some rocks and dirt. I'm waiting for CSU to match the specimens to those taken from the crime scene. My working theory is that she was thrown to the ground during the struggle face first and that she was killed where you guys found her. After she was pulled down on her front, she was flipped over on her back where she was finally strangled. There's no indication I can find that her body was moved.
P
"However, this does not explain the mutilations," he continued, pointing to the missing section of skin on the girl's forehead and then lifting one of her hands to display the missing epidermal layer. "The killer used a very precise cutting instrument to remove the skin and was quite skilled. Never hit a vein or other major blood vessel. While there was bleeding, it was not as much as it could have been. The person probably had intimate knowledge of the human body, what to cut to inflict the least amount of bleeding."
P
"Do you know what kind of weapon we're looking at?" Walsh asked.
P
Tom shook his head. "No. Maybe a scalpel or a penknife? I don't know for sure. All I can tell you is that the cuts were clean and that they were done post-mortem." He cleared his throat. "I scraped for fibers from the body and turned up nothing. Ditto for the clothing. I could not find anything that would indicate the presence of another person. Again, no hairs, no fibers to speak of. The killer was very thorough in making sure not to leave trace of his existence."
P
Professor Xavier gazed grimly at the corpse, finding himself almost overwhelmed with disgust for the killer. This child was made to suffer a brutal, violent death for no apparent reason. Sorrow washed over him as he continued to stare at the empty vessel before him. He shook his head somberly. Times like this often made him question his philosophy regarding peaceful coexistence between humans and mutants. How could there be when things like this happen?
P
Walsh raised her brows expectantly at Tom. "Anything else?"
P
"Nope. Other than the toxicology results, I'm done." Tom nodded. "I'll get my final report printed out later on today."
P
She peered over at the despondent-looking Professor before giving the medical examiner an appreciative look. "Thanks, Tom."
P
He began to saunter away from the slab and towards the sinks, pulling off his gloves. "No problem. Listen, I have to run upstairs for a little bit, in case anyone's looking form. Are you going to be here for a while?"
P
"Yeah. Do you need for us to lock up for you?"
P
"No, nothing like that. Just in case anyone's looking for me, is all."
P
"You got it, Tom."
P
"Thanks, Walsh."
P
After the medical examiner left, Walsh turned to Xavier. "Well, Professor. I've brought you here and you're with her. Now, what can you tell me?"
P
Professor Xavier frowned thoughtfully. He then wheeled himself closer to the steel slab where the body lay. Without another word, he placed his hands around the girl's head, careful not to touch her. Then he closed his eyes, concentrating. He had actually never scanned the mind of a deceased person before. Back in the detective's office, he had been merely testing the detective to see how far she would allow him to go. But there was a first time for everything.
P
Flashes of light burst in front of his eyes. Xavier was almost dizzy from the vivid images that played out rapidly in his mind's eye. He squeezed his eyes close tight in concentration. There was a part of him that wanted to get all the information he could from the young girl, but at the same time, he found himself deathly afraid of what she was telling him.
P
Suddenly, he jerked back into the present time, almost falling out his wheelchair. Detective Walsh raced to his side to catch him. When she saw that this was not necessary, she backed away and stared at him curiously. The Professor rubbed his temples nervously and opened his eyes to the cherubic countenance of the detective.
P
"Did you find out anything?" she asked.
P
The Professor struggled for a moment to regain his composure after the experience. He winced slightly. "Her name is Claire Novak," he announced. "She was a runaway mutant.. No family to speak of here; parents died before her mutant powers developed. Claire could project flashes of light from her hands and her forehead."
P
Walsh watched the Professor's aged face suddenly take on a youthful light as he talked. It was eerie, seeing him channel the memories of the dead girl before them. The look of desperation and now fear played out in his features.
P
"She was scouring the dumpsters outside of the Burger Hut on Main and Elm for something to eat the night she died," he continued, his voice flat. She ate and then started looking for a place to sleep. And she's walking away from the restaurant. She is tired and wants to sleep so badly. She remembers the old, abandoned factory a couple of blocks from where she is standing. She decides to go there. It is cold and raining now.
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"She is about to go into one of the buildings. There is an open door that has not been boarded up yet. But she stops because someone is calling out her name. How could they know her name? No one in Bayville knows her. She is nobody.
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"She approaches the person outside of the building. She knows the person. She.."
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Then the Professor grabbed the sides of head, his face filled with anguish.
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I I don't want to die! It hurts! Stop it! Why are you doing this to me? Helpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpme! Pleaseohpleaseohplease! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH! I can't breathe! I can't. I can't.. Someone help.. Someone..Someone. /I
P
Black.
P
Xavier slumped over in his wheelchair, exhausted. The anguish and terror in the girl's mind echoed in his own. He had seen and heard death in the most violent form. From his reaction, the experience shook him to his core.