WARNING: This section is a bit graphic...if you have a weak stomach, read with caution.
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Approximately 1237
Alleyway behind The Fiddler's Green Pub
Newport News, VI
Harm and Mac ducked under the yellow crime scene tape that blocked off the alley, following a silent Mercedes. In fact, the trip down had been silent, except for the terse instructions that had been issued upon arrival.
"All right. Let me take the lead. Stay back, and keep your eyes open," Mercedes had stated as she retrieved a case from the back of the car. Handing them each a pair of rubber gloves, she added, "Wear these, just in case. If you see something, get me or one of the techs. We'll handle it from there."
Harm took the proffered gloves and passed a pair to Mac. "You know, we have done this before," he told CD, with just the slightest note of irritation in his voice.
"I didn't mean to imply you hadn't," CD stated amicably. "But I have a feeling this may be a bit out of your depth. Hell, it may be a bit out of mine."
"What do you mean by that?" Mac asked, keeping her voice level.
Intended or not, she and Harm weren't rookies, and didn't appreciate being treated as such.
Mercedes retrieved her kit and shut the back of the car before turning to them. She didn't have time for this. "Look. This case is bad even by my standards, and I've been doing this for several years now. I know you haven't seen the photos from the other scenes," she commented to Mac, before turning to Harm, "but have you?"
"Some of them," he admitted. "Mostly I went from the reports, though."
"Yeah, well, even then, looking at the pictures is different from being there. And I have it on good authority that these scenes are worse, for one reason. The heat." Both officers still looked at her with stony expressions. "Fine, whatever. Let's go."
That was several minutes ago, and Mac was beginning to reconsider CD's warnings. This was quickly becoming one of the worst scenes she'd been at, and they hadn't even made it to the body yet. The combined smells of rotting trash, vomit, and urine were made even worse by the heat, but now, they were almost to the body, and the sickly sweet scent of decomposing flesh left her fighting the impulse to retch. A glance at Harm told her he was having similar problems. Mercedes, however, seemed unbothered, instead focused on the job ahead.
They reached the back of the building, finding another detective and two other crimialists already at work. The detective looked up at their approach. "Hey, CD. Got another one for ya."
"Gee, thanks a million, Dave. Just what my morning needed," she replied sarcastically, then gestured behind her. "Dave Halliday, my JAG cohorts, Commander Harmon Rabb and Lt. Col. Sarah MacKenzie." Introductions over, she got to work. "Okay, Dave, what'd we have so far?" she asked, moving to photograph the body with a camera pulled from the case.
"Margaret Stride, age 34." Mercedes knelt next to the victim as Dave began his recital. "Married, two kids. Husband's a civilian contractor at one of the local bases. Last seen around 9:00 PM last night--was on her way to check on a neighbor's cat."
"Uh-hunh. And the body was found when?"
"Shortly after 10 this morning. Cleaning crew was taking out the trash and found her."
"Right. Let's see what we've got." Mercedes stood and began her inspection of the body, pulling out a camera and snapping off shots.
Margaret Stride was lying on her back, dressed in a long t-shirt dress and sandals. Her head was turned to the left, displaying the vicious gash across her neck. Her limbs were at odd angles to her body, giving the impression of a discarded, broken doll. But the large puddle of congealed blood under the body left no doubt this had once been a human being.
Mercedes put the camera away, and again knelt by the body. "Definitely killed here," she commented, moving to the lower half of the body. "Dave," she asked, "I thought you said this was like the others.... but there's no abdominal mutilation?"
"Nope. But the MO's the same, and given that we found the other only a few blocks over, we thought it's the same guy. Figured he got interrupted here, and then started fresh with the next vic."
"Makes sense," Mercedes replied, her eyes never leaving the victim's body. "Wait. What's in her hand?"
Mac looked. Sure enough, the victim's right hand was clenched around something. "Dunno," the detective replied. "We saw it, but I figured I'd leave it for you."
"Awww...I didn't know you cared," she shot back sarcastically, then motioned to Harm. "Hey. Come here. I'm gonna need some help with this."
Harm was fighting a battle with his stomach as he bent down next to
Mercedes. He thought he had a strong stomach; after all, he was fighter pilot, and this was hardly the first dead body he'd had to deal with. But God Almighty, the stench..... "Help with what?" he asked.
"Prying open her hand. I want to see what's there. Here, like this," she instructed, placing Harm's gloved hands into position; one on the wrist, the other curled under the fingertips. "When I say so, try to pull back the fingers--firmly but gently," she told him, pulling out a pair of forceps. "Don't want to break any bones if we don't have to......alright, now."
Harm pulled, and CD reached in and grabbed the package with the forceps. "Got it," she announced, then looked over at Harm, who looked like the definition of the phrase 'green around the gills'. A quick look at Mac made it clear she probably wasn't much better off. "Umm, why don't you two go back to the car and catch some fresh air. I don't have too much more to do here, and I'll catch up with you in a bit."
As they watched the two officers make their way out, noticeably fighting for control, Dave snorted, "Rookies."
"Aw, lay off. You gotta admit, this is pretty high on the vileness scale," Mercedes defended, dropping the paper package she'd retrieved from the body into a plastic evidence bag. "Besides, being used to this stuff isn't exactly something to be proud of."
"You've got a point. So what'd ya find?" the detective asked.
She held up the bag. "'Loudon's Authentic Sweetmeats'. Looks like some sort of fancy candy. I swear, this case gets weirder and weirder."
********************************
About twenty minutes later, CD returned to the car to find both officers looking better. "Hey, you two," she greeted wearily, "I don't supposed you're ready for contestant number two?"
They looked at each other grimly before Harm answered. "Yeah. let's go," he said flatly. Both Mac and CD could tell he was trying to stay detached from the case, but not necessarily succeeding. Mac herself was fighting a similar battle.
Mercedes began checking and refilling her kit from spare supplies in the car--she knew she'd likely need the whole thing for the next scene. Back to them both, she said quietly, "You know, it's not a sign of weakness. Being bothered by it, getting ill. Just means you're human. And nothing prepares you for it. Trust me."
"It didn't bother you," Mac observed, as CD finished and they all moved to get in the car.
"Sometimes I wish it did. Like I told Dave, it's not a skill to be proud of. And besides, that's not necessarily true. It just gets to me in a different way."
Harm spoke up, after a glance at Mac. "What do you mean?"
Mercedes continued to look away, focusing on the car as she put it in gear. "First and foremost, I have to look at a body for what it can tell me, and only for what it can tell me. I can't get distracted, or I might miss something important. Critical evidence can be microscopic. But after that...." her voice drifted off. "Well, let's just say I haven't slept really well since college."
"Then why do you do it?" Mac asked.
"The dead can't speak for themselves. Someone has to do it for them. And I do good things, useful things. I give people answers they might not ever get otherwise. Everything else is secondary," she stated.
Mac was still trying to adsorb all this when the car pulled to a stop. "We're here," Mercedes announced, shutting off the engine. "Let's go see what Catherine Eddowes has to tell us."
TBC....
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Approximately 1237
Alleyway behind The Fiddler's Green Pub
Newport News, VI
Harm and Mac ducked under the yellow crime scene tape that blocked off the alley, following a silent Mercedes. In fact, the trip down had been silent, except for the terse instructions that had been issued upon arrival.
"All right. Let me take the lead. Stay back, and keep your eyes open," Mercedes had stated as she retrieved a case from the back of the car. Handing them each a pair of rubber gloves, she added, "Wear these, just in case. If you see something, get me or one of the techs. We'll handle it from there."
Harm took the proffered gloves and passed a pair to Mac. "You know, we have done this before," he told CD, with just the slightest note of irritation in his voice.
"I didn't mean to imply you hadn't," CD stated amicably. "But I have a feeling this may be a bit out of your depth. Hell, it may be a bit out of mine."
"What do you mean by that?" Mac asked, keeping her voice level.
Intended or not, she and Harm weren't rookies, and didn't appreciate being treated as such.
Mercedes retrieved her kit and shut the back of the car before turning to them. She didn't have time for this. "Look. This case is bad even by my standards, and I've been doing this for several years now. I know you haven't seen the photos from the other scenes," she commented to Mac, before turning to Harm, "but have you?"
"Some of them," he admitted. "Mostly I went from the reports, though."
"Yeah, well, even then, looking at the pictures is different from being there. And I have it on good authority that these scenes are worse, for one reason. The heat." Both officers still looked at her with stony expressions. "Fine, whatever. Let's go."
That was several minutes ago, and Mac was beginning to reconsider CD's warnings. This was quickly becoming one of the worst scenes she'd been at, and they hadn't even made it to the body yet. The combined smells of rotting trash, vomit, and urine were made even worse by the heat, but now, they were almost to the body, and the sickly sweet scent of decomposing flesh left her fighting the impulse to retch. A glance at Harm told her he was having similar problems. Mercedes, however, seemed unbothered, instead focused on the job ahead.
They reached the back of the building, finding another detective and two other crimialists already at work. The detective looked up at their approach. "Hey, CD. Got another one for ya."
"Gee, thanks a million, Dave. Just what my morning needed," she replied sarcastically, then gestured behind her. "Dave Halliday, my JAG cohorts, Commander Harmon Rabb and Lt. Col. Sarah MacKenzie." Introductions over, she got to work. "Okay, Dave, what'd we have so far?" she asked, moving to photograph the body with a camera pulled from the case.
"Margaret Stride, age 34." Mercedes knelt next to the victim as Dave began his recital. "Married, two kids. Husband's a civilian contractor at one of the local bases. Last seen around 9:00 PM last night--was on her way to check on a neighbor's cat."
"Uh-hunh. And the body was found when?"
"Shortly after 10 this morning. Cleaning crew was taking out the trash and found her."
"Right. Let's see what we've got." Mercedes stood and began her inspection of the body, pulling out a camera and snapping off shots.
Margaret Stride was lying on her back, dressed in a long t-shirt dress and sandals. Her head was turned to the left, displaying the vicious gash across her neck. Her limbs were at odd angles to her body, giving the impression of a discarded, broken doll. But the large puddle of congealed blood under the body left no doubt this had once been a human being.
Mercedes put the camera away, and again knelt by the body. "Definitely killed here," she commented, moving to the lower half of the body. "Dave," she asked, "I thought you said this was like the others.... but there's no abdominal mutilation?"
"Nope. But the MO's the same, and given that we found the other only a few blocks over, we thought it's the same guy. Figured he got interrupted here, and then started fresh with the next vic."
"Makes sense," Mercedes replied, her eyes never leaving the victim's body. "Wait. What's in her hand?"
Mac looked. Sure enough, the victim's right hand was clenched around something. "Dunno," the detective replied. "We saw it, but I figured I'd leave it for you."
"Awww...I didn't know you cared," she shot back sarcastically, then motioned to Harm. "Hey. Come here. I'm gonna need some help with this."
Harm was fighting a battle with his stomach as he bent down next to
Mercedes. He thought he had a strong stomach; after all, he was fighter pilot, and this was hardly the first dead body he'd had to deal with. But God Almighty, the stench..... "Help with what?" he asked.
"Prying open her hand. I want to see what's there. Here, like this," she instructed, placing Harm's gloved hands into position; one on the wrist, the other curled under the fingertips. "When I say so, try to pull back the fingers--firmly but gently," she told him, pulling out a pair of forceps. "Don't want to break any bones if we don't have to......alright, now."
Harm pulled, and CD reached in and grabbed the package with the forceps. "Got it," she announced, then looked over at Harm, who looked like the definition of the phrase 'green around the gills'. A quick look at Mac made it clear she probably wasn't much better off. "Umm, why don't you two go back to the car and catch some fresh air. I don't have too much more to do here, and I'll catch up with you in a bit."
As they watched the two officers make their way out, noticeably fighting for control, Dave snorted, "Rookies."
"Aw, lay off. You gotta admit, this is pretty high on the vileness scale," Mercedes defended, dropping the paper package she'd retrieved from the body into a plastic evidence bag. "Besides, being used to this stuff isn't exactly something to be proud of."
"You've got a point. So what'd ya find?" the detective asked.
She held up the bag. "'Loudon's Authentic Sweetmeats'. Looks like some sort of fancy candy. I swear, this case gets weirder and weirder."
********************************
About twenty minutes later, CD returned to the car to find both officers looking better. "Hey, you two," she greeted wearily, "I don't supposed you're ready for contestant number two?"
They looked at each other grimly before Harm answered. "Yeah. let's go," he said flatly. Both Mac and CD could tell he was trying to stay detached from the case, but not necessarily succeeding. Mac herself was fighting a similar battle.
Mercedes began checking and refilling her kit from spare supplies in the car--she knew she'd likely need the whole thing for the next scene. Back to them both, she said quietly, "You know, it's not a sign of weakness. Being bothered by it, getting ill. Just means you're human. And nothing prepares you for it. Trust me."
"It didn't bother you," Mac observed, as CD finished and they all moved to get in the car.
"Sometimes I wish it did. Like I told Dave, it's not a skill to be proud of. And besides, that's not necessarily true. It just gets to me in a different way."
Harm spoke up, after a glance at Mac. "What do you mean?"
Mercedes continued to look away, focusing on the car as she put it in gear. "First and foremost, I have to look at a body for what it can tell me, and only for what it can tell me. I can't get distracted, or I might miss something important. Critical evidence can be microscopic. But after that...." her voice drifted off. "Well, let's just say I haven't slept really well since college."
"Then why do you do it?" Mac asked.
"The dead can't speak for themselves. Someone has to do it for them. And I do good things, useful things. I give people answers they might not ever get otherwise. Everything else is secondary," she stated.
Mac was still trying to adsorb all this when the car pulled to a stop. "We're here," Mercedes announced, shutting off the engine. "Let's go see what Catherine Eddowes has to tell us."
TBC....