Steve threw another nickel into the coffee jar, working on cup number three this afternoon. They'd been back in the office since just after one, doing some preliminary research on currents and where exactly their body could have come from.
There was little value in digging deeper into the matter until they heard back from Ed Randolph on his findings. With a high probability that their latest case was nothing but a macabre joke, played by some disturbed individual and punishable as a misdemeanor only; Steve was using the extra office time to organize his files a bit better and updating his rolodex with the names and phone numbers of new contacts.
Mike had spent all afternoon sitting in his office so far, quietly pondering away, barely ever looking up from his files and only moving to refill his coffee or go to the bathroom. Unusually silent, like he'd been earlier in the night, Steve couldn't shake off the growing worry over his otherwise cheerful and bright-eyed partner.
Leaning back, the young Inspector ran a hand through his wavy brown hair, absent-mindedly looking down at his apricot dress shirt and the black and silver tie, one of the last Christmas gifts he'd received from his grandfather before he passed away.
With nobody else in the office except for the two detectives, he was left to ponder about the meaning of a holiday he loved so much as a child, and learned to resent later on in life more than any other day of the year. Religious and political reasons aside, the sheer mentioning of get-togethers and gift exchanges bothered him, despite the fact that Steve considered himself quite social.
There was something about the profound meaninglessness of Christmas that he couldn't stand. People who thought that a month of niceties would erase any wrongdoings of the past; that the proverbial forgiveness of sins could be accomplished by being kind to each other for a select few days in December, just to start the spiral of viciousness and carelessness all over again come next year.
On the other side of the spectrum was Mike, a guy who, for all intents and purposes, lived by his faith every single day. A man who, as far as Steve was qualified to judge, had read the teachings of the bible thoroughly and tried to abide by them in every possible way. A man who exuded grace and mercy in everything he said or did, and who was comfortable enough in his faith to respect others who didn't share it.
Mike Stone was a man who had proven beyond a reasonable doubt that he was willing to lay his own life on the line to save that of others, most of all the life of his partner on more than one occasion. And beyond Steve's bitterness about Christmas and its long-lost meaning, perhaps there was something to learn from the seasoned Lieutenant, when it came to standing up for what one believed in and doing good…instead of preaching it.
Steve was ripped out of his daydreams when a warm hand appeared on his shoulder, squeezing it tightly. Having sensed his tense brooding, Mike had gotten up from his chair and leaned against the young Inspector's desk now, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and keeping the other one on his shoulder like an emotional phone line connecting their thoughts.
The warm touch helped ease his worries that afternoon and gave way to something quite profound that had become second nature between the two of them over the years. It was their uncanny ability to know what the other partner was thinking about without ever having to ask.
Somehow, they just knew.
"I remember one Christmas when I was volunteering as an Altar Boy…", the Lieutenant began and smiled softly, "A week before the Christmas Eve Mass, I came down with this horrible, horrible head cold. I was maybe fifteen, sixteen years old. And I swear to you, it got worse by the day. So when it was time for Mass, the entire two hours I stood in front of the congregation, nobody heard a word Father Malcolm was saying. Even when we were singing the hymns, I was wheezing so loudly that it echoed through the whole church. When we were carrying the little Baby Jesus doll around that was supposed to get escorted to the manger we set up on the other side of the altar, I almost dropped it during a coughing spill. It was so awful…but for some reason, it made for the funniest story ever. My dad would always bring it up when we were eating dinner on Christmas Eve…"
Steve grinned, his mind imagining a sickish young Mike Stone dressed in a cassock interrupting church service. His own inconspicuous youth didn't shine a candle to Mike's adventurous life pre-police force; but yet again, he was amazed at how the two of them, such vastly different characters, somehow clicked.
Heck, half the time it felt as they were actually drawn to each other.
Looking up at his partner, seeing Mike's navy-blue suit, that red and black tie, the black vest to keep him warm on that chilly day in December, Steve was in awe at how their relationship had developed in four short years. Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined working side by side with one of his role models, and yet, it had happened. And despite their obvious differences, both physically as well as psychologically, it was their unwavering devotion to justice and their faith in humanity that glued them together, turning them into an unbeatable team, a well-oiled machine that defied all the odds in its own strange way.
Mike mirrored the cheeky grin, a slight sparkle returning to his sad blue eyes, and Steve was about to comment, when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. Stepping into the bullpen still dressed in his mint green scrubs was Ed Randolph, a grim expression on his face that warranted no lightheartedness.
Both detectives quickly stood back up and greeted the Coroner halfway through the office.
"Well, that didn't seem to take you too long…", Mike tried and rested a hand on the other man's shoulder, only to see him shrug.
"For a variety of reasons, fellas, none of which I am too excited about at this point…that's why I came up here… figured it'd be easier than to tell you over the phone."
Steve decided to remain quiet and followed the two friends back into Mike's office, before leaning against the gray file cabinet. Running a nervous hand down his tie, he waited until Randolph caught his breath and shook his head in distress.
"So, the practical joke theory is out, for the time being…or so I believe…but you guys are the detectives…"
Mike and Steve shared a distraught glance. In the end, it was the Lieutenant who spoke up, a deeply engrained worry in his voice.
"What do you mean?"
Both detectives stood in tense silence, crossing their arms over their chest, eyeing the ME with a level of intense focus only found in seasoned police officers capable of sensing trouble approaching a mile away.
"Well, before I even found my final proof, I called up a few of my friends just to check if they had a body matching ours in their database. As it turns out, we're not the only ones working on Christmas. At any rate, none of them had a body matching it in their morgue and nothing was in our Coroner's files either."
Steve glanced up when Ed said those words, meeting Mike's somber eyes and the foreboding intuition of what they'd hear next.
"As I began to go over the body, I noticed some incision marks along the distal phalanges that were almost hidden by decomp and scavenging activity. Almost, that is. Cutting instrument matches a number 15 scalpel. And this is interesting because the incisions made on our victims' torso were made with a more traditional number 10 scalpel."
Raising a hand to slow the ME down, Mike smiled faintly, as he rubbed his fingers together theatrically.
"Okay…okay, slow down a second please. If I understand you correctly, you are saying the finger tips were cut off?"
Ed nodded eagerly and stood up to take Mike's hand in his own, before running his thumb along the inside of his fingertips.
"Only the parts used for prints…cut off right here…on every single finger."
"Hold it, that doesn't make any sense…", Steve interrupted and stepped closer to the desk to join the other men, "Why go through all the trouble of removing fingertips to make ID'ing the victim harder, when we can do it with dental records just as easy. Did he remove the teeth also? It didn't look that way to me…"
Smiling in appreciation at the young Inspector's eagerness, Ed nodded, before pointing his chin at the file he'd placed onto the guest chair.
"He didn't need to. I don't think there are any dental records on this guy, Stephen."
Looking back up at Mike who raised his eyebrows and shrugged, the young Inspector stood there for a second, letting the words sink in before meeting Ed's eyes again.
"You are saying he's never been to a dentist?"
"See, that's what I love about you two. You are actually using your brains to think and put clues together. Can't say that about half of my lab crew on days like today…", the ME mumbled grouchily, only to have Mike interrupt.
"Let's not get sidetracked, Ed…you are saying that we have no way of identifying our John Doe at this point?"
Shaking his head, the ME reached for the file before resurfacing the image of their victim's torso and the Y-shaped incision covering most of it.
"Mike, at this point I am not even 100% sure on time or cause of death, but I do have a pretty good hunch and we'll see to it as soon as the toxicology results are back. But here are the things I am sure of. Somebody wanted to hide his identity. And I think the reason behind that is because our body didn't come from a morgue. This wasn't an autopsy being performed on a dead body, even though it looked that way initially. This guy, fellas, had his vital organs surgically removed…more than likely while he was still alive."