Ned grimaced as the steel slab that contained the mortal remains of Herman Hawk was rolled out unceremoniously by Emerson. No matter how normal it was for him to see—and interact with—the dead on a regular basis, he still could not get over the more gruesome aspects that came with the job. And staring back at the stiff, it was quite a gruesome site.
The man had been reported being found stark naked, but it was almost impossible to tell for the body was covered head to toe in thick, black tar which when applied boiling hot to the skin had stripped away large chunks of flesh, leaving pieces of it mixed in with the tar and bright yellow feathers.
"That is," Chuck blanched from the putrid smell of burnt flesh and tar. "Disgusting."
Ned nodded.
"Well, go on now." Emerson prodded. "Do your thang."
Slowly Ned reached out towards the body, and after a second of hesitation his finger pressed down onto the tip of the deceased's nose, one of the few visible body parts not obscured by the tar.
Suddenly the man came alive; the trio stepped back as his head lurched upward and he began to couch violently, a cascade of yellow feathers shooting from his mouth. After a moment he let out a groan and his eyes opened slowly; the whites of his eyes stood in stark contrast to the darkness of his tar covered face, making him look even more grotesque.
Ned clicked the timer on his stopwatch and stepped forward.
"Oh man. That really burns—feels like I'm wearing a mummy costume here." Mr. Hawk moaned suddenly. "Hey who are you guys? Do you know who did this to me? I'm gonna kill them!"
"Hello Mr. Hawk, I'm Ned. This is Emerson and that's Chuck."
"Hi." Chuck smiled while Emerson simply shook his head at the time they wasted making introductions.
"See," Ned continued hurriedly. "You can't actually kill who did this to you because you're dead. And we're here to find out who did this to you." Ned looked at his watch—20 seconds.
"I am so sticky, and why I am covered in feathers?"
"You were found in your street tarred and feathered. Do you know who did this to you?" Ned checked again—15 seconds.
"Oh yeah, I remember now. I was walking home from a friend's party. My wife Harriet had stayed behind with the car. It was such a great night to walk and I love to walk…"
He began rambling and Ned quickly cut him off. "What's the last thing you remember?"
"The last thing I remember was hearing someone cluck like a chicken."
"Cluck like a chicken?" Chuck asked incredulously.
"Yeah it was the strangest thing."
Ned was getting nervous now—10 seconds. "So you didn't see anyone?"
"Nah—got me from behind. Next thing I remember was feeling hot—very hot. And a funny smell." He slowly raised his arm. "Musta been the tar."
There was only five seconds left and Ned felt like he was getting nowhere. "Is there anyone who wanted to wish you harm?"
"No. I help people for a living!" Mr. Hawk was now upset. "I do good things! I cure them from addiction and despair! No one would want to hurt me."
The Pie Maker was now out of time. And without gaining any useful information he reached out a second time and sent Herman Hawk back into eternal peace.
"Well that didn't help." Emerson grumbled. "But whoever killed him sure has a sick sense of humor—clucking like a chicken while you tar and feather someone? That's hardcore."
Ned furrowed his brow. "He said he helped people, that he cured them of their addictions. Could the culprit be someone he cured through hypnosis that he didn't really cure?"
"And this is their revenge?" Chuck piped up. "Sounds a bit extreme to me."
"Yeah but there are all sorts of wackos and nutjobs out there running around." Emerson laughed. "Who knows what one would do if they spend a fortune to be cured through hypnosis and it didn't work."
"I think we should talk to the wife before jumping to any conclusions." Chuck said sensibly. "It very well could have been someone at that party he was walking home from—someone who knew he was alone and vulnerable."
"Yeah the perfect opportunity to be attacked." Emerson said thoughtfully.
"So, let's go." Chuck headed for the door and Ned and Emerson followed suit. As they left the cold room of the morgue, the coroner looked up from his desk where he was clearly busy playing a game of Solitaire.
"Mmmhmm." He mumbled in their direction and raised his eyebrows expectantly.
This prompted Emerson to mumble something incoherent—but almost certainly vulgar—under his breath, step forward and hand the man a crisp fifty dollar bill.
"Mmmhmmm." The man nodded and slipped it casually into his pocket. And without another word, or mumble, the man went back to playing cards and the three of them went off to find Mrs. Harriet Hawk.