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-Mandy
Chapter Nine:
Over the course of interning in crime labs and morgues, Beth Greene had soon developed a talent for determining cause of death, and for pointing out the little things.
Really, it was more of an art form for her; like a well-written symphony just waiting for the right musician to play it out. She viewed each death and each crime scene as a musical masterpiece; and it was her job to look at the composition, the technique, the timing. She loved looking at things like that, even though Maggie and Rick often called it creepy.
And Beth being Beth, didn't care. And Atlanta PD, bless their hearts, just didn't seem to have enough funding for a lot of forensic scientists. That's why Rick and his higher ups asked her to be a "part time" employee of sorts, working not only in the morgue, but also in blood splatter analysis.
And Beth, being Beth, couldn't resist.
It helped that she was usually on the crime scene anyway. She was a resident, a fellow of sorts in the morgue, but she'd pretty much been offered a job there by Dr. Jenner and Dr. Peletier anyway. Beth loved painting the picture of a beautifully constructed crime scene, violent deaths had become her favorite since she started working at the morgue in May.
And now, it was the beginning of September, and Beth was becoming sort of a pro at it.
She enjoyed working for Atlanta PD, and for the Fulton County Medical Examiner. It seemed no one but her (and a few select others) were even qualified to do forensics for the police department in the first place. Unfortunately, Dr. Porter was one of those, and Beth was usually working very closely with him. Murder seemed to pick up in the heat of the summer, and it didn't slow down as the air began to cool, either. In fact, if Beth were being honest, murders were on the rise in Atlanta, which caused her parents to worry—a lot. Really, the only person who wasn't worried was Beth.
Because, if murder didn't happen, she'd be out of a job.
And unfortunately for her, Beth's apartment was still a police rendezvous point. The Heriot campaign deaths had been lulled as of late, but that didn't stop the amount of insane crimes that had been taking place.
That's why Beth was flashing her "forensics" badge, and walking into the crime scene of a headless corpse. Wow, this is something. Beth said, noticing the remarkably clean cut.
"Yeah, we found the victim this morning. Not sure about the time of death. Looks to be in his mid 30's." One cop said.
"This one's pretty open-and-shut, though. I mean, you're not gonna survive havin' a head chopped off." A cop named Leon said.
"That's not what killed him." Beth said, putting on her gloves. Carol and Dr. Porter followed behind her, ready to bag up the body. Beth grabbed the police issued Nikon camera, and began to take photos.
"What's special 'bout this one?" Rick asked.
"Well, for one, he was dumped here. If he'd been decapitated here, there'd be a lot more blood. But," Beth said, taking another picture, "It seems to me that there's some cell crystallization going on here."
Beth felt the body's skin. It was frigid, like he'd been stuck in a freezer. "I think our victim was frozen. Makes cuttin' him up a lot easier."
"Look at the strangulation marks on his neck." Carol said, "Seems like this guy was strangled before they stuffed him in the freezer."
"It had to be bigger than just a freezer. It had to be something industrial." Beth said, "Otherwise he would've been cut up into pieces parts."
"Maybe, and this is just a shot in the dark here, maybe whoever killed him had access to liquid nitrogen?" Dr. Porter asked. Beth and Carol both looked up at him, as he shrugged.
"Liquid nitrogen?" Beth asked.
"Yeah. This person—whoever killed him—was smart enough to get the body to a freezing temperature, so that the blood would clot and not bleed out. Maybe they were smart enough to use liquid nitrogen." Eugene explained. Beth had to admit, that was very plausible.
"So, our killer could be a chemist or something. Someone who was smart enough to cover this up." Beth said.
"And someone who was smart enough not to leave prints." Bob Stookey said. He'd also joined the forensics team as a forensic technician, and he was a fingerprint analyst.
"No prints? At all?" Carol asked. Bob shook his head.
"None. Whoever killed this guy knew how to not leave a trace." Bob said. Beth noted that the decapitation occurred somewhere else, there wasn't a lot of blood to go off of.
"And what's creepier? This guy doesn't have any fingerprints himself." Carol said, inspecting the body. They bagged it up and took him to the morgue ready to begin an autopsy first thing in the morning. Meanwhile, they began an autopsy on someone that'd been brought in the day before; someone they'd luckily been able to identify.
"His name is Randall Culver. Age twenty-seven." Carol said, flipping through his chart.
"Holy hell, this dude when to school with Maggie, my sister. He was always really, really weird." Beth said, examining his body.
"Well, it looks like someone else thought that, too. His neck is broken along with the strangulation." Carol said.
"Yeah, I noticed that." Beth said, "We have any prints?"
"Yes, actually. He worked at that club, Terminus, as a bartender. I'm gonna need you to go with Daryl, see if you can find out any information. Might help us determine how his neck was broken." Carol explained.
"When?" Beth asked sheepishly.
"Tonight, if possible. The club doesn't open until 8:00 anyway." Carol explained.
"How would you know?" Beth teased.
"I know my way around Atlanta better than you think." Carol said, winking. "Now, you go pretty up. You and your date need to blend in. And for the love of God, make sure he looks presentable."
"You got it." Beth said, saluting. They were closing up shop for the day, and Carol—who was now visibly pregnant—looked exhausted from what Beth could tell.
"Hey, you alright?" Beth asked, walking out with Carol.
"Yeah, this kid is just giving me a run for my money." Carol said, chuckling, "Can't wait till I can give her that eviction notice."
"Another girl? Is Merle feelin' the pressure yet?" Beth asked, giggling.
"Nope. He's over the moon. But this is the last one. I'm thirty-seven, I'm too old for this!" Carol exclaimed.
"You be careful, Carol. I'll see you tomorrow." Beth said, waving. She drove home, getting ready to tell Daryl that they needed to go to Terminus tonight, when her phone rang, the chorus of "Highway to Hell" playing loudly. Beth glanced at the caller ID; it was Daryl.
"Dr. Greene. What can I do ya for, detective?" Beth asked.
"Psh doc, you don't have to pay me, you can do me for free." Daryl's voice teased.
"Daryl, seriously. What's up? You talk to Carol?" Beth asked, rolling her eyes as Daryl's incessant teasing, which he'd been doing a lot of lately.
"I did, actually. So you might wanna go put your face on an' get your hair big. We goin' to the club." Daryl said, his voice in a low, teasing tone.
"Don't sound creepy. We'll show up around 9:00, don't wanna be the first ones at the door." Beth said, "Wanna go grab dinner before?"
"Miss Greene, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were tryin' to seduce me." Daryl jested, a light tone still in his voice.
"If I were tryin' to seduce you, I wouldn't be yellin' at you to put pants on in my livin' room." Beth replied, her voice deadpan.
Daryl sighed. "Alright, alright. I'll go to dinner with ya, doc. Ya don't have to hound me."
"Oh hush. I'm on my way home now." Beth said.
"Good. Just so ya know...The dog attacked a purse o' yours." Daryl said. Beth's eyes grew wide.
"What's the purse look like?" Beth asked frantically.
"Uh, the label says 'Coach'." Daryl replied. Beth just sighed, closing her eyes.
"Well, that's $250 I'm not getting back. I'm almost home. I'll see ya soon." Beth said.
"Aight doc. See ya." Daryl said, hanging up the phone. Beth felt a little twinge of dread, knowing she would return home to find a destroyed designer handbag. Expensive purses were her one little vice; normally she didn't wear much makeup or expensive clothing. But, Lori had introduced her to the joys of nice purses when Beth was thirteen, and since then, Beth always bought a designer purse for herself when she accomplished something big; like graduating medical school, or getting a good score on the MCAT. But, that now six-month old dog (who was eighty pounds) was chewing everything. And he only seemed to prefer the expensive stuff. Beth dreaded seeing the damage as she walked into her apartment, slowly closing the door behind her.
"Hey there, Greene." Daryl greeted, Jake trailing along behind him.
"Hey, Dixon, and Wreck-It Ralph." Beth said, addressing Daryl and Jake.
"How were the dead people?" Daryl asked, offering Beth a Mountain Dew as she sat down at the kitchen table. Beth took it, sighing.
"Well, they're dead. But we found a headless one today." Beth said, her tone lighter than it probably should've been.
"Yeah, Rick told me 'bout it. He's workin' that case, but I'm assistin'. Didn't get out to the scene, though. Had a shootin' over round Vine City" Daryl said.
"Oh geez. Bet that wasn't pretty." Beth replied.
"They don't call it the worst neighborhood in Atlanta for nothin', Greene. They know me though, I worked vice for a while there." Daryl explained.
"I got lost over there once. But I lived in the dorms at Georgia Tech, and it wasn't much better over there." Beth said, taking a bite of string cheese.
"No, it ain't. C'mon," Daryl said, standing up, "We gotta go find us a killer."
Beth smiled, standing up herself. "Yes, Mr. Dixon."
Beth decided to dress like she could fit in, but still look presentable. She decided on a simple black dress with three-quarter sleeves, and strappy red high heels. She wore her hair long, and decided on minimal makeup; she didn't feel like making much of an effort, anyway. When she came out of her bedroom, she walked down the hall, getting Daryl's attention by inconspicuously clearing her throat. He looked up, and his eyes grew wide.
"Damn, Greene. Thought you said you weren't dressin' up." Daryl said.
"Oh, um, I didn't think this was too dressy." Beth said sheepishly, pulling at her dress.
"Well, ya look good. Let's go get somethin' to eat." Daryl said. Beth nodded, walking out behind him. Beth noticed that Daryl looked nice himself; with a plain gray button down shirt underneath a sport coat (which was obviously to hide his gun holster), with dark blue jeans. Beth noted he never did look like regular detectives; she always wondered why.
"Uh, Daryl?" Beth piped up.
"Yeah?" He asked.
"What's with the longer hair? I thought police detectives weren't supposed to have long hair?" Beth asked.
"I'm undercover sometimes, too. They still gimme hell, but I don't much listen." He replied.
"Jus' wonderin'. We takin' my car?" Beth asked.
"No, we're takin' my truck." Daryl said. He motioned to a silver Dodge Ram parked by the curb.
"Nice." Beth said, "But I think I may be too short to climb in."
"Don't worry 'bout it, I gotcha." Daryl muttered. He opened the passenger door for Beth as she struggled, her small 5'2" frame struggling to climb in the truck. Daryl huffed, and suddenly grabbed her by the hips, lifting her into the truck and closing the door. Beth could feel her cheeks grow hot, and she knew she was blushing. Had Daryl meant to do that?
"Figured I'd help you out." He mumbled, starting the truck. The two went to dinner at a small diner in a seedy part of town, Daryl assuring her that it was one of the best places in Atlanta. It turned out Daryl was right; it was the best chicken fried steak Beth had ever had. To a normal eye, they might've looked out of place; two well-dressed people in an almost run-down diner. But Beth enjoyed the company; Daryl didn't speak much, there was no awkward conversations or uncomfortable silences. Beth could say she enjoyed the meal in just a few words, sipping on sweet tea and gulping down mashed potatoes. It was oddly enjoyable, just going to dinner with someone who wasn't intending to get in her pants. By 8:45, Beth and Daryl had decided that it was time to get the check, and Daryl insisted he pay. Again, they walked to the truck, heading to Terminus, and Daryl helped Beth climb inside. When they arrived, the line was out the door, and Daryl shot Beth a dirty look.
"What? We don't want to look too suspicious." Beth shrugged.
"Suspicious? I'm a homicide cop and you're a morgue doctor." Daryl replied sharply.
"And a blood spatter analyst!" Beth added, her voice raising an octave.
"Oh, excuse me." Daryl rolled his eyes, raising his hands in the air, "You look at murder scenes like an art collector looks at an original Caravaggio."
"You know Caravaggio?" Beth asked.
"Master's in neuroscience, Greene." Daryl replied flatly. Beth stuck her tongue out in reply.
"Would you hurry your ass up and get outta the truck? We got questions to ask." Daryl said, motioning for her to hurry up. Beth jumped out of the truck, walking slightly behind Daryl. Getting up to the line, Beth could see that this Saturday night was college spirit night—which meant that Daryl was probably one of the oldest people in there.
"Aw hell. Youth." Daryl muttered as Beth walked up, rolling her eyes.
"It's not that bad. Just sorostitutes and frat hoes." Beth replied, shrugging her shoulders. Daryl shrugged as the two got closer to the door; the line moving rather quickly. Oddly enough, the bouncer only asked for Beth's ID, quickly surmising that Daryl was far past 21. He did, however, give Daryl a perplexed look as Daryl and Beth entered the club, Waka Flocka's "No Hands" blaring loudly as Daryl and Beth walked across the dance floor.
"I love this song!" Beth exclaimed, dancing terribly.
"Glad your Mama and Daddy didn't waste money on dancin' lessons." Daryl teased.
"Shut up, you ass!" Beth said, continuing to dance until they reached the bar.
"That's the worst song I ever heard, an' my nieces watch High School Musical." Daryl huffed.
"You're just jealous you don't have my moves." Beth replied.
"Yeah, you got dance moves like Britney Spears can sing." Daryl smirked, Beth playfully swatting him.
"Now listen, lemme do most of the talkin'. But I need ya takin' notes. Got it?" He asked. Beth nodded. They approached the bar, and a middle-aged man, busy pouring drinks, was the first to acknowledge them.
"Can I help you guys?" The man asked. Beth noticed he was of average height, with dark curly hair and olive skin. He wore a V-neck shirt, and looked to be trying too hard to fit in.
"Actually, ya can." Daryl said, showing the man his badge, "I'm Detective Daryl Dixon, this is my colleague, Dr. Beth Greene, we're with Atlanta Police Department."
The man looked up, smirking, "Oh yeah? Here about the fake Ids?"
"No. We're homicide." Daryl replied flatly. The man stood straight up, looking at them both.
"Yeah?" He asked.
"Yeah. A man by the name of Randall Culver was just identified at the Fulton County Medical Examiner's office. Did you know him?" Beth asked.
"Randall? Randall was just here. He—he was my boss. He was my best friend. He got me this job." The man said, his eyes growing wide, his hands now running through his hair.
"So you knew him? When was the last time you saw him?" Daryl asked.
The man gulped hard. "R—Randall was supposed to go on vacation with his fiance and her family. They were supposed to be back tomorrow. They were headed to Pensacola."
"Have you heard from his fiance at all?" Daryl asked.
"No. I mean, Carleigh was my friend, but I assumed they'd been on vacation. She was supposed to be going on vacation with her uncle, and his wife, daughter, and his wife's sister. I think her mom was coming along, too." The man said, trying to recall events. Beth noted that his emotional demeanor was broken; obviously that man was his friend.
"Do you know if Randall would've had any enemies?" Daryl asked.
"Everyone liked him. I mean, he could be aggravating, but he was always a good friend. He helped people. I never met anyone who didn't like him, except for Carleigh's uncle." The man explained. Daryl and Beth looked at each other incredulously.
"Why didn't he like him?" Beth asked.
"He's a politician. He was kinda like Carleigh's dad, her own dad died when she was little. Her dad was her uncle's best friend, so her uncle's actually her godfather. He acted like Randall wasn't good enough; just some low-life bartender who was takin' advantage of Carleigh. But that wasn't how it was at all. She loved him, man, it was obvious. He loved her, too. Everyone else in the family loved Randall, too. Thing was, though, that uncle always thought Randall would hurt his image. He's runnin' for governor, I hear." The man told them.
"What's his name?" Daryl asked, "Any potential suspects, we gonna need to know their names."
"Brian Heriot. Carleigh's uncle is Brian Heriot."
The two of them froze, looking at each other with wide eyes, obviously flabbergasted.\
"Did I say something wrong?" The man asked.
"No, no man, ya didn't. Listen, here's my card, keep in touch. Can I get your name?" Daryl asked.
"Cody. Cody Carr." Cody said.
"Thanks, Cody, for all your help. If we need you, we'll call you. But you've been a lot of help. Thank you." Beth said, shaking Cody's hand.
"No problem. Listen, just do me a favor, okay? Find out who did this. Randall," The man choked, his eyes filled with tears, "He was the best friend a guy could ask for. Just, before you go, are you sure that was him? I got a text from him the other day, a picture of the just the beach. Are you sure it was Randall?"
"Yeah, Cody. We are. We had his dental records, his DNA. It was him." Beth said. Cody swallowed hard, looking up at Daryl and Beth.
"Then who was sending the picture?" Cody asked.
"We don't know. But we'll find out." Daryl promised.
"I hope you do." Cody said.
Daryl and Beth walked back through the dance floor, this time the song "Change Your Life" by Iggy Azalea blasting at around a billion decibels. Beth stopped, grabbing Daryl by the shoulders, a smile breaking out over her face.
"Daryl! This is my jam!" Beth exclaimed, beginning to sing the chorus and then the second verse.
"This is awful." Daryl said. '
"We paid the cover charge, might as well dance to at least one song. Please?" Beth begged, batting her eyes. Daryl gave an exaggerated sigh.
"Fine, doc. One dance. Then we leave. Kinda got a serial killer to deal with." Daryl reminded her. Beth stepped out into the middle of the floor, doing "the sprinkler" wildly. Daryl rolled his eyes, standing stationary, just watching Beth.
"C'mon Daryl, let's dance!" Beth said, doing what looked to Daryl to be the 'chicken dance'. Soon the song was over, another familiar club song, and Beth began dancing along to the "Wop".
"One song, Greene, this is more than one." Daryl said gruffly.
"This is my jam too, Dixon. Don't be a party pooper." Beth teased.
"I'm past party pooper. I'm at least fifteen years older than everyone in this damn place." Daryl said gruffly.
"Hush. You're bein' ridiculous." Beth laughed as the music blared.
"Well as much as I'd love to dick around here all night, I gotta go work on this. C'mon, let's go." Daryl said. Beth begrudgingly agreed, and walked out behind him. The two were barely out of the club when Beth felt her phone buzzing in her purse, and struggled to find it. Once she did, she noticed ten missed calls; all from Rick, Maggie, and Glenn. Beth knew something was wrong; Maggie never called her that many times. Then, Beth saw fifteen unread texts, all from Maggie.
"Daryl, I gotta call Maggie. Something's wrong." Beth said, panic growing in her chest.
"Everything alright?" Daryl asked.
"I dunno." Beth replied. She dialed Maggie's number, and there was no response. She dialed Glenn's, too, and there was nothing. She even tried Shawn, and Shawn wasn't answering. Finally, she called Rick.
"Rick? Rick! Thank God you answered. What's going on? What's the matter?" Beth asked frantically.
"Beth..." Rick sighed, a he seemed to be choking back a sob, "You need to come back home."
Beth felt her eyes begin to water. "Rick, what's the matter?" She asked.
"I'm...I'm gonna put Maggie on the phone." Rick said grimly. Beth heard him pass the phone to Maggie.
"Bethy? Bethy are you there?" Maggie asked.
"Yeah, Mags. What's wrong?" Beth asked.
"It's Mama." Maggie said. Beth felt her throat close up; her eyes began to water.
"What happened?" Beth asked.
"Mama...She...Had an aneurysm, Bethy. Just a few hours ago. It ruptured. Shawn found 'er." Maggie couldn't say anything more without crying. Beth fell to the pavement, sobbing loudly. Daryl crouched down next to her, taking the phone from her hands. He managed to speak to Rick, who seemingly told him everything.
"I'll get 'er down there. We'll be there in a couple of hours." Daryl said, hanging up. He picked Beth up as she continued to sob, her legs refusing to support her. All she could hear was her heartbeat in her ears, and all she could see were the blurry, tear smudged lights of Atlanta.
All she could think, as Daryl tried to pull her out of her haze, was that her mother was dead, and she wasn't there to save her.