Snapping off his blood covered gloves, Woody flashed Shawn a smile as he entered the morgue.
"So how's Detective Lassiter? My wife was wondering if he'd be interested in coming over for dinner sometime?" She had taken the whole spooning thing well, and they hadn't tried anything new in a while. Maybe Lassiter was just what they needed to liven up their relationship. "We'd have powdered donuts. He does like those, doesn't he?"
Shawn's trademark grin was wide as a queasy looking Gus shuffled into the morgue, took one look at the mutilated remains of the corpse on the table and fled.
Confused, Woody watched him leave.
Shawn sent him a reassuring glance. "Gus just has the flu."
Woody glanced around, making sure no one was listening. He sent a look at the dismembered remains. No bugs had shown up on the x-ray. "The swine-flu was actually a government experiment, you know." Whispering conspiratorially, Woody confided in Shawn. "The condition of the medical economy was deteriorating, so the scientists in Area 51 paired with the extraterrestrials engineered a new disease meant to target humans."
The lighting in autopsy casting dark shadows around his eyes that gave him a weirdly serious expression, Shawn nodded in agreement. "So, about the Grammock case..."
"Oh yes,"picking up a scalpel, Woody waved it thoughtfully. "He was dismembered at every major joint." Woody pointed to a dark bruise present on a portion of the chest. "And the pectoralis major is bruised in a way that could have been caused by repeated beating with a large, blunt stone arrowhead about the size of the front half of a boot." Woody speculated to himself, absentmindedly tapping his chin with the bloody scalpel.
"Could it have been a hard kick with a boot?" Shawn offered.
The idea surprised him. "Now that I think about it, that would make more sense. What a horrible suicide. The man must have been very flexible to kick himself in the ribs, and very quick with the dismemberment. I think jumping in front of a train would be better. Cleaner." Woody found his thoughts drawn to that. A freight train would perhaps be interesting. He wondered whether the impact would be felt to the suicide victim. If decapitation victims were aware for eight seconds after the act had been committed, this death would make more sense. How would they know it was just eight seconds though? Maybe the man could still see him. He should open the man s eyes maybe. It must be so boring to watch the back of your eyelids when you could get a firsthand look at an autopsy.
"Or," Shawn contributed, Woody jumped at the reminder of Shawn's presence, accidentally cutting his lip with the scalpel. He licked the blood away and set the instrument down. "It could have been murder."
Woody tilted his head to the side, thinking. The ominous lighting cast his skeletal face like a specter. "Possibly..."
He scribbled that side note onto his report. "Can you take this up to Lassiter for me?"
Shawn nodded and absentmindedly ambling off.
Woody turned back to the body before he remembered the dinner invitation. Maybe he should ask Carlton himself, in case Shawn forgot. He headed out of autopsy and through the hallway that led to the stairs that would take him up to the bullpen. On the way, he was distracted by a scratching sound. Afraid it was another chicken, he ducked behind a pillar, glancing tentatively around for the sound's source
On the other side of the pillar, Shawn was standing with a pen in hand, scratching out Woody s report of the bruising on the pectoralis major. Woody cut off his exclamation in favor of secrecy. Maybe Shawn was a government plant! Or a serial killer...
He watched in surprise as Shawn replaced the noting of the pectoralis major with the latissimus dorsi. Woody thought for a moment. How had Shawn even known the name of the latissimus dorsi? He had to know.
Woody strode off toward the morgue and took a tertiary look at the bruising, only to find that Shawn was right. How could he have known? How did he notice what Woody missed? Was it so blatantly obvious? And why didn t he say something about the kick being placed lower, on the middle abdomen?
Woody slid over to the computer, not even bothering to sit down, he logged into police records and entered Shawn s name, requesting schooling records. The results made him swallow hard.
How could he not have known? Why didn't he suspect? He was the type of person to question everything and yet he never noticed the hidden depth to his friend.
He had never guessed the depth to Shawn's intelligence, never even bothered to look deeper than the lighthearted smile and the open face willing to listen to even Woody s farfetched theories.
He stared at the screen in disbelief, the blue light casting an eerie glow across his pallid features.
It couldn't be. Someone would have noticed it in Shawn s file. Someone would have said something
"Just so you know, you're the first person I've told." The voice in Woody's ear made him jump.
"Really, Woody? Hiding behind a pillar?" He stuck one hand up to his forehead with a smirk. "Psychic, dude. Kinda ruins the element of surprise."
Shawn was perched on the edge of the autopsy table behind Woody. The man picked up a dismembered finger and tossed it back and forth absentmindedly.
"I did quite a few unbelievable things on my 'road trip'." Shawn smirked, lost in the memories. "I feel I have a right to keep some of them secret. Besides, I can t have people thinking I m smart or something-" He stared morosely at the digit in his hand. "Phalanges," He sighed. "I have a phalange in every pie, you could say."
Woody stared. "Finger in every pie, you mean?"
"I've heard it both ways. That's how we said it in med school."
"Oh. We always said a scalpel in every cadaver."