Chapter 3: Identification

The hospital was in its own state of chaos as distressed citizens identified their loved ones remains. EMTS covered in blood and soot barged in one after the other wheeling body bags to the morgue. Casey rushed into the lobby, flashing his badge at the harried guard stationed at front.

"I received a call about the body of a young man brought in from the bomb site."

"Take a look around ya, pal! Everyone's here for the same thing. Have a seat."

Casey strummed his fingers on his desk hard then slammed his hand down. The guard jumped. "He came in through the back door and I need to confirm his identity. Which way to the morgue?"

The short guard trembled under his glare and pointed left. "Just…just follow those Doctors, sir."

"Much obliged." He muttered and rushed past the swinging doors.

A few minutes later Casey was struck with the concentrated odor of antiseptic. Morgues never failed to depress him. Aside from the obvious reasons, it seemed their very design was calculated to impress gloom and doom on anyone who entered. Casey stole down the murky green corridor past the body bags lining the hall. He refused to hunt for the bodies of his wife and daughter, nor for Agent Walker. There was only one way he could help them now.

A lone coroner examined a still, tall form on the metal table. Casey grimaced; he didn't need to look further to know that it was Chuck's body. The doctor glanced up and frowned.

"This is a restricted area. We have an identification list and will call the family members in order. I'm sorry."

Casey showed his badge and edged closer to the table.

"Major John Casey, NSA. I believe you received a telephone call from General Beckman? You have the body of Charles Irving Bartowski on your table and were ordered to put him at high priority."

His voice thickened and he swallowed down bile that crept up his throat. Identifications rarely bothered him, but now he felt about ready to keel over.

"Doctor Elias Bradley. Yes, that's correct. You people sure work fast! Poor young buck, he looked like a nice kid. Don't know what business the NSA has with him though…but that's not my business anyway. From the remnants of his clothing, I assume he was a 'Buy More' Employee, with a position of oversight?"

"Yeah, he was a computer technician." Chuck was also a true hero. There was no doubt in Casey's mind after spending the last year protecting him.

Casey finally mustered the courage to look at the corpse. Chuck's eyes were still wide open, stuck in that memorable, horrified glare he'd make when confronted with danger. Casey pulled out a pair of rubber gloves and snapped them on loud for effect, but the body didn't move. He sighed miserably and gently drew Chuck's eyes closed.

"Sorry, doc. It's unnerving to see him like this. I… I knew him personally." He admitted.

"No problem, I imagine it would be. They're so vivid and full of life…it's almost like he's begging for help…anyway, sorry… One thing that stumped me are the burn marks on his body…they're inconsistent with being caught in an explosion."

Casey pulled the sheet off and peered over the length of Chuck's form. The burns were in haphazard positions all over his skin, save for his face. A surprised gasp escaped him over Chuck's right arm.

"Where the hell is his right hand?" Casey asked incredulously.

"That's what I'd like to know. A bomb doesn't pick and choose which limbs to sever…nor does it work so neatly. I was glad the NSA called me when they did, because I was just about to turn this one over as a homicide. I can't bring myself to believe he died from explosion trauma."

Casey drew back and grabbed his neck. Every muscle went taut with stress. "Where was his body found, Dr. Bradley?"

He was pulled from the garbage disposal area dangling from a dumpster. Their first thought was that he'd been fortunate enough to escape through the back exit, but the force of the blast sent him flying into the bin."

"Huh…I don't know…something like that would've left cuts and bruises all over him. I don't see many and it still doesn't explain his severed hand." Casey replied indignant.

"Right again, which by the way, we didn't find. I'm very certain this man was murdered elsewhere, Major. He was murdered and placed on the scene of the explosion either before or after it happened."

Casey folded his arms. "What time was his body found?"

"About 10:50am. A sanitation worker made the call, he was very shaken up."

"10:50? Doctor Bradley, the explosion didn't happen until 11:00 am!"

Casey had to walk away from the examining table. He punched his fist into his palm and cracked every knuckle. The noises broke the silence of the room. A thought struck him and he rushed to the table. He gripped the ultra violet lamp to study Chuck's face and suddenly noticed a sticky residue over his cheeks and lips. He picked up a long q-tip and traced the edge over Chuck's mouth.

"What is this gunk? Did you notice this, Dr. Bradley?"

"I didn't have much of a chance to examine the body before you came in, Major Casey. He leaned in for a closer inspection. "It looks like tape residue."

"There's silver flecks here, I'd say duct tape. Charles Bartowski was kidnapped and murdered, Doctor, possibly by the same person who blew up the Buy More."

Casey yanked the gloves off and washed his hands. He approached the doorway and faced the coroner grimly.

"Doctor Bradley, I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone that I came here today, not even General Beckman. The NSA likes to keep things absolutely covert. I will be handling this case, so expect to hear back from me for a follow up report…oh…the deceased has a sister. She's a doctor here...It'd be best if she didn't know either."

The Coroner scratched his white hair and smiled forlornly. "Oh…yes! Eleanore! I should have made the connection. I haven't seen her today, such a sweet, young lady. She must be devastated."

"I'd say she is, she thinks the world of Chuck…a lot of people did, and most of them are dead too."

"But I'm not. I'm alive and I'm not going anywhere." Casey thought. He would solve this crime no matter how long it took or what orders he had to break. The wanton murder of his family, friends, and the innocents would not go unavenged.