Fuck! I hate this, I fuckin' hate this, Mike thought as he regarded the inside of his eyelids seeking a moment's respite from the grim reality of his existence.
There was always a smell about the morgue, a smell that no amount of disinfectant or scrubbing could defeat. He didn't know what it smelled like; he had no comparison for it. It wasn't necessarily a bad smell but it was distinctive. I don't need a fucking vampire's sense of smell to know what the bloodsucker means, when he says he can smell death. Thank God for Rajani. If it wasn't for her, what was it…professionalism, comfort? I just couldn't deal with this shit. How the hell can she be humming… humming in this stainless steel, refrigerated, antiseptic version of hell!
He could hear Dave's slightly asthmatic wheeze at his elbow, and he felt a sudden pang of sympathy for his rotund partner.
Over weight and in ill health, the morgue can't be any walk in the park for him either, Mike thought. Evidence of your own mortality always made people uncomfortable. Ironic isn't it, that Dave's way of coping with that insight will be to end up outside the station as soon as possible lighting up yet another cancer stick and looking for a buddy to visit the bar with tonight…hell, I might even join him.
He opened his eyes to the coroner's trim white coated figure as she crossed to the sheet draped gurney. She laid a nimble brown hand flat on the corpse's chest, tapping her index finger up and down against the white cloth.
"How did you come to be lying drowned in your bed Mr. Parker, Hmmm?" she enquired, her tone crisply accented and yet sympathetic.
One of these times one of them is going to sit up and answer her, Mike thought to himself. Who the fuck knows anymore? Maybe some of them already do. 'Fang boy' makes it look like death isn't the final solution I always thought it was… Before he could launch himself further into his reverie, he was interrupted by Dave's wheezing question.
"So Doc, is this one the same as the other one?"
"Well detective, I would have to say there are many startling similarities between Mr. Parker here and Mr. Hakito from last month," Rajani said as she drew back the sheet.
Dave's eyes widened in his mobile face as he said, "How the hell, oh! sorry Doc, does a guy drown in his own bed?"
"Well, technically Detective Graham, though both men drowned, neither was in bed when the drowning took place. Mr. Parker and Mr. Hakito both have the following in common: both died by drowning, both men's lungs were full of salt water. In both cases, there were contusions to the head, some form of blunt force trauma which in Mr. Parker, resulted in a concussion.
"Any idea from this guy, what the weapon was?" Mike interrupted, remembering that the wound in the Hakito case had been inconclusive.
"Nothing specific as yet," Dr. Mohadevan replied, just the slightest irritation in her tone at having been interrupted while enumerating her findings. "I will say though, that judging from the injury in Mr. Parker's case I suspect a rather long handled club of some sort. I will need to go back and compare my notes on Mr. Hakito's injuries."
Dr. Mohadevan straightened her lab coat and continued, "The residue on their skin indicates that both Mr. Parker and Mr. Hakito had been bound at the wrists and ankles with duct tape.
Both men had their mouths completely covered with the same tape. Given the bruising patterns on the limbs, which indicates that they struggled, it is my opinion that both of these gentlemen were fully conscious and aware when they were put in the water.
Mike closed his eyes briefly, his flesh pebbling as the idea of being bound and helpless, sinking in the water, created a particular horror in him. These men knew they were going to die.
"And it was salt water in this one's lungs as well right Rajani?" Mike asked aloud to cover his unease.
"Yes…as I said," she replied. "In addition both men had a blunt force trauma to the chest, resulting in a developing bruise over the ribs happening almost immediately preceding death, as though they were hit by something while in the water. Just here," she said, indicating a darkened area on Parker's bare chest.
"And more interesting still, the same trace evidence was present on Mr. Parker's body as was found on Mr. Hakito's...seal hairs on the clothing and present in the water in the lungs," Rajani continued, tilting her head to the side inquiringly.
"Anything else?" Mike asked.
"Not at present," Dr. Mohadevan answered, shaking her head, "but then I have a few more questions yet to put to Mr. Parker here. If I get any more information, I'll be sure to pass it along to you."
"Ok then, thanks Rajani," Mike said as he pushed through the doors of the morgue and out into the brightly lit hallway, Dave crowding close to his heels.
"Man," Dave said, shaking his head and loosening his tie, "it totally creeps me out when she acts like the dead actually talk to her."
"I know exactly what you mean Dave," Mike replied, his mind already back at the crime scene they had visited earlier today.
***
It was an upscale neighborhood, a mansion sized house behind a security gate, a long curving drive and manicured lawns complete with shaped hedges and statuary. The neighbors were too discreet to stand in their driveways or on the street watching; instead Mike could feel their eyes behind the drawn curtains and shades.
The elegance of the house was spoiled by the yellow and black POLICE LINE/ DO NOT CROSS tape stretched across the gate. Though the uniforms at the gate knew him Mike reached into the inside pocket of his trench and flashed his badge anyway. "Celluci, Homicide," he identified himself. You never knew when protocol could matter.
He and Dave had ducked under the tape and moved to the front entrance of the house. There was a tall, slim thirty-something woman, most likely 'the wife,' in a sequined mini dress, a fluffy white bomber and high heels, giving a statement to one of the uniforms.
Dave took an appreciative look at the long shapely legs and the large breasts so obviously out of proportion with the tiny waist and hips, the black mascara smudged by copious tears and muttered to Mike, "Uh! I got this Mike, why don't you take a look at the scene?" as he pulled out his police ID once more.
Shaking his head, Mike started up the curving staircase, a smile slowly spreading over his lips as he heard the small dog 'the wife' held on her arm begin to yap and growl at Dave's approach.
The uniform at the top of the stairs directed him with a sweep of an arm. Mike trod heavily across the cream colored deep pile of the carpet to the open double doors of the bed room. The room was dominated by a huge bed and Oh my God! Were there really mirrors on the ceiling above it? Who has that in their house?
CSI had just cleared the room, and the coroner's tech Bartholomew Williams was ready to move the body. Mike held up his index finger to indicate that he needed a few minutes and Bart nodded his acknowledgement of the silent request.
Mike approached the bed, taking note of the opulent materials and furniture in the intimate and sensuous setting; finally he stood looking down at James, AKA Jimmy, Parker.
Jimmy Parker lay fully clothed, in apparent rest, with the satin sheets and cashmere blankets drawn across his chest. His arms lay at his sides on top of the blankets. Mike's eyes took in the gold rings on the pudgy fingers and what was undoubtedly a Rolex beneath the wet shirt cuff.
He was propped on the multitude of pillows eyes closed, a frown that looked like puzzlement on his face. One might have suspected that he was asleep but for the darkened margin of wet on the bedding that outlined the body. Don't even need a fucking chalk line, Mike thought.
Mike could discern from where he leaned carefully over the body the slight tang of salt water, like the first scent of the ocean on the air, when you are still a couple of miles from the shore.
Where Parker's head was turned to the side, there was a spreading wetness where the water had slowly leaked from his mouth. Mike swallowed quickly, trying to dispel the gag reflex that the sight and scent induced.
He turned away from the body nodding the 'go ahead' to Bart. Mike heard the distinctive sound of the long zipper of the body bag being opened as his eyes swept the rest of the room. There was a pair of huge walk-in closets. The doors were open on one that was full of women's clothes and a staggering collection of shoes. At the back of the closet was another thick door that opened into a smaller closet. There were dials and gauges set in the wall outside the door. Mike could hear the whirring of an air conditioning unit.
Dave emitted a low whistle from behind his shoulder. "I've heard about this but I've never seen one," he said as he reached past Mike to finger the silk of the garment bag hanging closest to the door.
"Never seen one what?" Mike said, "What the fuck is this?"
"Man! It's a fur vault, a cold storage unit for fur coats, humidity controlled," he said, tapping the humidity gauge with his fingertip.
"The wife, Mrs. Parker, said she had been out with friends at a club and then an after-party all night, and when she returned home she came upstairs. She said that after she 'found' the body the first thing she did, even before she called 911, was check the closet to see if her furs were still there, well, after she checked her jewelry that is. She says she can't see that anything is missing so it isn't burglary. Is it just me or does this start to look like the Hakito case?" Dave said.
"It's not just you," Mike agreed nodding.
Dave continued as he noisily unzipped the long silken garment bag, "Seems Jimmy Parker is a furrier and an import, slash, export success story. The wife says that he 'loved' her to wear the furs he gave her, if you know what I mean. Man...Would you look at this?" Dave said as he exposed a long fluffy white fur.
Mike's ears picked up the distinctive sound of the tech zipping up the body bag across the room behind him.
"Do you have any idea how much this is worth?" Dave asked as he ran a hand over the downy white surface, "It's a baby seal skin full length coat, this guy must have been worth a mint."
"That doesn't help him now, does it?" Mike said as his eyes narrowed as he noted the row of ten or twelve similar garment bags. He ran a hand through his hair and then stuck his hands in his trench coat pockets and turning to his partner said, "Let's get back to the station, this looks a lot like the scene from the Hakito case last month, I want to pull the paperwork up on that one and I am going to want to talk to Mohadevan once she has had a look at this guy."