What moves in the depth of darkness? Part 6
Lieutenant Provenza studied the Captain as they waited outside the morgue. Doctor Morales was putting the finishing touches on the last autopsy behind closed doors. The hallway was empty and cold and the smell of antiseptic was strong even out here. But it was better to stand in the hallway while the Doctor sliced and diced and otherwise examined various body parts. Provenza didn't much feel up to seeing all those entails again, nor did he mind not seeing the doctor humming or smiling as he took out the organs. It always creeped him out.
The Captain appeared unfazed, her attention on the iPad in her hands, her index finger out and turning a page on the device. Her nose had been stuck in the damnable iPad ever since Stroh had escaped and when she was not paying attention to a case, the woman was more engrossed in the incidence reports than even Julio. Not that Provenza expected her to act otherwise. Despite the obvious aggravation surrounding Stroh's escape, the woman appeared collected and calm as usual. Rusty went about his life and Sharon Raydor went about hers. Provenza was sure this was the exact reason that had people thinking the woman was carved out of ice.
There was also the matter of the so called friendship the woman had fostered with Andy Flynn. In Provenza's perspective, it was escalating, fast. There was something about those two confiding in each other that felt absurd to him, especially considering past rants Andy and him had had about that very woman. And yet, there was something about both of them that he felt protective of, respectively. It was all in all very conflicting and aggravating to think about. For Christ's sake, Flynn had spent the majority of his career in Robbery/homicide making trouble for someone like Raydor. And the Captain, she was just now getting out of a lifelong marriage. On the other hand, Flynn had never shown the same interest in anyone else for as long as Provenza had known him.
Provenza did not need the two of them to confess to anything, he already knew everything from their interactions. However much his idiot friend denied that they were dating, Provenza had a hard time seeing how taking someone to one restaurant fancier than the one before was not considered dating. Not to mention all the other nauseating stuff they did. Heck, it would not surprise him if they strolled along the beach at sunset, holding hands. Nothing they did, or might do, surprised him anymore, not since Flynn had taken her to a Dodgers game. That had been the last straw for Provenza; that gesture was, if anything, romantic in nature. Hell, the idiot had draped the Captain in his fucking leather jacket this morning as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Draping your jacket over someone was a romantic gesture in Provenza's book.
Provenza crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, studying the woman some more, seizing the opportunity when she was so grossly occupied by the contents on the iPad.
Her lips pursed.
Granted, she was beautiful and Provenza would even budge and agree with Flynn that she could be funny on occasions.
"Is there anything you need to get off your chest, lieutenant?" Sharon asked him in a calm, succinct voice, not once looking up. Yet the woman conveyed her dislike of being stared at pointedly, "or do I have something stuck on my face?"
Just as Provenza opened his mouth to retort back, the door to the morgue opened and the doctor poked his head out and beckoned them inside with a flappy hand wave, "All ready."
The Captain finally looked up and gave the doctor a warm smile before she followed him into the morgue.
Provenza sighed and then followed on her heel.
"So," Morales began, gesturing to the two victims on the autopsy tables, white sheets up to their chins. Their organs were on two separate tables near the sink, sliced and ready for tests and microscopic examination.
"John Doe One and Two, both males, 30-50 years of age. Both appear to be of good physical health before their untimely deaths."
The Captain nodded.
Morales stood by the first victim, one hand tapping John Doe One's shoulder.
"There are a lot of similarities between both murders, but also some discrepancies. First off, cause of death appears to be blood loss for our first victim. That is, our first John Doe appears to have died faster than our second John Doe due to a lesion in his descending aorta; a complication to the evisceration."
Provenza moved closer.
Morales continued, "John Doe the First was already dead when the killer pulled his entails out and wrapped one part of the small bowel around his neck."
The doctor paused by the first victim, lifting the sheet, "As you can see, there are no marks of strangulation around the neck and no petechial hemorrhage of the eyes. Of course, it's only a qualified guess so far, and I will know more when I examine the muscles and vessels of his neck."
"It will be interesting once the toxicology report comes in," Morales pointed at the nook of the elbow on the first victim, "see here, there's a small puncture mark reminiscent of a needle mark, recently acquired and close to time of death I would dare say. There is no other evidence of narcotics use or abuse. Perhaps the killer sedated his victims first, so he could slice their abdomen open without the victim fighting back."
"Does John Doe Two have the same needle mark?" Provenza asked.
"Yes, he does indeed. Identical mark on the same arm. The cause of death is however a bit different for our John Doe Two."
"How so?" Sharon asked.
"Well, here the killer managed not to cut open the aorta or its collateral blood vessels, so the victim was alive when the intestines were being pulled out from his body."
"See," Morales moved to the other table and pulled down the sheet, his finger at the man's throat, "there are marks that suggest he was still alive when he was being strangled. Of course, he was dying from blood loss at the same time."
"Would you say the killer used the disembowelment as a form of torture, doctor?" The Captain asked, narrowing her eyes.
"Yes it would seem so," the Doctor nodded, "even if it was intended or not by the killer. But then again, all depends on the toxicology report and blood analysis. Maybe both victims were sedated with opiates."
"What about these bruises to his face?" The Captain asked pointing at the marks around John Doe Two's nose and eyes.
"Recent, possible within the same time period as his death. If he fought back, it is likely the killer punched him."
Sharon hummed, "And what about the time of death?"
"Calculated from the potassium from our victims' eyes and due to the level of decomposition, I would guess it's within 2-5 days ago, with some margin for mistakes."
The Captain nodded, her eyes going to the arm of John Doe Two.
"And then at last," Morales turned the arm around, "we come to the grand curiosity of the evening."
"The tattoos," Provenza provided.
"Indeed," Morales swept the white sheets down and showed the left hand of John Doe One and the tattoo fixed across the wrist; guilty in large, black letters followed by a roman numeral.
The Captain leaned closer and Provenza followed her, both intrigued by the roman numerals that followed the word guilty, "guilty number 4, and guilty number 5," Provenza commented, "What do you think?"
The doctor pursed his lips, "They look recent and crude from the tissue around the tattoo. It's likely they are a mark the killer left. Unless, of course, our two victims decided to have the same tattoos done by an amateur a few days before their murder. And perhaps it's just a coincidence that a month ago two other guys showed up dead with the exact same tattoos. A bit circumstantial though. I would put my money on the killer tattooing the words." He smiled.
"Which begs two questions," the Captain said, her voice low, "Are we dealing with a serial killer and if we are, where, and who, is the first victim?"
"Also, why are the methods of murder not the same?" Morales supplied. "The two victims from December were neither strangled nor eviscerated."
Sharon hummed and tapped her tablet thoughtfully.
"It's a mess," Provenza sighed, feeling perplexed by the whole affair.
…