A/N: Thank you for reading! And a long chapter!
Out There
Chapter 12
When the contents of the barrels were spread on autopsy tables, the group went to work. Sara and Grissom decided the coroner would approve whatever had been done before he arrived. Most of the soft tissues had decomposed into a liquefied mass. Grissom was surprised at how much of the process came back as Sara explained the process of anaerobic bacteria in a sealed container.
Dividing up the work, several people pulled large items from the human remains—a belt, shoes, two wallets, and pieces of clothing while others used a sieve and found buttons, an ink pen, a metal ring with three keys, and coins. Grissom and two techs worked on the bones of one body; Sara and two others took the other one. They took tissue samples, measured long bones, opened skulls, decided both bodies were male, but found no obvious wounds. While laying out bones, Sara found their first clue.
"Knife marks on three ribs," she said.
Across the room, two of the police officers worked on missing persons. When the wallets were found, the older morgue tech carefully opened each one. Both had been stripped of identification, driver's licenses, and credit cards.
When the coroner arrived, he was visibly relieved to have the autopsy process in full swing. Twice, he left the building for air. The young employee who had been taking photographs handed him the camera; she wanted to have hands-on experience on a case they would talk about for years.
Multiple knife marks were found on bones of both bodies; one sternum had a significant mark. Soft tissues were so degraded nothing could be determined but based on the markings, each body had at least a dozen wounds.
After three hours and murmurs of hunger, Sara called for a break—outside—and, quickly, jumpsuits were removed and chairs were hauled to the parking lot. A few minutes after everyone had gathered in the shade of the building, a small truck arrived and a man stepped out with paper bags.
One of the young men announced, "I called my dad! He makes fast tacos."
In minutes, tacos were passed out and in seconds after the smell reached Sara's nose, she walked to a nearby trash can and gagged. Grissom came over with her water bottle.
"I don't think it's decomp causing you to throw up," he said.
She washed out her mouth, took a swallow and leaned her head against the building. "I don't feel bad—I—I think I'm hungry."
Grissom rubbed her back, saying, "You can go back—Adrian and I can finish up. These guys can handle the investigation."
Laughing, Sara said, "Oh, no, I'm not giving up! Eat a taco—I'll walk around."
He walked with her and across the street found a small convenience store selling fresh-made smoothies. "I'll get you one—maybe it'll help."
A few minutes later, Sara took a deep swallow of the pineapple and banana drink and said, "This will help—it tastes good." With a laugh, she added, "I may throw it up in the street."
Grissom had gotten an energy bar and ate it as they crossed the street, heading back to the morgue. He said, "Tell me what you think."
"Not suicide, that I know." She took another sip. "It could be a drug deal—easily obtained barrels, access to a boat—would not report missing persons who might have flown in."
Detective Lee walked up, holding two tacos. "You want one?" Seeing the look on Sara's face, he backed a few steps away. "That decomp smell didn't make you sick but tacos do?"
Smiling, Grissom said, "She's pregnant—normally she's got a stomach like an iron skillet."
Adrian Lee's eyes moved from Sara's face down to her abdomen. "Early days—morning sickness—we have three and my wife was sick with every one of them."
"How long does it last?" asked Sara.
He chuckled, saying, "A few weeks with one, several months with the others." He backed away a few more steps. "I'll pass these to someone else—unless…" He held the tacos toward Grissom.
"Go ahead," Sara said. "I'm fine—I'll drink my smoothie away from the taco team."
After food was eaten, the group gathered to talk about their thoughts. Ideas centered on drug dealers but the dead dog brought up confusion.
"Where did the dog come from?"
"And why kill a dog."
"And put it in a barrel—why not just bury it."
Everyone tossed around ideas for a while but none added new information. As they pulled on fresh jumpsuits, masks, and shields, Sara asked,
"Gil, what happened to the rubber glove?"
He waved a hand toward one of the tables. "It's there—I forgot about it." Looking surprised, he said, "These bodies have been out there a while—I don't think you'll be able to get fingerprints."
Sara shrugged and retrieved the glove from the table holding the assorted items found in the barrels. Moving to the end of the table, she reached for a waterproof pad to cover the surface.
"Here," one of the young women spread a pad across the table. "We want to watch—help."
Four women stood near the table. Sara nodded.
She said, "It's a household kitchen glove—and sometimes, within ten days or so, you can get a fingerprint from inside the glove. Dr. Grissom thinks too much time has passed which is probably true but," she shrugged. "You never know what you might find."
Carefully, she cut the glove to the palm then used her fingers to turn each finger space. As she pushed her finger into the third space, a small red sliver fell onto the pad. An audible gasp came from all five women as they recognized the red sliver as a fingernail—a fake one.
One whispered, "A woman—do you think a woman did this?"
"Gil! Adrian!" Sara called, "Look what we found in the glove!"
Someone handed Sara a small clear baggie and tweezers. The coroner ran over and took dozens of photographs before she carefully placed the fingernail in the baggie.
Detective Lee and Grissom looked on in amazement. "A fingernail," the detective whispered.
"Yeah, in all this gunk—we got knife marks and a fake fingernail," said Grissom.
At some point, the police officers had set up a large white board and stuck up photos of the autopsy process, the barrels and pieces of the net, items found in each barrel, even close up photos of the dog's fur. In a few minutes, they added photos of the fake fingernail.
"Maybe the dog is the answer—people report their dog missing," suggested one of the police officers.
Grissom said, "Not if the dog belongs to the dead guys."
One of the young morgue techs said, "What about the fingernail? I've got a sister who works in a high end nail salon—I think she could tell us the color of gel. And that's a nice nail."
Every man in the room turned to look at her with one saying, "It's red."
"There are at least one hundred shades of red, doofus!" She laughed. "If I call her, she'd come over but she won't come in this building because of this smell."
Detective Lee pointed to the guy who had mentioned missing dogs. "Check on missing dogs." Turning to the young woman, he asked, "Can you sister come over—we'll meet her outside."
Grissom and Sara organized the others to check and re-check everything that could be evidence, store the bones and fluids in the morgue refrigerator, and clean all surfaces.
One of the police officers had been calling veterinarians asking about long-haired dogs, possible collies or sheepdogs. He came up with a list of fifteen dog owners and handed out the numbers to several others. In thirty minutes, they had located all but four dogs and those owners had not answered their phones.
Detective Lee returned with two names of red nail polish. Holding up the fingernail for Sara and Grissom, he said, "It is either Red Apple or Hot Sauce—both available at nail salons and any place else that sells nail polish. However," he waved the baggie, "this is a professionally done nail—says our expert."
When Detective Lee finally called an end to their work, he handed two dog owner names to two of the police officers and suggested a drive to Sara and Grissom. He said, "Two of those dog owners live a few miles out of town—let's go see if we can find those dogs."
"We smell," Sara said.
The two men laughed. Grissom said, "The dogs won't care."
A few miles out of Hilo, Lee turned onto a narrow paved road driving under huge trees until a lava flow had covered all growth on one side of the road.
"This is like the moon's surface," Sara said.
Lee agreed. "And the irony is this is all public land—set aside as a preserve for old growth forest. When the volcano erupted, all the lava came here."
The landscape changed quickly, back to tall trees and thick growth, an occasional house.
Detective Lee made another turn into a neighborhood of six or seven houses and pulled to a stop at the fourth house. Two dogs, one a collie, barked from a fenced back yard.
"Well," said Grissom, "looks like we found one of the dogs."
Retracing their drive to the main highway, Lee drove a few miles, turned onto another paved road that quickly became a mix of gravel, sand, and broken asphalt. A sign advertised "three to five acre ranchettes". The rental car bounced along pot holes and washed out spots, passed one house, then another before they stopped at an obviously abandon house. Grass was a foot high, weeds grew in cracks on a patio, vines ran up walls and along the roof line, a rusting grill, and broken lawn chairs added to the neglected appearance.
Detective Lee reached for his phone and made a call.
Sara and Grissom walked to the backside of the house. She pointed at a plastic domed dog shelter among the clutter in the back yard. A small shed, its door hanging open on rusty hinges, was near the backside of the property. Walking back to the front, they found Adrian was on his phone.
Grissom said, "Let's walk to the next house—it's not that far." He motioned to Lee that they were walking to the next house. "Maybe the neighbors know where these people moved—or when they left."
They walked slowly; Grissom kept his hand on Sara's back as they talked, not about the case but about the lush greenery around them, the isolation of each house, and the awesome destruction of lava.
Sara, leaning against her husband, said, "You can't see the other house—the neighbors might not even know each other."
When they reached the next driveway, they were surprised to find a neatly kept front lawn, flowers blooming, and a house that was well tended. A small white SUV was in the driveway.
"Maybe we'll get lucky," Grissom said. Loudly, he called out a "hello!" and then did it a second time. They stopped halfway along the driveway and he yelled a third time.
Sara said, "If the television is on, they might not hear you."
As she said the words, two things happened.
The front door rattled and opened. A white haired woman called, "What do you want? I don't want religion or solar panels!"
Adrian Lee pulled up in his bright red car, motioning for the Grissoms to join him. Sara looked at the detective, turned slowly and looked at the woman. Grissom mirrored her actions, looking at the woman first and then at the detective.
The woman stepped outside.
Sara called out, "We're looking at the house next door—wondered if you knew anything? Who owns it, maybe?" She felt Grissom's hand on her arm, gradually increasing pressure as she took a step toward the woman.
"Sara," he whispered. "Adrian is here."
The woman walked off the small porch into the sunlight; she wore a lightweight shirt, jeans, and sandals. Sara's eyes caught a flash of color on the woman's fingertips.
At that moment, she felt Grissom's hand tighten on her arm and her peripheral vision caught Adrian Lee moving to her side.
The woman, almost fifteen feet from them, said loudly, "They left a while back—maybe three or four months ago. I—I didn't know them and don't know anything about the house."
Detective Lee walked a few steps toward the woman, holding his ID badge out. "Are you Mrs. Phillips? Pauline Phillips? I'm Detective Lee—here with Sara and Gil Grissom who are helping me out today. We'd like to talk with you for a few minutes."
In seconds, the woman seemed to wilt; her shoulders dropped as she sighed. The phone fell out of her hand as her hand covered her mouth. All three of the people in her driveway noticed the color of her fingernails—bright red.
A/N: What's happening! Read, review and next chapter appears! Peace to all! And more to come!