side. It also had what Jessica
figured was the title of his movie.
Coming
soon: AREA 5292
Clever,
Jessica thought. It was obviously a play on Area 51, the area in southern
Nevada central to UFO conspiracy theories. The number 5292 was PPD parlance for
a dead body.
Fifteen
minutes later Tom Weyrich emerged.
'Bringing
all my training to bear,' he began, 'I would conclude that this is a deceased
person.'
'I
knew I should have gone to a better school,' Jessica said. 'COD?'
'Can't
even give you a presumptive cause of death until we unwrap his head.'
'Ready?'
Jessica asked.
'As
ever.'
They
stepped back inside the storage room. Jessica snapped on latex gloves. Of late
they were bright purple. They knelt down on either side of the body.
The
band of paper was fastened with a small wad of sealing wax. The wax was a
glossy crimson. Jessica knew this would be a delicate operation, if she wanted
to preserve the sample.
She
took out her knife - a four-inch serrated Gerber that she always carried in a
sheath around her ankle, at least when she was wearing jeans - and slipped it
under the circle of hard wax. She pried it gently. At first it looked as if it
might split in two, but then she got lucky. The specimen fell off in one piece.
She placed it into an evidence bag. With Weyrich holding the opposite side of
the paper band, they unveiled the victim's face.
It
was a horror mask.
Jessica
estimated the victim to be about thirty-five to forty, although most of the
lividity was gone and the skin had begun to sag.
Across
the upper portion of the victim's forehead was a single laceration, running
laterally, perhaps four or five inches in length. The cut did not appear to be
very deep, splitting just the skin in a deep violet streak, not deep enough to
reach bone. It appeared to have been made with either a razor blade or a very
sharp knife.
Just
above the right eye was a small puncture wound, the diameter of an ice pick or
a knitting needle. This too seemed shallow. Neither wound appeared to be fatal.
The victim's right ear looked to be mutilated, with cuts along the top and
side, all the way down to the lobe, which was missing.
Around
the neck was a deep welt. Death appeared to be a result of strangulation.
'You
think that's the COD?' Jessica asked, even though she knew that the cause of
death could not be conclusively determined until an autopsy had been performed.
'Hard
to tell,' Weyrich said. 'But there is petechiae in the sclera of his eyes. It's
a pretty good bet.'
'Let's
see, he was stabbed, slashed and strangled,' Jessica said. 'Real hat trick.'
'And
that's just the stuff we know about. He might have been poisoned.'
Jessica
poked around the small room, carefully overturning boxes and shipping pallets. She
found no clothing, no ID, nothing to indicate who this victim might be.
When
she stepped outside a few minutes later she saw Detective Joshua Bontrager
walking across Federal Street, clipping his badge to his jacket pocket.
Josh
Bontrager had only been in the unit a few years but he had developed into a
good investigator. Josh was unique in a number of ways, not the least of which
was the fact that he had grown up Amish in rural Pennsylvania before making his
way to Philadelphia and the police force, where he spent a few years in various
units before being called into the homicide unit for a special investigation.
Josh was in his mid-thirties, country-boy blond, deceptively fit and agile. He
did not bring a lot of street smarts to the job - most of the streets on which
he'd grown up had been barely paved - or any sort of scientific logic, but
rather an innate kindness, an affability that completely disarmed all but the
most hardened criminal.
There
were some in the unit who felt that Josh Bontrager was a country bumpkin
figured was the title of his movie.
Coming
soon: AREA 5292
Clever,
Jessica thought. It was obviously a play on Area 51, the area in southern
Nevada central to UFO conspiracy theories. The number 5292 was PPD parlance for
a dead body.
Fifteen
minutes later Tom Weyrich emerged.
'Bringing
all my training to bear,' he began, 'I would conclude that this is a deceased
person.'
'I
knew I should have gone to a better school,' Jessica said. 'COD?'
'Can't
even give you a presumptive cause of death until we unwrap his head.'
'Ready?'
Jessica asked.
'As
ever.'
They
stepped back inside the storage room. Jessica snapped on latex gloves. Of late
they were bright purple. They knelt down on either side of the body.
The
band of paper was fastened with a small wad of sealing wax. The wax was a
glossy crimson. Jessica knew this would be a delicate operation, if she wanted
to preserve the sample.
She
took out her knife - a four-inch serrated Gerber that she always carried in a
sheath around her ankle, at least when she was wearing jeans - and slipped it
under the circle of hard wax. She pried it gently. At first it looked as if it
might split in two, but then she got lucky. The specimen fell off in one piece.
She placed it into an evidence bag. With Weyrich holding the opposite side of
the paper band, they unveiled the victim's face.
It
was a horror mask.
Jessica
estimated the victim to be about thirty-five to forty, although most of the
lividity was gone and the skin had begun to sag.
Across
the upper portion of the victim's forehead was a single laceration, running
laterally, perhaps four or five inches in length. The cut did not appear to be
very deep, splitting just the skin in a deep violet streak, not deep enough to
reach bone. It appeared to have been made with either a razor blade or a very
sharp knife.
Just
above the right eye was a small puncture wound, the diameter of an ice pick or
a knitting needle. This too seemed shallow. Neither wound appeared to be fatal.
The victim's right ear looked to be mutilated, with cuts along the top and
side, all the way down to the lobe, which was missing.
Around
the neck was a deep welt. Death appeared to be a result of strangulation.
'You
think that's the COD?' Jessica asked, even though she knew that the cause of
death could not be conclusively determined until an autopsy had been performed.
'Hard
to tell,' Weyrich said. 'But there is petechiae in the sclera of his eyes. It's
a pretty good bet.'
'Let's
see, he was stabbed, slashed and strangled,' Jessica said. 'Real hat trick.'
'And
that's just the stuff we know about. He might have been poisoned.'
Jessica
poked around the small room, carefully overturning boxes and shipping pallets. She
found no clothing, no ID, nothing to indicate who this victim might be.
When
she stepped outside a few minutes later she saw Detective Joshua Bontrager
walking across Federal Street, clipping his badge to his jacket pocket.
Josh
Bontrager had only been in the unit a few years but he had developed into a
good investigator. Josh was unique in a number of ways, not the least of which
was the fact that he had grown up Amish in rural Pennsylvania before making his
way to Philadelphia and the police force, where he spent a few years in various
units before being called into the homicide unit for a special investigation.
Josh was in his mid-thirties, country-boy blond, deceptively fit and agile. He
did not bring a lot of street smarts to the job - most of the streets on which
he'd grown up had been barely paved - or any sort of scientific logic, but
rather an innate kindness, an affability that completely disarmed all but the
most hardened criminal.
There
were some in the unit who felt that Josh Bontrager was a country bumpkin
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