The Caller

Seven

Garcia’s gaze first moved to the pool of blood under the chair then to the sprinkles on the tabletop. He’d been so taken aback by the ferocity of the victim’s wounds that until then he had failed to notice that except from the ones projecting out of the victim’s face, there were no pieces of glass anywhere else.

‘That’s the exact same conclusion I came to,’ Dr. Slater agreed, as she joined Hunter behind the victim’s chair. ‘The way in which she’d been tied up, with the rope looping around the mid-section of her abdomen, would’ve easily allowed the perpetrator to grab her head and slam her face forward and downward.’ She pretended to grip the victim by the hair on the back of her head and simulated the movement. ‘The slam-down would’ve been fast and hard.’

Garcia walked around the table to the other side, his eyes still searching the floor. ‘So the speculation is that the killer placed some sort of container filled with glass pieces in front of her, maybe on the table, maybe on her lap, grabbed her by the hair and slammed her face into it?’

Sergeant Velasquez, who was still standing by the beaded curtain, grinded his teeth as he readjusted his weight, shifting from one foot to another.

‘As absurd and sadistic as that might sound, Detective,’ Dr. Slater replied, ‘that theory is right at the top of the list at the moment.’

‘Have you found this... container?’ Garcia asked.

‘No, not yet,’ the doctor admitted. ‘But I can certainly tell you where the glass came from.’