The Executioner

Seventeen

‘So what’s this all about?’ Garcia asked as he met Hunter in the parking lot to the County Department of Coroner at 6:35 a.m. ‘This place ain’t even open yet.’

Hunter shrugged. ‘The doctor didn’t say, but I guess we’ll find out soon enough.’

Doctor Winston greeted both detectives with a firm handshake by the entrance door.

‘So what happened, doc?’ Hunter asked as they entered the building.

‘Well, last night when I got to the Redwood Bar & Grill for William’s leaving do, I turned my cell phone off. After all, I’m a pathologist not a surgeon. I don’t get called for emergencies in the middle of the night.’

‘OK.’ Hunter said the word slowly.

‘When I turned my cell phone back on this morning I had a rather peculiar message from one of my forensic technicians.’

They walked through an empty front lobby, past the reception desk and into a long and well-lit corridor.

‘As you might expect, we’re one of the busiest coroners’ departments in the entire United States. Most of the gritty, autopsy-preparatory jobs are delegated to forensic technicians, who are usually university students.’

They reached the stairwell at the end of the corridor and went up to the first floor.

‘The corpses arrive here in a regular polyethylene body bag. In the specific case of your priest’s body, the coroner’s investigator at the scene was kind enough to remove the dog’s head from the body before sealing the bag.’

‘I can imagine a student’s surprise as he unzips a bag to find a human body with a dog’s head stuck to it,’ Hunter said.

‘Exactly,’ the doctor confirmed. ‘I haven’t seen the head yet.’

‘Where’s it now?’ Garcia enquired.

‘In the lab. It will be undergoing forensic tests this morning. If we’re lucky, we might get something.’

They stopped in front of the changing-room door.

‘Suit up,’ the doctor said. ‘I’ll meet you at autopsy 2B. Second to last door on the left.’ He pointed down the corridor.

After Hunter and Garcia rejoined him, Doctor Winston continued, ‘OK, so last night the forensic technicians were preparing bodies for this morning’s examinations.’ He opened the door to room 2B and switched on the lights. Immediately, the smell of ammonia hit them and burned their lungs. A stainless-steel table occupied the middle of the spotlessly clean tiled floor. On one wall there was a large double sink and a metal counter with several tools neatly lined up on it, including a Stryker saw. On the opposite wall, shelves held numerous microscopes, vials and test tubes. Two state-of-the-art computers sat on two separate small desks.

‘The body needs to be washed before the examination is carried out,’ Doctor Winston said, stepping closer to the stainless-steel table. A body lay on it covered by a long white cloth. ‘Needless to say that before being washed, the body needs to be undressed.’

Hunter could already predict what would come next.

‘When the forensic technicians undid the priest’s cassock, this is what they found.’ Doctor Winston uncovered the body. All three men stared at it in silence for a few seconds.

‘Fuck,’ Garcia whispered, breaking the tense silence. On the priest’s chest, painted in red and about six inches long, was the number three.