My mouth quirked but I managed to stifle the laughter so I didn’t hurt his feelings. “I’ve never thought to put the Bible and blackjack together before.”
“Mother says if they can cast lots in the Bible than she can sure as heck cast them in her living room with mimosas.”
“Never thought of it that way,” I said, finishing off my donut before heading over to the locked door that led down to the lab.
I typed in the code and the seal around the door released with a whoosh. It was a thick metal insulated door that had been installed by my parents to protect the sanctity of their criminal mortuary business.
I had to hand it to my parents. They’d set the bar high for criminals everywhere. At least until my mom decided she was better off working for the CIA so she didn’t end up behind bars. I’m still not sure she’s not a criminal, and since we haven’t gotten together for a mother-daughter bonding moment since she shot my dad in our living room, I’m fine with wondering.
The air was cold when we stepped onto the landing that led down to the lab, and the lights came on automatically. My parents had made sure everything was state of the art. My lab, in the middle of small-town Bloody Mary, was better equipped than almost every state lab on the east coast. Though it’s not like my parents were having to wait for state funding to receive and deliver contraband through the bodies that came through here.
We opted to take the lift down instead of the stairs, mostly because Sheldon and his Coke bottle glasses didn’t navigate depth perception well. He’d taken a tumble more than once. Sheldon had a tendency to trip over his own feet on a flat floor.
It was an open-air metal lift that was caged in with bars to keep people and gurneys from falling off. Once it touched ground we stepped off and into my home away from home. The lab was white and sterile, with industrial shelves against one wall and a large walk-in cooler against another. I had a desk with computers and the equipment I used that was certified for forensic use by the state, and it was set up next to my autopsy table.
On the other side of the lab were two embalming tables with built-in drainage, as well as a top-of-the-line ventilation system. Ventilation was important. I didn’t really smell any of the usual death scents anymore. I was pretty sure my olfactory senses had been singed at some point. Jack had never gotten a tolerance to the smells of mortuary life. The man could stand in crime scene remnants all day long, but the smell of a little embalming fluid turned him green every time.
Having Lily and Sheldon assist wasn’t exactly time efficient. If anything, it would slow me down, but despite human nature having the occasional bent toward evil, victims of homicide didn’t come across my table every day. King George was still a small county, and the crime rate was much lower than anywhere around us, so it was good practice for Lily whenever she got the opportunity.
I turned on all the vents and equipment automatically while Sheldon and Lily rolled Juliet from the cooler. The prep work was automatic—mindless activity I’d done countless times before.
Technology had changed things over the last few years. Advancements and computer programs were more efficient, less messy, and less personal. But there was something about human touch that revealed things about what happened to a victim that a computer program would never accomplish. Death, if anything, was personal.
I still liked to handwrite my own notes and make sketches, and then I’d log all my notes into the computer once I was finished. I’d learned from experience that it was always good to have a backup, because technology had a tendency to fail at the exact moment you didn’t need it to.
I put the evidence bags on the sterile metal table that flanked my desk, and then put on my lab coat, washed my hands, and gloved up. Any samples I collected from the clothing would have to go to the state crime lab, but getting the samples could be a tedious process, especially since the clothing had been in a dumpster and searching for hair or DNA samples would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.
Lily and Sheldon moved the gurney next to the autopsy table and unzipped the body bag. I was watching out of the corner of my eye, but I trusted Lily and she’d completed all her state certifications to work on the deceased while she’d been interning for me. Effectively, she’d been sworn in as assistant coroner for the county, but she couldn’t sign off on any of the paperwork.
I pulled a dark burgundy silk scarf from the evidence bag. It was stiff with dried blood, and there were small particulates from the dumpster adhered to it. I swabbed it so blood comparisons could be made, and looked at it closely for any identifying labels, photographing as I went.
I hung the scarf from one of the shaking racks, and turned it on, the gentle vibrations sending particulates to the tray at the bottom of the rack.
“Oh man,” Lily said.
“What is it?” I asked, stopping what I was doing to move to the autopsy table.
“Remaining tissues connecting the head and spinal column detached during transport,” she said.
“I figured it probably would,” I told her. “It was barely hanging on. That takes a wicked sharp blade and a good deal of force to sever a head.”
“He’s strong?” Sheldon asked.
“Maybe,” I said. “An adrenaline rush will give some people additional strength. We don’t want to build an impression that leads us down a false rabbit hole later on. Don’t worry about the head. It’ll be easier to work with detached.”
I moved back to the table and let Lily document the exterior evaluation of the victim—birthmarks, tattoos, trauma, bruises—every inch of the body had to be looked at.
I pulled out the next article of clothing from an evidence bag. It was a black ankle-length cape lined with velvet. It was also stiff with a good amount of blood, presumably the victim’s. That first slash across the throat would’ve been violent and gruesome, and there would have been nothing he could’ve done to avoid the arterial spray.
He’d been up close and personal. A crime like this was intimate. The killer had probably used the cape to wipe the blood from his face or eyes. He’d have been wearing gloves too, but they hadn’t found any in the dumpster. I didn’t have any hope that CSI would be able to pull prints from the hilt, but stranger things had happened.
I hung the cape in one of the larger shaking racks, closed the door and flipped the switch.
“Capes were common outerwear during medieval times,” Sheldon said. “And then they became fashionable during the nineteenth century.”
“I think that one falls into the latter category,” I said. “It’s thick and velvet lined. And it has pockets.”
“Ooh, pockets,” Lily said. “I love it when things have pockets.”
I removed the knife from the remaining evidence bag and held it up to the light. It was wicked and sharp, just like I’d mentioned to Sheldon it would have to be.
“That’s pretty much my criteria for clothing at this stage of my life,” I said. “I want pockets and I need it to feel like pajamas. I don’t care if it’s loungewear or formal wear.”
“Yeah, I’m not there yet,” Lily said. “I still like for my shoes to be uncomfortable and sexy and for my clothes to have that look-but-don’t-touch vibe.”
“I don’t know what any of that means,” Sheldon said, looking confused.