7
“Yes indeed, I have thought about this,” Lieutenant Dupree said on the phone. The window in his office stood open to let the fresh morning breeze in.
“We have to be sure the news doesn’t leak to the media,” Dupree went on.
“I appreciate you will take care of the situation. What did the biologists say about the potential danger of the virus?”
It took a while before Dupree’s question received an answer.
“Hmm! yes, so they haven’t actually tested the medicine on humans yet”. Hang on, I‘ve got another call, I’ll ring you back later.”
*
There were so many good hiding places between and in the dumped cars. Jack was the first who spotted the Ford. He was sure it hadn’t been there the last time they played here
“What‘s a brand new car doing here?” The boy yelled.
The other boys gazed at each other and smiled joyfully. They ran towards the car.
Danny arrived as first at the abandoned car. Approaching the vehicle, he immediately stopped in his tracks. With his eyes wide open, he stood still like a statue.
“What’s the matter, Danny?” one of his friends asked alarmed.
A third boy, who legged right behind Danny, screamed. With tears rolling down his face, he hurried away as fast as his legs could carry him; away from the awful monster.
Danny still didn’t move. Afraid of whatever there might be in the car.
Holding their friend’s hand the boys led Danny away from the car.
*
Still annoyed of how things went during the AA meeting Detective Cedric Garnham slammed the door of his Austin. The evening had ended in another fiasco. The meetings spoiled his evening once a month and he always felt rotten the next morning.
To make matters worse, HQ rang him early in the morning and ordered him to this godforsaken place; the place of all places, a car dump, where everyone who isn’t prepared to pay their taxes leave their discarded vehicle. There had been some joyriding going on with one of the cars, so what? He thought there must be plenty of young officers at the station who could take care of a case like this.
A CSI technician wearing a white overall approached him. The man looked serious.
“It’s a nasty case sir. You better get yourself into this.” The man held an overall and oxygen mask in his hands.
“What have we got?” Garnham asked. He didn’t like the situation. Overalls okay, but oxygen masks? “There must be something worse going on here than only joyriding.”
While Garnham dressed himself into the white suit, the forensic technician assisted him with the mask. Turning towards the driver’s window of his Austin, Garnham looked at himself.
He followed the man to a horrendous crime scene. He moved back the moment he got sight of a body in the car. Flies buzzed around the body and a large amount of them lay scattered lifeless near the cadaver. The face of the victim was covered with yellow blisters. Along the face, at the right hand side and down the neck ran a trail of cherry red blood. Garnham stood quietly; taking in the scene, he moved only his eyes. Another forensic, also dressed in a white overall, was busy scraping vomit from the victim’s chin using a plastic spoon. He deposited the substance into a plastic evidence bag.
“What happened here “? Garnham inquired. He felt somewhat sorry for the forensic, having to do such a disgusting job, but someone had to do it, and he was thankful it wasn’t him
“We’re not sure at the moment, but we not taking any risks,” the forensic technician replied.
Garnham nodded and watched as two technicians labelled and bagged the victim.
*
Sarah Wolters parked her Kawasaki on the pavement in front of Malthouse’s house. The garden was neatly trimmed like the others in the street. She smelt the fragrance of the fresh cut grass of the lawn. On the corner of the pavement stood a red painted mailbox, she resisted peeking into it. She could always ask Malthouse if she needed to. She’d entered a neighbourhood where people must have well-paid jobs. Sarah estimated the price of the houses in the estate around a half a million dollars. Pays well, being a scientist she thought. Climbing the porch, she loosened her hair with her free hand, and threw her head backwards. In her other hand she carried her helmet.
George Malthouse gazed up and down her body while he stood at the front door, he smiled satisfactorily. “Come on in,” he smirked.
“Perhaps I can have a look at your pick-up truck first,” Sarah suggested. She felt Malthouse’s eyes piercing like a laser through her leather coat.
George brought her to the garage after he lit a Marlboro. When he blew out a puff of smoke in front of Sarah, she moved her hand in front of her face and she coughed.
“It’s only a dent, it’s nothing serious,” George said.
The garage door made an unpleasant noise. The last part he had to move manually. “Technology huh?”
Sarah shook her head. There stood a battered pick-up truck inside the garage. The truck had received quite a few bumps in its lifetime. Sarah wondered how Malthouse had been able to recognize a new one.
“See here, a dent in the bumper, it’s fresh, it wasn’t there before,” George said.
“Are you sure it’s a new dent?”
“Of course I am, and look there’s paint.” George bent down and pointed at a smudge.
Sarah’s phone rang. A couple of minutes later she said, “I’ll have to go.” Before she left she scraped a bit of the paint from the bumper and deposited in an evidence bag.
Sarah shivered as she entered the white pathology room down in the St. Jonathan’s Medical Centre’s basement. She never knew whether she did this because of the freezing temperature or the dead bodies stored inside the refrigerators.
“Detective Wolters how are things?” a man in his early fifties greeted her. His hair was covered with a red bandana.
Detective Cedric Garnham stood with his back against a table, his hands were in his pockets.
A body lay shielded under a green sheet in an oxygen tent. The pathologist said, “They used some kind of chemical on the victim. His face is a mess.”
“Is that why you are keeping him covered, Doctor Simon?” Sarah inquired.
“There is no need for you to see the body. Take it from me, it won‘t do you or the case any good,” Garnham assured her.
“There is some light bruising on his neck,” Simon pointed out.
“Perhaps he got strangled”? Garnham commented.
“I doubt it, there isn’t enough bruising to determine whether he was killed by strangulation,” Simon replied while re- arranging his instruments on the trolley.
“It appears the killer couldn’t make up his mind how to do the job. We’ve already determined at the crime scene that he also was shot,” Garnham said.
“Perhaps the killer wanted to confuse us,” Sarah implied.
“Any idea of who the victim is”? Garnham asked.
“Unfortunately he didn’t carry an ID. But I am sure he can’t be much older than 17.”
“Where did you find him?’ Sarah wanted to know.
“In a car dump at the outskirts of town, in a brand new Ford Mondeo. Nevertheless, 17 is too young to own a Ford,” Garnham remarked. “There is something else,” he addressed Sarah when he moved away from the table on which he’d been leaning. “We’ve found a damaged test tube in the glove compartment of the car. Scientists from the TRS have confirmed it is one of theirs.”
“Wait a minute; you said the tube was damaged? Do you mean it leaked its contents?” Sarah asked.
“The forensics team had their suspicions when they arrived at the crime scene. To be safe, we took precautions. The moment the test tube arrived at the police lab, it became clear there were scratches in the glass, although only a few they’re big enough to make the tube leak. The poor kid must have breathed in the fumes.” Garnham explained.
“Are you sure that is what killed the boy?” Sarah didn’t sound convinced.
“What else do you consider happened?” Garnham asked.
“So whoever stole the tube decided to kidnap the lad, drive him to the wasteland, to kill him there.” Sarah said.
“We must conclude the kidnapper might also be seriously ill, I mean, if you see the condition the lad is in.” Garnham claimed.
When the pathologist moved a part of the sheet, Sarah turned away and looked at the tiled floor.
“All right Simon, I we’ve seen enough,” Garnham said. He didn’t like what he witnessed either.
“Do you know who the owner of the car is yet?” Sarah inquired.
“According to the registration number the car belongs to a man named Edgar Ellis. Apparently, his house burnt down last night,” Garnham answered.
Sarah left the pathology room, a few minutes later she remembered the name Ellis from one of the personal files from TRS.
In the corridor, Garnham remarked sarcastically, “So all we have to do now is find Ellis, case solved, case closed. You’re not going to have any problems with that, Detective. Give me a call when you have a decent lead.”
The visit to Malthouse had both been educational and interesting for Sarah. Although he had explained everything fairly clear to her, there were still many questions left unanswered. Walking her dog, her mobile phone rang. It was the garage.
“You can pick up your bike, Mrs. Wolters.”
“Was there much damage?” Sarah paused on side of the pavement. Holding the phone tight to her ear while her index finger blocked the other, she strained to hear what the man was saying. Shabty sat patiently on the pavement, his lead hung loosely beside him.
“There was a hole in the exhaust pipe. It looked intentional to me.”
Sarah thanked the man and continued her walk. The message worried her. Whoever was involved with the theft of the virus and the murder of Rodrigo Mendez, knew she and Garnham were working on the case.
On her arrival home, she found a letter in the mailbox. Shabty vanished into the kitchen. From the comfort of her chair, Sarah could hear him gulping the cool water.
Less than twenty minutes later, a hot-faced Sarah stormed through the door of Lieutenant Dupree’s office. The man looked up in shock. He’d never seen her like this.
“I don’t believe it,” Sarah exclaimed. “You’re making the wrong decision.” She was waving the envelope.
“Sorry Sarah but you have a personal interest in the Mendez case. Please take a seat.” Dupree pointed at a vacant chair.
“No thanks.”
“You mean the murder of Rodrigo Mendez? I hardly knew the boy,” Sarah objected.
“You do know his father.”
“Are you saying that will stop me from being a good detective?”
“I might cloud your objective and judgmental skills, “Dupree answered.
“Well now chief, you don’t know me at all.”
“There is another reason why I called you in here, If we don’t watch out the FBI will take us off Thompson as well. It could well be a terrorist attack waiting in the wings.” Dupree said.
“What do you want me to do, tread on egg shells?” Sarah asked.
“If you must, I mean this as a matter of speech. You know yourself how they are like. They show up at the most impossible times. Even when a normal police department has everything under control they have the nerve to take over a case.”
Sarah’s concentration started to stray, in her mind she went over how to proceed with Rodrigo. It was obvious to her she would continue to find out what had happened to him.
“I sure hope you’re listening to me detective Wolters, I’m trying to protect you here,” Dupree said. He’d become frustrated with her inattention, his hands moved rapidly and his face turned red.
“Don’t get yourself worked up Lieutenant it’s not worth it. I tell you something for free, I don’t need protection. I’m well able to look after myself. And I tell you another thing my private life is my business.”
“I didn’t mention anything about your private life,” Dupree said. He shifted uncomfortable in his chair. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to Wolters. I can do a lot more than only take you off a case. Now get out of my office before I get angry.”
*
Softly Narette Philips patted Edgar Ellis’s face with a damp cloth. After risking his life he deserved a chance. The men who’d rescued him from his burning house had left as soon as they took him out of the bag.
She’d given him extra oxygen for a couple of hours, finally his colour returned. He looked peaceful now. She watched him lying there, so helpless. The bag with new blood hung beside his bed. The blisters on his face and hands were horrific.
The heat of the morning sun made it hot in the house. She only wore a thin cotton dress. Bare feet in her slippers, she went about her work. Her back clammy from perspiration, she did her best to make her patient as comfortable as possible. She had no idea if Ellis might ever wake up. He didn’t seem to mind the heat. She’d put a fan beside his bed which blew continuously.
She knew the old house didn’t do Ellis any good. Although she’d removed the dusty curtains and replaced them with new, there were holes in the floor planks, spiders and other bugs all over the house. Narette’s divided her time between caring for the patient and hunting the vermin.
She knew the minute they’ll set foot in an E.R, both of them would be arrested.
*
Doctor Simon pulled the sheet away from the body. He needed to get started. The corpse lay stiff and pallid on the stainless steel table, rigor mortis had set in. He used a scalpel to make a ‘y’ shaped incision in the young man’s chest.
“Do you actually have to open him up like that?” Simon’s assistant, Ligett, asked sheepishly. “We know what killed him already.”
“This is a murder case, so everything has to be double checked. We can’t just assume things because our eyes tell us one thing. We must also study the object itself,” while Simon spoke a grey lock of hair escaped from his bandana.
Moments later, he took both lungs from the body and handed them over to Ligett. Standing ready with a stainless steel bowl, the assistant remarked, “They are filled with blood!”