Chapter Seven
“Feels good to be out in the field again, doesn’t it?” Jake asks as I stand in the only taxidermist shop in town.
I pat my badge proudly. I know it’s only been a day, but being cooped up in the house always puts me on edge. It felt more like a month. “It does. Thanks for believing that I had nothing to do with that man’s death. Did they ever figure out what was wrong with my blood?”
“No. It didn’t even show up in testing.”
Then, I’m not going to worry about it.
I walk around the body, wondering what the hell happened to him. “This is disgusting. Do we know the cause of death?”
“You’re looking at it.” A woman’s voice comes from behind me.
I spin around to see a woman I’ve never met before. She has short, brown hair and big glasses that take up the majority of her face.
“I’m Devi. Forensic Pathologist.” She grabs the tweezers, collecting evidence from the body.
“I’m not following, Devi.”
“He was killed by flesh-eating beetles. I don’t know where the beetles are. It was like the murderer collected them all, but that would take hours, and by how warm the body still is, that’s impossible. This is recent.”
“But how?” I ask more to myself than anyone else.
“That’s for you to figure out. I’m only here for the cause of death.
See these tiny markings along his body? His organs?
” She points with tweezers, showing me how the beetles took small bites out of him.
“This wasn’t instant, but the cause of death was when the beetles bit into his aorta.
He bled to death. Horrible way to go.” She clicks her tongue as if this is just another day at the office.
“And no beetles were found on his body?”
“Not a one, but I only know one kind of beetle that can do this. It’s the flesh-eating beetle. A taxidermist would have access to insects like that to help him clean bones if needed.”
I inspect the shelves, a light layer of dust sticking to the wood. He only replaced the boxes from the looks of the dust gathering between them. The shelves line the entire wall, and by the tags on the side of the box, this is where the insects were.
My brow lifts when I see an empty space. “Hey, Sheriff?”
Jake turns around, hands hooked on his belt buckle. “Detective.”
“I’m going to go out on a wild limb and say our flesh-eating beetles were here, but they aren’t now.”
“You find the person with the beetles, you’ll find the killer. There’s only one reason he would want those beetles,” Devi informs. “And the reason isn’t a good one.”
The slickness of the body causes it to slip from the chair and fall onto the floor, along with what’s left of his intestines slipping free.
“I’m going to step outside for a little bit of fresh air.” I cover my mouth with my hand, closing my eyes so I’m not forced to look at the victim.
Plus, the smell. The space reeks of death and the pungent aroma of blood.
A decaying corpse is a scent that can never be forgotten, and it takes forever to fade. Now, the scent of death will follow me around all day.
Pushing the door open, the humid afternoon is a breath of relief when it hits me in the face. I lean against the wall, staring at the afternoon traffic, when children and parents begin to run towards me.
“What the hell is going on?” I whisper, pushing myself off the wall with my foot.
“Are they coming in hot, to you?” Waylon asks, taking a stance next to me.
The crowd of panicked parents gets closer, and we’re finally able to hear what they are yelling.
“She has a gun!”
“Someone’s been shot!”
Waylon and I straighten at the same time.
“Where? Is everyone okay? Did any of you get hurt or shot?” I ask, trying to eye them all for any bleeding.
One parent shakes his head, pulling his daughter close to him to keep her safe. “No. We left. They weren’t bothering us, but they looked like they were going to kill one another.”
Waylon steps forward, his wide shoulders surpassing the width of the man in front of us. “Who? Can you describe them?”
“Yes, the woman was small. She had a satchel where she kept the gun. She wore a beanie, so I don’t know what color her hair was. She was short, with long sleeves,” the parent explains.
His daughter peers up at him. “And she had pretty eye makeup. It was so colorful!”
“It was. You’re right. Good catch, baby.” He smiles down at her, rubbing her back.
Fireopal. That has to be who they are talking about. She fits the description.
Waylon scribbles the details down. “And the other person? Who was that?”
“I have never seen him before. He is huge though. His entire body is tattooed, his eyes are blacked out, and he has a nose and eyebrow piercing. You can’t miss him. He sticks out.”
“And where did this happen?” I question just as more shots are fired.
Waylon and I share a quick glance before leaping into action. Opening the door to the taxidermist’s office, I yell to the Sheriff, “Shots fired across the park!”
“Go. I’ll call you if I need you,” Devi states. “I’m still collecting evidence from the body. It will take time.”
Jenkins, Jake, and Zig sprint into action, following the path that cuts through the park.
The playground is on the left. It’s so odd to see it deserted at this time of day. The wind blows the swings, the chains screeching from age and rust. I pump my arms, focus on my breathing, and wonder who the hell made this park so damn big?
The thuds of everyone’s footsteps sound like a stampede of wild animals as we try to locate the suspects. We finally arrive at the other side of the park, looking for any sign of them.
“They aren’t here!” Waylon shouts, looking all around the park to see if we missed them.
I hang my head, defeated that we were so close to catching a murderer. I don’t know if Fireopal has it in her to kill anyone. That isn’t what she does. She likes to steal money. That’s all she ever cared about.
Taking off my sunglasses, the sun barely shines through the clouds, but it’s enough to have me squint at the ground. Twisting, I follow the red drops, connecting the dots that shots were fired.
“I have blood!” I yell, slowly standing so I can get a better view of the trail.
Waylon, Zig, Jenkins, and Jake come closer, their shadows swallowing me.
“Looks like it goes across the street.” Zig points his finger at the street, and we all follow.
I’m the first in line, lifting my badge at traffic during the red light so drivers know not to go on green. The blood trail becomes more visible on the sidewalk; the bright red droplets are still wet, meaning it’s fresh.
And it leads to an older, rundown house. A small puddle collects at the stoop of what used to be a door that’s smashed to pieces.
“Leads into the house,” I whisper, unholstering my weapon.
“I got your back,” Waylon says, lifting his gun into the air and pointing it forward. “Ready?”
I nod, taking the first step into a war zone.
“CPD!” I announce, out of breath from running across the park.
Gun drawn, I aim it in the direction in front of me.
“Body!” I announce to Waylon and Zig, who are behind me, wondering how the victim ended up bent in half.
I continue my sweep, careful not to step on any broken pieces of wood or glass. I don’t want to fuck up a crime scene. I’ll never hear the end of it.
Turning left, I nearly lose my lunch when I see what is in front of me. “Jesus.” Not much makes me gag. I’ve seen a lot in this career, but this is beyond anything I have ever seen before. “Another body!” I shout, covering my mouth when bile threatens to creep up my throat.
“Two bodies up here!” Waylon yells from upstairs.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” Zig says, clearing the living room for any other suspects. “?Quién podría hacer algo así?”
“In this small town? I have no idea who could do something like this, Zig. I have never seen anything like this before,” I say, stunned to my soul.
The body lying on the floor has a gun in its hand. I would say suicide, but the barrel is bent backwards towards the direction of where his head used to be.
“Upstairs is clear!” Waylon announces.
“Clear down here too!” I reply, squatting next to the body.
Pulling out a pair of gloves from my pocket, I slip them on, not wanting to contaminate evidence. I wrap my hand around the barrel, and it’s still warm, as in, it was recently fired.
“We need a three-block sweep! The gun is still hot. He can’t be far.”
“I’ll get Jenkins. We will do it.” Zig walks away and radios them with the information.
Standing, I make my way to the man bent in half near what used to be a staircase.
His head is touching his feet. His back is completely broken, his entire body snapped in half as if it were a toothpick.
His eyes are still open, his mouth stained with his blood, and even though he is dead, one expression is permanent on his face.
Fear.
His mouth is parted on a scream, and his eyes are as round as possible.
“What happened to you?” I ask him, knowing damn well he can’t talk. “What happened here?” Brainstorming, I think about what can cause this amount of damage.
There’s no way kicking the door in would explode the wood like this.
“You are going to want to come see this,” Waylon announces from upstairs. “I think there’s a message for you.”
I whip my head around, looking up at Waylon. “What?”
“You have a message here, Detective. And I think it’s from our killer.”
Keeping my gun in my hand, I climb up the staircase, dragging my gloved hand over the grooves in the wall. I pause when I see something long and curved sticking out of one of the marks. Glancing up, Waylon’s attention is glued to one of the victims.
Plucking the foreign object out of the wall, I place it in my palm to get a better look. It’s black, curved, and thick. It reminds me of a nail or a claw. That would be impossible. A nail like this could only come from an animal of some sort.
And what animal has the ability to kill like this?
“You coming?”