The Bone Collector

1

"You have reached the voicemail of Dr Ivory. Leave a message and I might call you back...it is unlikely though."

I heard the tone beep as I sat at my dining table waiting to hear who was calling me. I was as introverted as they come and even answering the phone terrified me.

"Libitina, pick up the phone."

I picked up the handset and hit the answer button after hearing it was my father. I put the receiver to my ear and waited to hear what he wanted.

"I have a cold one for you. Can you get it today?"

I hit a number on the phone and it beeped.

"Are you coming for dinner? Shelly wants to meet you."

I didn't hit a button and the silence dragged on. I had no interest in meeting my father's latest barbie doll. It was a revolving door of ladies for El Centro's leading geriatric bachelor and I had no intention of meeting my 'next mother' as many of them had introduced themselves as. Ha, yeah right, no thanks.

"Alright then Tina. I'll see you later."

I hung up the phone and went back to the papers spread across the table. Hundreds of photos of a crime scene from Tijuana were laid out for me to examine . A friend from university had sent them after he had been given the case. The crime scene wasn't my field of expertise but I would be the examiner receiving the bodies at my Baja California office. Working both sides of the border was busy but it helped me assist both countries solve murder mysteries. Putting all of the photos back in the folder, I locked it away in my home office and got ready to head to the hospital.

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The orderlies had already brought the body down to the hospital morgue when I arrived. Thankfully, I never saw anyone as I swiped my access card at the staff entrance. Most of the staff knew not to expect any conversation from me but it didn't stop them trying. The cheap linoleum floor squeaked as my ugly, but work friendly, crocs rubbed with every step.

I pulled a plastic apron off the hook and donned my protective gear before pulling the gurney from the fridge. I grabbed the folder that was clipped to the board at his feet and flipped through the pages. Michael Ariza, 36. Admitted for gunshot wounds to the chest, pneumothorax and haemorrhaging. Seemingly stable on a ventilator and in an induced coma at time of death.

I tossed the file to the bench and pulled the sheet off that covered the male. I carefully photographed all his injuries, scars and tattoos before swapping the camera for the tray of tools. The silence of my work room was interrupted by the harsh sound of the saw as I cut the Y incision. I was grateful for the plastic panel that covered my face as this wasn't the cleanest job. I remember the first time I saw this done in university, two people fainted and nearly a third dropped out of their pathological studies altogether. It was not for the faint hearted but blood, guts and gore didn't bother me.

The first thing I noticed as I pulled back the rib cage was the lack of blood in the abdominal area. Normally, a sudden death after surgery like he had, there would be an internal bleed from an organ but the sutures looked well placed and sealed the internal wounds. I pulled the organs out and examined each piece as I weighed them and noted the colour of the lungs and the interstitial edema. Michael Ariza died from suffocation. I continued with my autopsy and found more evidence supporting suffocation when I removed his brain.

When I was finished, I put his organs back in and grabbed the suture kit. I whispered quietly as I began sewing his chest and hairline back together. It was the words the priest had said to my mother as she took her last breath and I said it to every one of the bodies to pass through my work room.