The Jar of Nephren-Ka

Evidence

Quitman, Georgia: 12:13 AM, Monday, June 11th, 1984

I dropped onto my ass on the cold floor, waiting for the jitters to kick in. I had seen combat in 'Nam, and had discharged my weapon a few times in the line of duty, but I was far from a hardened killer. The jitters always got to me after a serious fight, and just had to sit and breathe deeply until I felt 'normal' again.

It didn't help that breathing deeply hurt like hell. Pretty good chance I had some broken ribs to deal with, but I wasn't coughing up blood, so hopefully my lungs were ok.

I wanted to get out of here more than anything else in the world, but I had just killed two men while trespassing in their house. I'd spent four years in homicide, so I knew I needed to sterilize the scene.

Considering I had just been in close combat with Lurch, there were bound to be traces of me everywhere. Hairs on his body and on the floor. My blood on the poker, and maybe on the floor. Flakes of skin under his fingernails from where he had throttled me. Clothing fibers everywhere I had been. Probably other things I was forgetting.

My first priority, though, was to make sure I wasn't too badly injured. I went into the bathroom off of the main hall and lifted my fatigue jacket and olive T-shirt. The gash began just below my lowest rib and scraped at a downward angle across my side. It wasn't very deep, but it definitely needed stitches. It was bleeding, but not badly.

I scrounged around and found soap, a hand towel, and some hydrogen peroxide. I removed my gloves, then wet the hand towel and lathered it up with the soap. I gently cleaned the wound as best as I could. When I was finished, I dumped a generous amount of peroxide on the dry portion of the towel and pressed it to the wound.

I took in a sharp breath as the peroxide bit into me, first tickling, then burning like hell. I clenched my teeth and kept the hand pressed to my side until the pain began to recede.

I tossed the used hand-towel out into the hall, then grabbed a clean one. I removed the olive army t-shirt and ripped it along the side. Then I folded the hand towel into a rectangle large enough to cover my wound, and secured it by tying the torn shirt around me.

This done, I put my fatigue jacket back on and buttoned it, then headed back out into the hall. I thought for a moment, rubbing my chin. I needed to get my ribs checked out, which prevented a bunch of manual labor, but I needed to clean the scene, which usually required manual labor.

I put my gloves back on and left out the back door, headed for the small shed. It was locked with an older padlock, which I dispatched with my bump keys. Inside, I found a large commercial mower, as well as various tools and yard implements. Looking around, I found a half-empty five-gallon jerrycan.

I opened the jerrycan and sniffed, jerking my head back as the fumes hit my sinuses. I found a small bag, emptied it of tools, and brought it with me. Bag in one hand and jerrycan in the other, I headed back across the lawn to the house.

Inside, I made a beeline for the parlor with the priest's hole. The room was a wreck now, with pieces of glass from the shattered lamp all over the floor and the furniture toppled and in disarray.

I sat the jerrycan down and began franticly looking for the Jar. I found it, miraculously intact, behind a couch. Grabbing the Jar, I placed it in the bag.

I thought for a moment about stealing the sedan outside to get out of here, but decided against it. It would leave another scene to collect evidence from, with more hair, skin, and fiber samples to dispose of. Not to mention I might get pulled over, or someone might spot the car leaving. No, I would walk out, which made the rest of the plan simple.