THE HARBOUR

The Coroner's Office

AUGUST 22, 7 PM.

Detective Bateman and his partner Alice Pines pull into the Caper Bay Police Department parking lot and make their way to the forensics building. It's a rather small two-story building made of brick and hardwood. Bateman finds himself comparing it to the much larger forensics building back in Boulder City. For a rich town, almost every professional building is rather small and modest, Bateman thinks, a contract to the residents' fancy cars and extravagant estates.

They make their way through the sliding doors and into the coroner's office. Once inside, his partner Alice gags beside him, Bateman has grown accustomed to the rancid stench of decomposing bodies. The smell doesn't bother him much. His partner, however, is new to the line of work and still hasn't built up a tolerance.

"Philip!" A pale man chimes in a gruff-throaty voice at the sound of the doors opening.

"I was wondering when you'd get here," he says, walking hastily towards Philip and Alice. Philip examines the man thoughtfully. He is a tall, tired-looking man, thin as a whip, with a slight hunchback from years of uncorrected posture. His heavy-looking eyelids are painted almost black- evident of a man with a severely unhealthy sleep and work schedule.

"Good morning," Philip starts, "I'm Detective Bateman-"

"I know who you are," the man cuts in, waving his hands impatiently.

"I've read your files," he continues, "and you must be Ms. Pines,"

"Yes," Alice says, stretching out her hand, "and you are?"

The man stares down at her hand, he grimaces slightly before shaking it briefly, and then quickly takes his hand away.

"Harry Pham," he sniffles. Philip watches as he walks towards an embalming table where the body of whom he assumes is Wesley Moretti lies.

"Come on," Mr. Pham says as he puts on surgical gloves. They walk towards the table and stand so each of them has a clear view of the body.

"His body is pretty badly decomposed from being submerged in water for so long, but, this is what I can tell you" He starts, "Multiple puncture wounds on the back, upper arms and neck area, laceration to the neck. Blunt forced trauma to the head, I suspect he fell face first after his throat was slit. Then he was stabbed".

"Stabbed" Alice repeats. Harry throws her an irritated look and confirms, "Yes, stabbed,"

"The puncture wounds are clean, indicating a sharp-fine object was used, a kitchen knife was the likely weapon," he continues, "And over here," he walks around the table, over to where alleged Mr Moretti's head is facing.

"You can see his throat was slit," Harry says enthusiastically, "it was an impressively clean cut, don't you think?" He asks rhetorically, looking up at the two Detectives, who passed each other a hesitant glance.

"Can you tell when he died, and what time?" Detective Bateman asks.

"Yes, but as I said, the body was underwater for a long time. There isn't much to go on. . ." he rambles, "he has been dead four or so days at most," he says.

"So, he was murdered August 18th or 19th,"

"Yes,"

"And the time of death?"

"Ugh, that I have not figured out yet," he says, frowning, "but I will, in a couple of hours"

"How many times would you say he was stabbed?" Alice asks.

"Sixteen," he says, and a crooked grin stretches his facial muscles, "isn't that curious?" he asks.

"How so?"

"Well, from the direction of the laceration you can tell his throat was slit, from the back, making him fall forward, and bang his head, the blunt forced trauma indicates he might have been unconscious before he was stabbed," when the detectives say nothing he continues.

"Whoever did it must've really hated him," he chuckles, "it takes a lot of arm strength to brutally stab a man sixteen times,"

"And what exactly was it you found curious, Mr. Pham," Alice asks.

"Well, what could a gardener possibly do to make someone so angry? Prune the wrong rose bush?" he cackles. The sound of his laughter fills the room. Alice clears her throat awkwardly, and he stops laughing. Gardener Philip thinks internally. There seems to be only one in town. Nevertheless, he needs confirmation.

"So you're certain this man is Wesley Moretti?" Philip asks. "Oh, yes, absolutely. We ran his prints," Harry says, laughter still in his voice. Philip only nods in response.

"I'll have the time of death and more accurate information for you by the week's end," he says, seriously. He adjusts his glasses and turns away from them rather unceremoniously.

"Alright," Philip says, a little taken aback by Harry's sudden mood change. "We'll get out of your way, so you can do your job," he nods at his partner, and they head for the exit.

******

A while later, they are in a shared office they were allocated an hour before their initial arrival.

"Fancy," Alice says, taking off her coat, Philip internally agrees.

Although the outside of the building doesn't look especially appealing, the inside is very well-kept, the polar opposite of almost every building in Boulder. He laughs, internally, at the irony of it all.

Philip takes a seat behind his new desk and begins drawing up a case file. His focus is shifted when his partner speaks up.

"Moretti," she says, "That's her last name. Marcella, the missing girl," he bites down on his lip and asks: "Marcella is his sister?" She looks up at him with an eager spark in her eyes. "Yes. See? I told you they were connected," she says, smiling a little too enthusiastically for someone whose friend is missing.

"Do you think she might have something to do with his death?" He asks. Alice frowns heavily. "No," she says with certainty.
"But it isn't something we should rule out," he says without looking at her. She stays silent for a beat before agreeing, "No, it's not."

He looks at her now- obvious worry plastered on her face he can't help but feel a little sorry for her. "Did she tell you why she was visiting her brother?" Alice shakes her head in response. "I see, we might have to put her down as a person of interest," Alice opens her mouth to speak, and he sits up, ready to hear her, but she shakes her head once more and sighs.

"What do you think happened to her?" He asks. "Where do you think she is? Why hasn't she turned up?"

"I don't know," she says with frustration. He blinks at her tone. "I just. . ." she breathes out, looking at him "I just know something bad happened, I don't think she's alive,"

"Hmm," Philip murmurs. Frankly, he doesn't know what to think. He could trust his partner's gut. She has been right so far. However, he can't simply cross someone off a person of interest list because of a gut feeling. Especially when his instincts tell him Marcella is, in fact, not dead.