Skinless

Chapter 1

Patrolman Gary Haston limped out of the three-story townhouse, one hand over his mouth and the other covering a visibly churning stomach. He made it two steps before he leaned right, over the wrought iron railing and sprayed his lunch between the manicured bushes and the rust colored brick. I slowed my approach as two more upheavals followed before his stomach was empty and the painful after spasms commenced.

"Damn, Gary. You got the flu or something?" I asked, shielding my eyes from the unappealing sight. I had enough of puking when my daughter was growing up and my tendency to commiserate with the afflicted was already tightening my throat. Turning slightly, I pulled my new jacket tight to my body, making sure it wasn't marred by his discharge. I had waited for months for the weather to be cool enough to finally wear the masterpiece and certainly didn't want it ruined on the first day. It was rare for me to find something so perfect.

"You don't want to go in there, Jenny," Gary said, pointing toward the door he just exited. He coughed deeply and spit over the railing. "Never seen anything like it."

"It's detective," I reminded Gary. We had dated briefly many years ago before I had gotten my gold badge. He had a wife and two small kids now, but it annoyed me that he still considered us equal at work. It was doubly irritating that it reminded me how long it's been since I've dated. "How many?" Homicide was only called when there was a body.

"Sorry, Detective Crosby," Gary said with no resentment which pleased me. "I saw two in the front room, but there may be more." He held on to the rail and came down the four steps like an old man. "Sorry, but you're going to have to handle the inside without me." He forcibly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and moved toward his patrol car. His reaction surprised me. Such a large, intimidating man rendered weak by a few dead bodies.

"You need to grow a pair," I said as he walked by. Gary just shook his head and kept walking. "Call for backup if you can't handle it," I added.

"Way ahead of you, Detective," Gary called back from the road. It would be upsetting to report his inaction, but he left me little choice. I took no joy in ruining a fellow cop's day, not to mention the inevitable backlash it would cause. People should just do their job.

I audibly sighed for Gary's benefit, and moved up the left side of the front stoop, avoiding any possible contamination of my jacket. Carefully breathing through my mouth, I donned a pair of latex gloves and plastic booties before opening the door.

The smell hit me hard, far fouler than any vomit. A fetid mixture of dead rot and excrement. I gagged briefly, using the sleeve of my coat to help block my nasal passages. Whatever happened, it happened more than a few days ago.

I began to analyze what my eyes took in. The entry was decorative, designed by someone who had more taste than me. Someone who cared what others thought of the home. I squatted and examined the hardwood flooring. A slight layer of dust, maybe a week's worth could be seen along the hallway, further validating my many day theory. There was mail in a shallow silver dish that sat atop of a fancy entry hall table. I began to leaf through it, bills and statements addressed to a Harold Adams and zero junk mail. Whoever picked up the last mail had the time to filter out the junk. All were postmarked a little over a week ago. I suspected the mailbox would be filled with a week's worth.

With the preliminary timeline set, I moved slowly down the hall, looking for anything out of the ordinary. To the right was a pristine dining room, everything in its place, displayed like a model home. A glassed china cabinet held plates far superior to the Walmart specials I used at home. With my daughter grown and gone, there was little need for expensive plates in my current dating drought. Still, I had to suppress a quick flash of envy. I turned left, toward the strengthening scent, to what looked like a family room. Passing the couch, I paused, my eyes taking in the scene. I wouldn't be reporting Gary.

I rushed back out the front door and leaned toward the iron railing, barely holding in my own lunch, thankful my daughter had strengthened my stomach many years ago. Every time my mind tried to digest what it had seen, a fresh wave of nausea caused my stomach to curl. I hit the side of my thigh hard, trying to break the cycle before my stomach decided to eject itself.

"Guess we both need to grow a pair," Gary called from the sidewalk. I looked up through watery eyes to find him smiling, pleased with not being the only one affected.

"They had no skin," I said, trying to sanitize the facts in my brain from disgusting visuals.

"Someone skinned them, then put their clothes back on," Gary agreed.

"How? Their insides were spilling out and over their clothes," I said, struggling to hold back another round of heaving. "How would you dress them? And where is the blood?"

"I don't know. I guess that's your job to figure that stuff out," Gary said while shrugging his shoulders.

"You search the rest of the house?"

"I tried, but didn't get far. Made it to the kitchen and the back sunroom, then decided not to contaminate the scene," Gary said, pointing to where his lunch now resided.

"We don't need to mention that in our reports," I said, and Gary nodded. Puking didn't do much for a cop's reputation, and he had a good reason. I had seen my share of dead bodies, even a few grisly auto accidents. Nothing compared to the two skinless people collapsed on the couch.

"How did we find out about it?" I asked, pulling out my notebook and stepping down the stairs.

"Neighbor." Haston said, pointing at the townhouse next door, "A Mrs. Johnson called the regular line complaining about the smell. She shares a common wall with Mr. and Mrs. Adams."

"Did you talk with her?"

"Not yet. She and her husband are lawyers and work downtown. Probably won't be able to interview them until this evening."

"It looks like they've been there for a week. No one reported them missing?" I asked.

"Not that I know of. The smell was the only report," Gary replied. "When I got here, there was no response at the door, so I tried the handle. It was unlocked. The smell hit me, and I called for you. It took me a few minutes to get used to it, then...well, I guess you weren't too far away." He shrugged his shoulders, avoiding redescribing what I already knew.

"Who else is coming?"

"The M.E. has been notified and a couple of more uniforms," Gary said. "I'd be happy to the canvas the neighbors."

"Someone has to go through the rest of the house," I said.

"That's why you get paid the big bucks, Detective," Gary said with a look that told me it wasn't worth arguing over. I tried to remember why I had thought him handsome once. At that moment, he was anything but.