Dirty Lies

RITE OF PASSAGE

I'd covered a few murders in Boston during my internship, but they were always cold and sterile stories, with me on one end of the yellow police tape and the body and cops far on the other side.

Today at the Palmira Preserve, I'd reap the benefits of being a small-town crime reporter.

"What a way to start the weekend. Come on," Jimmy said, holding up the police tape so I could duck under. "I'll show you the corpse. Or what's left of it."

My heart went into overdrive. I'd been at my mother's bedside when she passed, and had been so devastated, all I could think was my mother looked so relieved and peaceful in death. But a murder victim in a swamp? I wasn't sure I wanted to see the body. But I also couldn't turn Jimmy down. This was a rite of passage for reporters. I needed to ace this test.

The morning's coffee sloshed around uncomfortably in my stomach as I followed Jimmy down a boardwalk.

It was so hot and bright out, the sun was almost colorless, pure light beating down on the wooden walkway and the Technicolor green swamp surrounding the path. In the distance, a cluster of cops stood peering over the boardwalk railing, and as we approached, I saw men in hip-waders in the narrow river that flowed between the boardwalk and a thicket of mangroves.

"Who are they?" I hissed at Jimmy.

"Medical Examiner's office. And some of our techs looking for evidence."

I nodded and held my breath.

Jimmy addressed two of the cops looking down into the water. "Guys, let the reporter have a look."

The men stepped aside, and I felt my entire body trembling uncontrollably.

"Right there," Jimmy said, pointing down.

I stepped forward, mouth open. There, in the shallow water, tangled in the mangroves, was a human body. Or what had been. He—I assumed it was a man—was bloated, puffed up like a sick, yellow-gray balloon. Pulpy red flesh twisted around what appeared to be arm bones, and I thought I spotted a single eye, half-open in a sickening, horrific gaze. The other eye...the entire left side of his head actually, was missing.

Oh God.

I quickly turned away and sipped a shallow breath.

"See where the gators got his legs?" one of the cops said, removing a toothpick from his mouth and pointing. "Right below the knees. And when we arrived, a big-ass vulture was snacking away on his face. That guy's probably been in this swamp for several days. Surprised there's anything left of him."

I turned my head, shooting another quick glance to the body as bile rose in my throat.

Indeed, the man's legs were missing. Or underwater. Or shredded, torn and bloodied to the groin. I didn't stare long enough to determine which. If that wasn't horrific enough, I noticed a long cut in a half-circle through flesh. Was that his throat? I wasn't even sure, the body was so putrefied and mangled.