Strings

II

I remained in the back hallway for a while, in a sort of stupor no subordinates would second-guess. The out-moded cogs in my mind still ground against each other as they always did, but in a way I hadn't needed them to since I came north. There was one obvious killer in the basement, and one destroyed old man in the morgue. But there was also a second missing victim, 206 missing bones, and an uncanny feeling clamping its clammy hands around my throat.

I returned to my office as soon as I melted from my spot. I can't imagine that room was built to be any more than a closet; it smelled like faded notebook papers and clothes left too long in the attic. Decaying file boxes that never belonged to me, or anyone else I knew, bordered the walls, and the oxygen within was waging a losing war with dust. It was currently the place where I felt most comfortable on this planet.

Lying on my desk like a shameless vixen over soiled linen, was a preliminary report from the coroner. I twitched. Rifling through the file, I found everything the boy had told me already there. That irked me- why had he come all the way across town in this weather, to relay information that I would've probably known faster if he hadn't stopped me at all? Things were adding up poorer than a second grader attempting calculus.

Then I received the second phone call of the day. The remains of another victim- found half-covered in a snowbank.

My detective was already at the scene when I'd arrived. He wore a thick, mildewy coat, and his slacks had gaping holes through which I could clearly see his gray long-johns. Those weren't something one needed in Virginia. I noticed the cigarette dangling from his chapped lips before I saw the reddening snow on the curb. George supposedly quit smoking five years ago.

We were across town from the church, in a back lot behind the condemned general store. A homeless man had found the nearly-frozen flesh, called the police, then vanished. The EMT who first arrived on the scene said that the victim was a young woman. I'm not sure how he figured that- seeing as all that was left was tattered skin, matted hair, and 9 pints of vermillion liquid making blood snow-cones.

She was in a worse state than the old man. Scavengers had most likely got to her in the night, but it was too frigid for flies to swarm. Had I not been assured she was human, I could've been convinced she was the undesirable cuts thrown out by the butcher. It wouldn't be long until we had an identity- a girl missing around here would become well-known in no time- and I considered barring any relative from identifying what was left of her body. I knew well enough from back then. No parent, sibling, friend, or lover could stand to see this.

I took my spot beside George. He was closer to the carnage than before. Perhaps his prolonged proximity to the old man had made him immune. Perhaps it was easier because one could look at the unidentifiable wreckage and pretend they weren't seeing what was really there. He coughed before he began to speak, like an engine starting up.

"They think it was our first victim who killed her." Smoke poured out of his lungs, and his eyes tailed the cloud as it journeyed toward the sky. "Our other murderer hasn't said a word beyond what he told you. They're looking at him now in the morgue. If they can find..." His darkening eyes focused back on the snowbank. "If they can find her fingernails they'll try to match up the scrapes."

For an instant, I had the urge to comfort him. I was rusty at human connection so all I could muster was a stiff pat on his meaty shoulder and an affirmation.

"You did well today, George." I offered, almost convincingly. He caught my stare for a second, took out his cigarette, crushed it in his fingers, and flicked it at the ground.

Without any further recognition of what I'd said, he dropped my gaze, and stomped across the lot to his rusty car, grumbling over his shoulder. "I'm gonna head back. They already took pictures and the coroner's sending some people for the body. Nothin' more to do here."