Chapter Two
2012
“Mom, where are my socks?”
“Seriously? This is the third time this week you’ve
called me at work to ask about your socks!
I don’t have time for this crap!
We’ve got a homicide screening coming in this morning and I’m trying to
get everything together before the detectives get here. I put
at least 27 pairs of socks in your drawer last weekend. Where did they go?”
“Oh. I forgot to look there.”
“Get yourself to the bus, young
man. You should have left home by now
and I swear to God that if I find out you were late for Biology again I’m gonna
rip off your arm and beat you with the bloody stump!”
“Geez… you don’t have to go all postal.”
Della hung up and sighed
deeply. Teenagers.
***
Della Denoria had been a paralegal
at the Office of the District Attorney for
about 15 years, eight of which had been on the Special Victims team. She didn’t get away from her cubicle too
often but she knew most people around the office. The SV team was isolated from the rest of the
office on its own floor. It was best to
keep them separate from the flow of traffic, especially when the public was
coming in on a constant basis, checking in with their subpoenas on the way to
court to testify about the forgeries, assaults and criminal mischief cases that
kept their office so busy. You never
knew what details you might hear in the normal flow of conversation as the SV
prosecutors discussed their cases. They
handled sex crimes, child abuse, domestic violence, child homicides…pretty much
if it involved guts or sex or death, it came to the SV team. It wasn’t unusual to hear terms like “digital
penetration,” “blunt force trauma,” or
“blow job” wafting over the walls of the cubicles. Words that would be shocking to the general
public were as shocking as the word “toast” or “sofa” to the members of the SV
team, thus their exile from the mainstream areas. When Della first transferred to the team she deliberately
desensitized herself to the words, the sights, the stories that she had to
endure every day as part of her job. It
used to be awkward just to say the word penis, so she practiced saying it to
herself over and over until it became natural.
However, it had become so natural for her and her co-workers that when
they were together in a social setting outside of work and some funny penis
story would come up, they forgot the impact it had on the “gentiles.” One time, her husband’s friend was so uncomfortable
with the word that he shouted, “Don’t call it a penis! It’s a dick!”
Detective Franks poked his head around
the wall of her cubicle. “Where we
meeting?”
Della liked to think of her
workspace as a cave. The charcoal
colored fabric walls were 6’ high and from where she sat, there was no sunlight
or view available whatsoever. This
suited her just fine because she hated the sunshine. It made her feel unsafe. Exposed.
Vulnerable. Give her rain or a
snowstorm any day and she’d be happy.
“Follow me to the conference
room. Steve should be here pretty soon
but we can get you settled.”
She knew Steve would be
late. He consistently scheduled more
than one meeting at a time and then forgot about both of them. And when he had early morning appointments it
was worse because he never bothered to think about what his day looked like
until he got to the office. The man was
brilliant in court but when it came to the everyday ins-and-outs, he was lost.
Della stepped from the cubicle
and nearly ran into another detective who appeared to be with Franks.
“Dell, Todd. Todd, Dell.”
“Hey. Uh… nice to meet you. Follow me, guys.”
They got to the conference room
and the two men sat down. Franks was
alert enough that she didn’t ask if he needed a cup of coffee. He’d looked like he’d probably been up for
hours, but she decided to get herself a cup.
Steve almost ran into her as she
started through the doorway.
“Mornin’. What’ve we got fellas?” he blared.
“Vic is baby Bea. Seventeen months old. Allegedly found dead at home in the
crib. Mom and dad were both home. They both say they found the baby that way. The ME found some extradural hematoma spots on
the inside of the scalp. Petechiae in
the eyes but no external signs of injury.
We’re waiting on the results for the skeletal scan to see if there’s any
history of old or healing injuries and he says it’s up to 14 weeks before his
final report and he’s not even ready to make a commitment on the manner of
death, much less the cause.”
“Have you interviewed mom and dad
yet?”
“Not formally. We just spoke briefly with them at the
hospital, but they don’t seem to be responding appropriately. They’re pretty quiet.
“Just leave what you’ve got with
Della. Go talk to mom and dad and
neighbors and babysitters and everybody and their uncle.”
She could tell Franks was annoyed
as Steve turned and dismissed himself from the room. He was hoping for at least a go ahead to
arrest somebody.
“Sorry, guys. He’s a tough one to pin down,” she
apologized.
“Well, here’s our photos and the
initial report. Call us when he can give
this some attention.
Della took the report and the
photos and sat at the table as the detectives left. She slipped the photos out of the
envelope. The crime scene photos were
pretty unremarkable… they usually weren’t too bad. But when she got to the autopsy photos, she
paused.
Detectives who attend autopsies
take their own photos separate from the ones that the ME and his staff
take. Della was often tasked with
sorting the photos into the order of the chronological order of the
procedures. She’d been to several
autopsies…so she was familiar enough with the routine that she could sort the
photos accurately and identify body parts that had been removed and put them in
the stack in the right place. The first
photo was always of the body in the bag.
The pictures progressed as they went further into the body. The scalp was discreetly cut from the back and
peeled up and over the face so that you wouldn’t see it when the person was
later displayed in their casket. An
assistant would cut off the top of the skull.
When the brain was removed it was quite fascinating to gaze into the
cavernous void of the skull. Then came the Y incision in the chest. All the organs weighed and recorded. Vaginas and uteruses were removed. Tongues were removed. The ME let her hold a uterus one time and she
was awed by the thought that the cold, wet yellow-ish pink thing in her hand
had once held a growing life. She
observed an explosion/burn victim autopsy once.
The ME opened up his throat lengthwise and slit open the esophagus. When she leaned in closer, it smelled just
like a steak at a barbecue on the Fourth of July.
“See… right here… there’s soot on
the lining of the esophagus.” The vic had
beautiful teeth. Her eyes drifted down from his charred and inwardly curled
lips to the incision in his chest. “This
soot indicates that he was alive and breathing after the initial flash of the explosion. If there wasn’t any soot, I would determine
that he had died immediately. And yes, I know what you’re thinking. He smells like a steak.”
She would never forget the smell
of the raw ones. The first time wasn’t
as bad as she thought it would be, but the scent stayed in her nostrils for
days. No amount of saline spray would
get rid of it. And then there was the
smell of blood. Oh, God. One time there was a man who had severed his
aorta. The ME literally had to scoop the
blood out of his chest with a stainless steel ladle that you might find in the
kitchen at your church. The man’s entire
chest cavity was filled with blood and the smell was unforgettable. When she asked about the lopper tool that cut
the ribs open, the ME grinned and said, “Craftsman. Straight from Sears. Seriously.
They never ask questions when you have to return something.”
The first picture is of Bea’s
procedure had the bag open and the child lying inside. She was wearing only a diaper and one
sock. One precious, little sock. The same kind she used to buy for C.J. when
he was a baby. White with a gray toe and
gray heel. She started to cry. Softly, but enough that she had to wait a
while before she was composed enough to return to her cave.
***
She fell asleep on the couch
watching Ghost Hunters. CJ came home
from skateboarding and went straight to his room. Della softly snored and CJ decided to turn
the TV off and just let her sleep. It
was almost dark and she would wake up eventually when she had to go to the
bathroom and go to bed. She was always
grouchy if he tried to wake her up, so he just let her be.
Images of baby Bea crowded her
dreams. A womanly figure drifted in and
out. Not really a figure as much as a shell
of condensation that had formed over a body that had simply vanished. Occasionally a drop of condensation would
trickle down and leave a shiny trail behind.
There were no distinguishing features but for the outline of the being. She thought
of a piñata she made in first grade. Her
tiny hands covered a balloon with paper strips dipped in watery paste and when
the paper dried, she popped the balloon, pulled it out and was left with the
empty shell. The woman’s arms were melted
into a clump at the front of her body and she was holding a swaddled baby. Della stepped closer, looked
at the bundle, saw a baby wearing one sock and she cried.
7 comments:
Hi Ellie,
I have to tell you, I'm totally hooked! The nursery rhyme from the first chapter, the dream from this one...Right up my alley! I can't wait to read your next installment. Thanks for sharing!!
Dawn
The the story and cant wait for more. I love this part "One time, her husband’s friend was so uncomfortable with the word that he shouted, “Don’t call it a penis! It’s a dick!” Brings back some great memories.
A) Reminds me of my old coworkers.
B) Reminded me to buy more loppers.
C) Good story so far. Bit long on the exposition in the contemporary bit, since it appears to be a different, more contemporary style. Too interesting to not be forgiven. (Also, I'm guilty of the same thing.)
D) KEEP IT UP!
;-)
I like where this is going. You have a good voice here and good focus.
Excellent read, Ellie. I love the voice and style. The work stuff didn't read as boring, but fascinatingly cool =)Although, I saw a homicide photo last week that almost made me lose my lunch. I don't stomach them very well.
Thanks, everyone, for your comments!!!
Dawn-I'm totally flattered that you like the story so far! What an honor...I love your work, so it was really cool to hear from you!
Jacque-I love you, man!
Neliza-I miss you and think about you lots! It was nice to hear from you. e-mail me with your home address if you have a sec...I lost it and need to send you something.
Tommy-I was so excited to see a comment from you! I'd really like to read some of your work...do you think I should make my Budd Lake experience into a story?
Sabrina/Kate-I love you, man! Thanks for being so supportive and thanks for the opportunity to submit. It's scary!
Ellie
Great story! I'm loving it so far. I like the part where you explain how she was desensitized to the language and subject matter. I don't think the general public really "gets" that. The part about the dream is interesting, too. Keep up the great work!
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