The Stories of the Wild One (continued)

John expected him to try to open the passenger door next, but his partner waved him back over.

John inched silently closer, trying to get within better earshot. When his young partner returned to his side, the older officer waved his hand vaguely over the dead woman’s face.

“Doesn’t look like an assault,” he said. “More like some kind of sudden hemorrhage.”

The young officer stared down at the woman. John thought he looked a little pale. He could understand that. Being that close to a dead body made his own stomach twist.

“Don’t you have something else to do?”

John glanced up guiltily, realizing that the older officer had been talking to him. The older man had risen now and was looking expectantly at John.

“Sorry,” he replied, trying to sound confident. “Company policy.”

It was not exactly a lie. Nothing in the company’s regulations stated that he had to remain present after the police had arrived on site. There was also no mention that he was required to leave either.

The older officer grumbled something that John could not hear, and then added, “Fine.” He took a few steps back from the body and surveyed the scene. “Just don’t touch anything, kid,” he told John gruffly. “Not unless I say it’s okay to.”

John prickled at being referred to as “kid”. Although he was now twenty years old, he knew that sometimes people took him for as young as sixteen.

Glancing toward the younger officer, John gauged that he was perhaps only two years older than himself.

Well that, John acknowledged silently, along with a stint at the Police Academy.

From the corner of his vision, he was sure he caught a smirk from the younger officer’s expression. He fought back the urge to snarl. Instead, he moved in closer. He immediately regretted it as he caught a new whiff of fresh feces and urine. Swallowing back the small wave of nausea, he forced himself to look to the body of the dead woman.

Based on the strength of the odor, and the still moist surface of much of the blood, John guessed that she had not died very long ago. The two officers seemed to agree with his deduction, at least based on what he could overhear of their discussion.

“Give me some gloves,” the older officer told his partner.

The younger one opened a pouch on his belt and pulled out two blue disposable vinyl gloves. The older officer slid them on with practiced ease, flexing his fingers without looking to get a proper fit. He reached down and lightly touched a streak of blood on the woman’s face.

Raising his hand, two of his fingertips came away coated with a thin film of crimson. He studied it for a moment and then lifted it toward his nose, taking a thoughtful sniff. When he lowered his hand, his expression gave away nothing. John guessed that he had detected nothing interesting or unexpected.

“Doesn’t look like she was all that healthy to begin with,” the younger officer observed.

John quickly swept his gaze over the dead woman’s sagging form. He found it difficult to disagree with the younger officer’s assessment.

“I thought you liked them on the large side, Randall,” the older officer remarked. His tone seemed more distracted than either sarcastic or teasing.

The younger officer, apparently named Randall, shot his partner with a sharp glare. The older officer appeared to ignore it completely, although John thought he saw the quirk of a faint smile on the man’s lips.

John felt his cheeks tingle with sudden warmth. He looked away, hoping that neither of the two men would notice. It was no secret that he also preferred his women to have some noticeable curves to their form. He doubted, though, that he would have found the dead woman to have been appealing, even if she had not also been at least a decade older than he was.

“We’d better check out the car,” the older officer said. His tone was very matter-of-fact. John wondered if he would ever be able to achieve that same level of detachment when dealing with a messy and unpleasant death like this one.

“Have the kid help you move the body,” he added.

John froze. Quickly, almost frantically, he mentally reviewed the security company policies for something related to dealing with dead bodies. To his silent horror, he could recall nothing. Sure, there were general rules about “observe and report”, as well as guidelines for providing necessary assistance law enforcement officials, but it lacked any real specifics at all about the handling of corpses.

“Wait a sec,” the older officer spoke up. John felt a swell of relief that he might be off the hook. “Let me get some photos first.”

John sighed and closed his eyes for moment, realizing that his imaginary reprieve would be short-lived. He stepped back, leaning with his back against a concrete post for support, and waited while the two officers took photographs of the scene. He spent most of the time trying to convince his stomach that he really did not want to revisit his dinner.

#

Randall made the situation worse by toying with him, trying to convince him that they did not have enough gloves for all of them. He even showed John his empty belt pouch as evidence. This rattled John enough that it took him several minutes to wonder whether they might be some in the emergency first aid mounted next to the elevator.

Without any real expression of sympathy, the older officer retrieved a box of gloves from the trunk of the patrol car and tossed the container to John. John gave the older man a grateful look and mumbled his gratitude; both gestures went unacknowledged.

Removing the body from the car was even more awkward than he had anticipated. He had thought they could just slide it out off of the seat the rest of the way, lowering it to rest on the ground. That basic idea was good in theory, but was complicated by the fact that, in slipping out the door in the first place, her foot and ankle had gotten wedged underneath the driver’s seat.

John was relieved when Randall, having discovered the problem, chose to deal with it himself.

“Too bad the ‘Jaws of Life’ don’t really work as advertised,” he muttered.

John failed to get the joke. As Randall already had his head inside the car, he did not even bother to fake a smile. He was once again grateful that it was Randall and not himself. John could only imagine what the smell must be like up close.

“Got it,” came Randall’s muffled voice from inside the car. “Try it now.”

John took hold of the dead woman’s right shoulder, while the older officer assumed Randall’s previous position on the left one.

“On three,” he told John flatly.

When John nodded his understanding, the officer began his countdown.

“Three . . . two . . . one.”

They pulled together. For a moment, the body still did not move. John wondered if it was still caught on something or, perhaps even more likely, Randall was having another bit of fun at his expense.

Before he could decide, the body surged toward them. John stumbled backward, nearly losing his footing. He recovered rapidly, glancing quickly over to see whether the older officer had noticed. He did not seem to have, nor did he appear to have suffered from the same sudden lack of coordination. Together, they worked to pull the body free. It was damned heavy, giving John a new, and all too real, appreciation for the term “dead weight”.

Finally, they had it resting completely on the concrete surface of the parking garage. They had moved it several feet away from the car, making it easier for them to get at the vehicle later. John looked the body over, discovering that, seeing it in its entirety, as what had been a real person, quieted his lingering nausea. The older officer retrieved a blanket from the patrol car and, with surprising solemnity, draped it over the body. He stood quietly for a moment, and John wondered if he might not be whispering a prayer.

“All right,” he said, shifting suddenly back into earlier mode. “We’d better check out the car.”

It took John a moment to realize that the officer was including him in that invitation, as Randall had already gone back around to the passenger side of the car. John tried not to smile, but was unable to stop it.

It faded immediately as he looked inside the vehicle. Blood spattered its interior. Dark crimson streaks and nearly black splotches dappled the steering wheel and seat. Although he could not see it clearly from where he stood, John imagined that the dashboard probably looked the same.

The older officer slid his flashlight from its holster and turned it on. Crouching in front of the doorframe, he played the flashlight’s beam around the car’s interior. He made a soft sound like a tuneless hum while he did this. John assumed that it meant that he was thinking, carefully assessing the scene. He leaned so that he could see over the officer’s shoulder, watching to see what the flashlight revealed.

A briefcase rested on the passenger seat. It looked slightly worn. From what John could tell, it was a nice one, but probably not very expensive. It did not have that polished leathery look of a high-priced attaché case.

The officer moved the beam to the left slightly, illuminating the carpeted floor. On it lay what appeared to be a half-opened gym bag. A loose stack of papers was visible just inside it.

“Probably her kid’s homework,” the officer said softly. “Poor bastard.”

John’s lips tightened into a grim line. He heard the younger officer reappear behind them.

“Better tag them, Randall,” the older officer said. “And then check the trunk.”

He reached over and pulled the briefcase to him. After giving it a cursory inspection, he passed it to John, who then handed it to the young officer.

To John’s surprise, the older officer did not just lean further in to snatch up the gym bag. Instead, he pulled out his baton and then used its grip to grab the bag’s straps and then lift it toward him. He passed both the baton to John, with the gym bag still dangling from it. John assumed that he had a reason for doing it this way, even if he did not understand why, and accepted it that way.

“You’d better search and inventory it,” the older officer toward his partner.

“Sure,” Randall agreed. “Got it.”

He removed the bag and passed the baton back to the older officer. Rather than slip it back into his belt, he held onto it as he leaned slightly forward, trying to aim the beam of his flashlight into the space under the passenger seat. He had to twist his body awkwardly to manage it. Behind him, John leaned further forward to get a better look.

The older officer suddenly froze, his body becoming as rigid as stone. John hesitated, puzzled. He could see nothing but a collection of shadows and—