Richard Hale - Frozen Past

“Wouldn’t you if someone like us came up and started grilling you about a murder?”

“True, but they looked a little more intense than just being intimidated. I thought the girl was going to puke all over her shoes.”

“She was the one with the dog, right?”

“Yep.”

“Any chance it could be related?”

“I don’t know. We picked the dog’s carcass up with the intent of disposing of it. Let’s see if it’s still in cold storage, and if so, we’ll have forensics look it over.”

Sally pulled out her cell phone and made the call. “Billy says they still have it. He’s pulling it out of storage now and will go over it with a fine tooth comb.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“We need something. Right now, we have absolutely zip.”

He nodded absently and sighed. They definitely needed something to break.

A day later, Jaxon and Sally were down in the forensics’ lab with Billy Halson, huddled over the decapitated corpse of the dog. Billy pointed to a section of the neck as he spoke.

“Lacerations here and here are consistent with a serrated knife used to make the initial incision on the neck. This incision continues deep into the tissue until reaching bone, then a larger non-serrated edge, probably consistent with a small axe or hatchet, was used to hack through the bone and tendons separating the head from the torso. The mostly clean initial cuts indicate the animal was most likely dead or incapacitated at the time of the beheading.”

“So, a steak knife and a hatchet?” Jaxon said.

“Pretty much,” Billy said. “Now the interesting thing about this whole situation deals with how the dog was subdued.”

“What do you mean?” Sally asked.

“He was put to sleep. Like anesthesia. A chemical very similar to Chloroform, but one that isn’t used much medically anymore.”

Jaxon looked at Sally and she smiled. “Don’t tell me,” Jaxon said. “Diethyl Ether.”

Billy looked disappointed. “How did you know?”

“The two boys in the pool. Same thing,” Jaxon said.

“Damn,” Billy said, “then you’ll definitely find this useful.”

He walked over to a counter opposite the dog and pulled a small vial from a tray holding multiple vials and test tubes. He held it up for them to see.

“What is it?” Sally asked.

“It’s a fingernail,” Jaxon said looking closer.

“Pulled it from a small laceration on the dog’s abdomen,” Billy said. “If you get a suspect, we can rule out the owner and family with simple saliva tests for DNA and hopefully get a match on the perp. I know it doesn’t help you find the guy, but…”

“Have you looked at where our boy is getting his hands on Diethyl Ether?” Jaxon asked.

“It’s still pretty common. Though it’s not used medically any longer, the agent is used quite a bit, commercially, in certain chemical formulations and fuels.”

“Fuels?”

“Yes. Alcohol based fuels used in radio control aircraft and high performance racing type engines. They call it ‘Glow fuel.’”

Jaxon smiled. “Who’s working on the Bannon kid?”

“Chris,” Billy said, “but he’s off today.”

“You make sure you guys talk to each other on this. It looks almost certain our guy did the dog too.”

“You got it.”

The next day Jaxon and Sally were in the Medical Examiner’s Wing of St. Catherine’s Hospital in Reston. The morgue was set aside in the eastern section of the hospital farthest from the main entrance. To get to it you had to park in the E.R. garage and trek through the steam and heat of the laundry facility. The Nuns who ran the hospital were serious about keeping the undesirable aspects of death and dying away from the public eye. Jaxon couldn’t help but wonder how the laundry workers liked having so many of the county’s dead wheeled through their work station on the way to the morgue. Maybe they got used to it.

They walked into the outer office where a male receptionist dressed in faded green scrubs and too many gold bracelets ignored them as he read through the latest Cosmopolitan. The name on the counter read Boris. It was difficult to associate the name with the effeminate person seated on the other side of the desk. Surely, he must be a temp or something. Jaxon wondered how many people in this world were actually named Boris.

Jaxon cleared his throat. ‘Boris’ looked up from the magazine and smacked his gum.

“Can I help you?”

He definitely didn’t sound like a Boris, Jaxon thought. He held out his badge and Sally did the same. “Detectives Jennings and Winston, Fairfax County PD. We’re here to see Dr. Barstow.”

“Oh yeah, I think he’s expecting you. Hold on.” He picked up the phone and punched in some numbers with the end of a pencil. He stabbed the keypad of the phone like he was spearing shrimp on the end of a sharp stick. Quick little jabbing motions. Sally rolled her eyes at Jaxon.

‘Boris’ carried on a conversation with whoever answered at the other end and then quickly hung up. “Go right on back. He’s in Bay C. Have you been back there before?”

“Yeah,” Jaxon said. “Bay C. Got it.”

They passed through a set of double doors and followed a long hallway which emptied into another reception like area. This is where the families waited as their loved ones were placed on cold stainless steel tables pending positive I.D. so their deaths could be confirmed and recorded. A long time ago Jaxon had been one of those family members and whenever he came back here, it was like he was suffocating all over again. The room seemed way too small and cold. Sally glanced at him sideways and he realized he was taking quick shallow breaths, almost panting. He got himself under control. He was not going to lose it in here.

Pushing quickly through the waiting area, they entered Bay C through a single swinging door that had a small window in it about head high. They didn’t knock. This room was even colder than the waiting area and Jaxon shivered despite his jacket. Dr. Barstow was in his green scrubs and gloves standing next to a stainless steel table with the body of an older woman laid out naked. He turned when they entered.

“Detectives, glad you could make it.”

“No problem, Doc,” Jaxon said. “What have you got for us?”

“Something I think will surprise you. I hope it will help I.D. our John Doe.”

Dr. Barstow walked over to the group of refrigerators along the far wall and pulled a drawer open, sliding a body out for them to see. It was the first boy from the pool. He slid some plastic sheeting out of the way exposing his midsection and chest, the sutures from the Y incision clearly visible.

Jaxon took an involuntary step back and felt his chest tighten at the sight of the boy lying on the slide. This was all too familiar and he couldn’t keep the vision of his son out of his mind. Twelve years ago he had been in this exact spot, watching them pull his dead son out of the refrigerator so he could I.D. him. He placed a hand on the counter and took a couple of deep breaths. Sally was watching him, but remained silent. Dr. Barstow didn’t seem to notice.

The doc picked up the boy’s right arm. “He has a few broken fingernails from what looks like a struggle and we were able to get some skin cells from underneath the remaining nails. We’ve sent them off for DNA and when we get the results back we’ll run it through the database and see if we get any hits. It’s not very promising and I’ll explain why in a minute.”

He put the boys hand down and circled to the other side of his body. Sally had to move out of the way to let him pass. “Here’s one of the freezer burn patches I told you about.”