Muriel Gray - The Trickster

The Silver Ski Company ticket office in Stoke was no comparison to the Calgary Church of All Saints on Third Street, but as Sam selected a place to sleep, his instincts were the same as those of twenty years ago. All these interesting nooks and corners to sleep in. Areas to make your own.

He had three blankets in the truck and found a long, foam seat cover from the back of the office where the staff took their boots off. More than enough for a bed. He made his nest beside the radiator pipes at the back wall, where he faced the big digital clock above the ticket windows.

Outside, the blizzard battered at the windows, the snow hitting the glass like shotgun pellets. Sam turned off the overhead striplight and wriggled, snug beneath his blankets. The big green digital numbers of the clock cast an eerie illumination on the room, reflecting dimly on the floorboards. They were reading 10.07 when he settled down, his hand beneath his head like a child. Sam had decided he was feeling better. Dreams aside, there had been no further blacking out, and it was that void of consciousness that held most terror for him. Brain tumour? Cancer? All the demons of modern medical knowledge had plagued him like a hypochondriac since that numbing collapse. But it was over now. He was well. Sure of it.

When he woke up after the dream and threw his load, the green digits were reading 10.45. Sam found himself on all fours, hunched like a dog over a pile of his own hot vomit. He was sweating and panting, and the stench of the wet bile beneath him made him retch again.

The memory of it made Sam clutch the steering wheel like a life-line. But it was what came after that was making Sam’s heart thump in his chest like a trapped bird. Nothing. That’s what happened after he woke over his own sick. At least nothing until he woke a second time. At 7.30 a.m. Fully clothed, standing outside his truck.

When Craig saw the guy that stepped out of the car he’d been more than disappointed. Not in his whole term as staff sergeant in Silver had he ever had to call in forensics from Edmonton, and this small bald man in a suit jacket covered by a cheap nylon parka didn’t look much like the cavalry.

That was six hours ago. Craig was going to give him the benefit of the doubt. Doctor Brenner had been working at Joe all day, talking into a tape recorder as he did so, and now he was standing in Craig’s office with a styrofoam cup in one hand ready to pronounce sentence.

Craig was calm as he offered the doctor a seat.

Brenner ran a delicate hand over the pate of his bald head and sat down heavily in the chair by the window.

‘How’s it looking out there?’

Brenner gesticulated with his coffee to the outside world behind him. Craig glanced out of the window.

‘It’s okay. Cold. What have you got for me?’

‘Time of death around 11.30 p.m. Cause of death, a violent blow to the head followed by lacerations to the chest. Further damage, probably after the initial blows, and due to the incisions, indicates massive loss of blood.’

‘Incisions.’

‘Incisions, Staff Sergeant. The cuts he made to get into the heart and remove the genitals.’

Craig looked at him, unblinking, forcing himself to believe what he was hearing. Yes, this was Joe they were discussing. Joe, who should have been in here glowering at Brenner, looking at his watch and making doe eyes at Craig to let him away for his bowling night. But Joe was never going to dog off early to go bowling with a cold beer in his hand again. Right now, Joe was the collection of meat cuts lying four doors down the corridor on a table covered in polythene sheeting, and how he died wasn’t making sense.

No witnesses except maybe whoever drove through the pass after Joe. They were on that one already. It wouldn’t be hard to find the driver that made the tracks Craig saw. It could only have been a truck, and there were three constables phone-bashing every trucking company in the book right now.

‘And the crash?’

‘Happened after death. The lesions and breakages incurred by impact with the falling truck all occurred after he died. The way the blood clots always reveals that. The truck must have been pushed over the edge by whoever carved him up.’

The doctor drained his cup, and met Craig’s horror-filled gaze full-on.

‘What about the mutilation?’

‘Looks like the murderer had plenty of time on his hands. The heart was so tightly compacted up the anus, even with the tiny incision he made to get it in, it implies someone took great care to make sure it would stay there. It’s a big organ. I’m amazed how the assailant achieved it. Must have been a turkey-stuffer.’

Brenner grinned at his joke, receiving nothing but silence, and continued more coldly as he lost his smile, ‘The penis was torn off rather than cut, and it appears to have been in the mouth, although it had fallen out by the time you guys finished hauling the body up.’

‘How do you know it was in the mouth?’

‘His teeth closed on it. Left tissue inside. I reckon if you guys send a climber down there you’ll find his pecker where it fell.’ Brenner stuck his nail into the styrofoam cup, making a popping sound that delighted him sufficiently to make him do it again. ‘Yeah, it’s an X-rated one this, all right.’

Craig responded coldly. ‘When will the full report be ready for our inspection?’

Brenner caught the coldness in his voice, and smiled. ‘The report will be ready soon as I get back to Edmonton to write it, but I’ll wager with a murder like this you boys will be playing host to a bit of city help. Guess they’ll read it first. Tell you everything you need to know.’ He stood up to go.

‘Sit down, doctor.’

He continued to stand.

‘Until we hear who will formally head this investigation, I’m the officer in charge and the sole officer to whom you make your report. There are plenty of facilities here for you to have your taped report transcribed and printed out before you leave. Now, I understand you must be tired, so if you like we can arrange for some hotel accommodation for you while we organize the paperwork.’

Brenner glared at Craig. ‘I was planning on getting back tonight, Staff Sergeant, if that’s okay with you.’

‘No, I’m afraid it’s not okay. Not until I know all the facts and can question you in detail about the autopsy. If that takes for the rest of the week then so be it.’

‘With all due respect, I work out of Edmonton. I’m not at your beck and call.’

‘In the time it takes you to get back to the city, doctor, our murderer could be hundreds of miles from here. Even worse, he could still be here ready to strike again. I’m sure as a senior member of the Edmonton forensics team you hardly need me to remind you that police work is a race against the clock. Now, can I organize that hotel for you while you give your tape to Holly?’

Brenner looked at Craig for a few seconds and smiled. ‘Very well, Staff Sergeant. I’ll just call my wife, then I’ll call my superior officer in Edmonton. Just to let him know what’s happening of course. May I use your phone?’

Craig waved a hand. Brenner came forward a pace and picked up the receiver and punched out the number.

‘By the way, I think you’ll find the murder weapon’s going to prove problematic.’

‘In what way?’

‘No traces to indicate any metal instrument whatsoever. There are usually tell-tale signs that can lead us to identify at least the nature of the weapon. You know, serrated or unserrated, steel or base metal and so on. Everything leaves minute particles behind. In this case, nothing. Yet the incisions were as fine as scalpel cuts … Barbara? It’s Larry.’

Craig waited expectantly, until Brenner put his hand over the receiver and turned to face him. ‘May I?’