It's A Body

Rachael

“10-4 3668.”

I slow my car to a stop and pop my lights on and roll down the window. The children come running to the car. “I’m Officer Sinclair, do you guys…”

“We found a body! At first, we thought it was a giant doll, you know, like the ones in the store…”

“It’s called a mannequin, dummy.”

“A mannequin, whatever, but it’s not.”

“IT’S A BODY!”

The kid yells into my eardrum as I squeeze my eyes tight and jerk myself from the car. “Show me where."

"Watch where you step and do not get close.” I explain to the children who nod eagerly at me and start to run down the shoulder of the road. They start to slow, allowing me to catch up, and I pull my flashlight from my belt as I gesture for the children to move back as I peer over the weeds and down the ditch.

“#3668, Code 20. I need all units to mile marker 13 on Highway 308 West out of town. 10-105, 10-12 children are present.”

“10-4 3668, did you say dead body? Do you need medical?”

“Negative. The victim is very deceased. I will start roping off the area. I need reserves called in to get statements from these kids and restrict calls to emergencies only tonight. Get me all units, this is a 187.”

10-4. Are you sure this is a 187 3668? The chief wants you to be really sure.” I look back down the ditch at the naked female with blood down her cheeks, mouth agape and eye sockets without eyes. “

Yeah, I am really sure.” I radio and turn toward the children.

Damn, they will have to live with this memory.

“I want all of you kids back by my car. When my help gets here, we will take your statements and take you home to your parents. Nobody touches anything and watch your step.” I herd the children over to my patrol car and pop the hood, getting out my tape and sticks. I will probably need to rope off quite a bit of ditch.

I grab the tape and start marking off mile marker 13. I climb down the ditch and wrap the trees in tape. I am a muddy, hot mess. It is a hot, humid July. The children watch, provide commentary and talk to each other about what they found.

They have no idea how this will affect them.

A few minutes in and Sergeant Marty arrives lights and sirens are blaring, scaring the children. I requested lights only.

Nobody listens to me.

I take out my phone and walk down the shoulder of the highway, looking for every tire print, every piece of trash, anything I can stick a number placard by and count as evidence.

I do not see a single tire tread.

“What do you got, Sinclair?” Marty bolted out of his car, headed in my direction as I pointed down the ditch. I still haven’t got close enough to her yet to take photos.

I do not like how this makes me feel.

The squad has no idea who I really am.

“Kids found her probably 15 minutes ago. Thought she was a mannequin. I have roped off the perimeter, and I am currently looking for evidence, marking it and taking photos,” I explained to my commander as he stared down at the girl.

“God, this is a straight-up homicide Sinclair. She doesn’t have any eyeballs.”

“I know Sarge.”

“Well, keep doing your evidence. You have got a natural skill for it. I will get started on the kids and calling parents. I have back up coming.”

I nodded at Marty and continued looking for evidence.

The sun is down, and the light is gone.

It will be dark soon.

“This is 3668, get me the county coroner to 13 and shut down the highway. See if we can get fire and rescue to handle that.”

“10-4 3668.”

More reserve officers arrive as I photograph virtually nothing. No tire treads, no break marks. A few scraps of trash, but they are probably liter. They take statements and call parents as I walk the area, scouring for evidence.

I get close to her body and my heart stops.

She is close to my age, Caucasian and blonde.

Nude.

She has no eyes.

Rigor has set in according to her hand posture.

Dependent lividity present.

Mottled, white and gray.

But what bothers me the most is the giant X placed over her left breast.

It can’t be there.

It can’t be there.

Is this real?

“Sinclair!” I shake my head from my spiral and turn toward Marty. “I said what do you got?”

“Sorry. Female, mid-twenties to mid-thirties. Caucasian in appearance, blonde. No eyes. Rigor has set. She has a large X-cut over her left breast and chest. No outward signs of cause of death. It is hard to see with it getting dark.” I stop and use my phone to take what seems like hundreds of photos of her body and surroundings.

“We could set up lights for the medical examiner or tent it off until morning and post a rotation,” I say as I hover over the body, taking photos of the inside of her mouth.

“You got a pretty good eye to you, kid.” Sarge says as I give him my practiced smile. “Thanks. You’ve mentioned it. I like forensics, a lot.” I leave out the part about how I learned quite a bit through my father’s trial, studying the case and reviewing the mountains of evidence and paperwork for no reason other than my morbid curiosity and trying to understand why I had to go through the pain I did.

I got no answers.

My father was a sick individual.

My mother set him off, and he became the monster lurking inside of him.

I sometimes wonder if the same one lives within me.

“3668, this is dispatch. ME is out until mid-morning. Possible 3AM-6AM ETA.”

“10-4. Tell him later in the morning. We will set up a post.” I respond. I’m not staying sober to accommodate a medical examiner that rarely has to examine anything.

“10-4 3668.”

“Tent it off. We will need rotations.” I called up the ditch to Sarge. Jake shakes his head. “No way. We are supposed to be off in a few hours.”

“Too bad. You can take first watch.” Sargeant Marty claps his hand down on Jakes' shoulder and I have to bite my lip to restrain the laughter that wants to come out of me.

Good. The prick deserves it. All the shit he gives me.

Karma.

“Oh, come on Sarge!” Jake yells, holding his head in his hands like the damn baby that he is, getting ready to throw a tantrum. I interrupt in hopes to avoid it.

“Where is the cheif?” I can’t believe it is our first murder in probably decades, and he is nowhere to be found.”

“He is working on the press side of things. As soon as you finish what you know, get on the horn to him.” Marty instructs as he tries to answer his phone. We have to get these kids home, or we are going to have Amber alerts being called in left and right.

“Copy.” I yell back as I stare down at the Jane Doe in the ditch with the same X on her chest as my father’s victims and who has the same butter blonde hair color as my mother.

And all my father’s victims.