“A lead that led nowhere,” I finished with a sigh before turning to more important topics. “Trace evidence?” I asked. It was the medical examiner’s duty, much like on the popular TV shows, to recover any trace evidence from the body—hair, carpet fibers, fluids—anything that might aid the investigation.
“None that I’ve identified,” Dr. Moody responded with an uninterested shrug.
I nodded. I’d already made a mental note to head back out to the woods and take another look. “Where’s the knife?” I asked.
“Sent to the SCDL in Anchorage,” Moody answered. The SCDL was otherwise known as the Scientific Crime Detection Laboratory. “Should get there in the morning if Dusty doesn’t run into weather.” Dusty was our local bush pilot. “My resources are limited here, as you can imagine.”
The crime lab in Anchorage was as modern as any state’s, which was a relief because sometimes I felt like I’d inadvertently relocated myself to BFE. With such a small population that existed in Hope, it was no wonder that solving crimes was sometimes frustrating. But leave it to Anchorage, where I was sure they’d go over the blade with a fine-tooth comb, so to speak, using an array of tests to pull any evidence from the weapon.
“In the meantime, I have these for you.” Moody clicked his mouse, as he squinted at his monitor. He clicked again, then again, and a moment later, the printer behind me whirred to life. With a groan, he stood up from behind his desk, then slid behind me, being sure to bounce his enormous stomach into my butt, all the while smelling potently of aftershave. I took a step away from him.
A moment later, he handed me two full-color, close-up photographs of the knife, each photograph depicting one side of the weapon. The doctor next called in his young and very attractive secretary, and asked her to find me an envelope for the photos.
She smiled and said, “Yes, Dr. Moody.”
I suspected the not-so-virtuous doctor probably employed just about any reason to summon his attractive assistant.
While she was gone and while the doctor settled in behind his desk again, I studied the pictures. This was, after all, the first I’d seen of the actual blade. It was long, slightly curved, a sort of cross between a dagger and hunting knife. I recognized the sloppily-made antler handle. I had better knives in my kitchen drawer.
Moody said, “I’m no metallurgist, and the crime lab will confirm, but I’m certain the blade is nearly one hundred percent silver. The handle could be anything. Deer, elk, caribou.”
A moment later, Moody’s assistant appeared with an oversized envelope, which she handed to me. I slipped the pictures inside, figuring I’d study them later. Then I turned back to the doctor, who was busily thanking his assistant a little too profusely for a job a child, a dog or a circus monkey could have very easily handled.
“There’s more,” said Dr. Moody.
More is good in my business. More could possibly mean additional evidence, possibly extra clues to determine who the hell the man was, why he was killed, and why he was naked in the first place.
“Go on,” I said.
“I found over six pounds of undigested caribou meat in his stomach.”
Chapter Four
I felt my stomach turn as soon as the visual hit my brain. I had to pull myself away from my own disgust in order to focus on Dr. Moody’s announcement again. “Did you say six pounds?”
“I did.” He must have seen the perplexed look on my face because he continued to explain.
“I mean… how is that even possible?”
He cocked his head to the side. “It is possible for a human stomach to hold up to six pounds of food, though it would be rare. And I must say, the individual in question would be extremely uncomfortable.” He took a deep breath and I had a feeling there was more. “But that wasn’t the strangest part, Chief.”
“Go on,” I said.
“Along with the meat, I found two rib bones and a considerable amount of skin and fur.”
I opened my mouth, then shut it again.
Outside, through the open door of Dr. Moody’s office, I heard his young secretary talking on the phone, scheduling an appointment. His young, redheaded with big breasts secretary. I shook my head and brought my attention back to the doctor. “So what you’re trying to tell me is that our victim ate through the side of a caribou, skin, fur, bones and all?”
“I’m not necessarily saying he ate through the side of a caribou. All I’m saying is that somehow a caribou’s skin, fur, flesh and bones all ended up in his stomach.”
“Okay,” I wasn’t really sure where to go with this. “How would all of that end up in his stomach?”
“I assume he pulled it apart and fed himself.”
“How difficult would it be to pull apart a caribou with no tools?”
“Hard.”
“And he ate not only the flesh, but also the bones and fur?”
Moody nodded. “And another strange thing is there weren’t any lacerations in his mouth or throat…”
“Lacerations from?”
“Chewing and swallowing bones.”
I didn’t know what to say so I didn’t further comment. Instead, I changed the subject. “How thick is caribou hide?”
“Extremely.”
“And how big are their rib bones?”
“Big enough to pose a serious choking hazard.”
I was having a hard time digesting this. Pun intended. “Dr. Moody, have you ever, in all your time here, seen something like this?”
“I’ve only seen something similar in animals. In fact, that’s the first thing I thought when I performed the necropsy: that I was looking at the stomach contents of, say, a bear. Granted, a bear’s stomach could hold far more than our John Doe’s could, but the general state of the contents looked similar.”
“Similar how?”
He shrugged. “Partially masticated, torn-up pieces of flesh, some of which had been swallowed whole. In fact, I question just how the bigger chunks managed to find their way down his esophagus. Most humans with normal throat capacities would have choked.”
Try as I might, I couldn’t wrap my head around a naked man feasting on the side of a caribou, bones and all, in the middle of winter. Just call me unimaginative, I guess.
“Do you have any idea what we’re looking at here?”
I sure as hell didn’t have any answers.
Dr. Moody shook his head, but I couldn’t say I was surprised. The medical examiner’s job was to determine the cause of death and to collect any evidence to aid the investigation. It wasn’t his job to speculate what could have happened or who might have committed the murder, or why. Then again, we were at the far edge of nowhere, in the way back of beyond. Protocol had already flown out the window and was now MIA and had been from the moment the victim had eaten six pounds of raw caribou meat, bones, fur, skin and all.
The doctor studied me long and hard. I couldn’t help feeling like he wanted to tell me something, but then he blinked and seemed to think better of it.
Finally, he shook his head, and said, “I’m sorry, but I have no idea.”
What he’d been about to tell me, I didn’t know. But I’d caught something else in his eyes: