The Fed Man (12 page)

Taking a second before responding, he wiped his brow with his handkerchief and cleared his throat. With his composure seemingly restored, he pointed to a cupboard on the wall on the right side of the room. “I do know where they are, since I usually get them myself.”

His smile was replaced by a look of astonishment when he opened the cupboard and found it to be bare. “I don’t know what to say. This cupboard was full of supplies yesterday.”

Nube looked at Doc, who was scribbling in his spiral notebook. Returning his gaze to the startled coroner, he queried, “About how many of whatever you keep in there are now missing, Doctor?”

“I always try to keep about six boxes of number ten scalpels in here, as well as six boxes of suture material.” Pulling open the drawer under the countertop, he continued, “And this is where I keep the needle holders and a few suture scissors. They’re missing as well.”

Moving to the end of the counter, they arrived at a door that also had its lock busted.

Nube looked at the frazzled coroner. “Is it safe to assume, Doctor, that this door leads to the evidence room?”

“Yes, of course. This is where I usually keep all evidence, victims’ belongings, and anything else that seems pertinent.”

Nube pointed to the photographer and sketch artist, who were still standing in the anteroom. “Naldie, I think you should get those two gentlemen over here for pictures and sketches. And have Dick take some photos of the cupboards. But remind him not to touch anything because those areas will all have to be dusted for prints.”

Bending to get a close-up view of the door lock and jamb, Nube squinted and turned his head to enhance his view. Without taking his eyes off the door lock he said, “Naldie, hand me a flashlight.”

Naldie had a small penlight in his shirt pocket that he handed to Nube. “This will have to do, young feller. It’s all I’ve got.”

Shining the light on the door lock and jamb, Nube looked up.

“See this. It looks like another paint mar. We’re going to need pictures and then we’ll want to remove this area and send it with
the other paint mar from the rear entry to see if they’re a match. If they match, at least we’ll know that the same instrument was used on both doors. And Naldie, you’re going to have to use your smoothest, sweetest voice to convince Marie she’ll need to come in to your office today to get them out to the forensics lab ASAP.”

Naldie held both hands up in a defensive posture. “Today, Nube? Are you out of your frigging mind? You saw how she made a point of showing me her watch and talking about working on a Saturday afternoon.”

“She works for you, Chief, and this is of vital importance. So start practicing your best schmooze. We should be able to have these specimens to her in about an hour.”

“Okay, Nube, but you owe me one.”

Rolling his eyes and smiling, Nube countered, “Yeah, right. Just go make the call.”

Nube teased open the door leading into the evidence room, which was six-by-eight feet with gray block walls illuminated by a two-bulb ceiling fluorescent light. The walls were lined with wood shelving holding wire baskets, a few cardboard boxes, and some Rubbermaid containers. Using a pen to turn on the light, he quickly scanned the room and saw it was bare except for a few of the baskets. “Dr. Anthony, did you have much evidence in here?”

“Ah, not much. Some of the trace we picked up at the first scene I had Mary send to the forensics lab in Minneapolis. About all I have pertinent to the first case is the axe, which is in that big box at the end on the right.”

“I think we’d better open it to make sure it’s still here,” Nube said. “Whoever broke into this building broke into this room as well, for a good reason.”

Reaching the end of the aisle, they noted the top of the box was off and the box was empty. Letting out a loud sigh, Nube turned to the two doctors. “Well, well. I think this case has just become a bit more interesting.”

Nube noticed the smile on Doc’s face had been replaced by a frown and that he was continuing to scribble in his notebook. He wasn’t sure how he would describe the look on Dr. Anthony’s face. He appeared perplexed, agitated, and perhaps scared.

“We’ll want this box dusted for prints as well, so let’s not touch it, okay?”

After the three left the room, they found Naldie standing next to the autopsy table and he did not appear happy. “Well, Nube, thanks to you I just had my office secretary chew me a new one. She said she’ll be at the office in one hour and if we’re not there she’s going home and won’t answer her phone until Monday. So whatever we have to do, let’s do it now.” He stabbed his finger in the air to emphasize his last point.

“Okay, Chief. So how about you have Dick take the photos, then you remove the paint mars and place them in evidence bags. Then give them to one of your volunteers outside to take to your office and hand them to Marie. Remember, Chief, it is vitally important that we fill out the property receipt and include it with each item. And that whoever handles the evidence has to sign the receipt.”

Taking his frayed golf cap off and rubbing his head, the chief let out a huge sigh. “Yeah, yeah. There are some things I do know and haven’t forgotten. You don’t need to start giving me lectures, too.”

Pointing to Dr. Anthony, Nube said, “I think that you, Doc, and I should sit down in your office to review things. Naldie, how about you join us after you get the trace off to Marie.”

Naldie raised his hands over his lowered head as he started toward the rear entry.

Nube and Doc followed Dr. Anthony into his office. Nube thought that the office mirrored the doctor’s persona today. The desk, which on their first visit seemed to be as neat as one could expect, now had papers and folders scattered over the top. Dr. Anthony moved slowly around the corner of the desk and slid into his old leather chair. He slouched down, in contrast to the commanding posture he had presented on their first visit.

“Tough day, eh Joe?” asked Doc as a way of beginning the dialogue. “Do you mind if we sit? It’s been rough for us as well.”

Waving his right hand while loosening his bow tie with his left, he replied, “Sure. Please. Have a seat. Well, where do we go from here with this investigation?”

“Why don’t you take it from here, Nube,” Doc said.

“We have two young vics, both teenagers, a female from Duluth and an unidentified male. The first vic’s tox screens were positive for alcohol, cocaine, and Rohypnol, but, of course, are pending on the second vic. Both died from suffocation, were dismembered or
disfigured, and had an axe in their chest. Tests will tell us if it was the same axe in both cases. And now we have the break-in here with items missing from the morgue, including the axe.”

Holding up one hand to interrupt Nube’s presentation, Dr. Anthony spoke up. “Sorry, Nube, but if I may. When you mentioned dismemberment and disfigurement, I thought I should tell you something that I haven’t had a chance to do yet. On my initial body survey of our latest victim, I noted that his penis had been surgically amputated. I just thought you might want to know that as you attempt to profile the perpetrator.”

Amazed, Nube squinted and tilted his head. “Why didn’t you tell us that sooner, Doctor?”

Leaning forward in his chair, Dr. Anthony removed his smudged glasses and held them in his right hand as he threw his arms in the air. Raising his voice, he stared at Nube. “So just when in the hell do you think I was supposed to have told you? Are you insinuating that I was withholding something from you?”

Doc rose halfway out of his chair and raised a quieting hand. “Easy, Joe. No one is accusing you of withholding anything. We know it’s been a rough day, but let’s remember that we’re all on the same side.” He looked at Nube and added, “Or at least we’re supposed to be.”

The usually reserved coroner rose, took off his lab coat, and tossed it over the back of his chair. Still standing, he rolled up the sleeves on his shirt, pulled his handkerchief out of his back pocket, and rubbed hard at the smudges on his glasses while continuing to
stare at Nube. As Dr. Anthony started to sit again, Naldie walked in and immediately sensed the tension in the room.

“What’s going on here, guys?”

Waving him off, Nube addressed the angered coroner. “I apologize if I’ve offended you, Dr. Anthony.” He then he looked up at Naldie, “We’ve just compared the two crimes and the two victims and the good doctor here has just informed us that the latest victim also had his penis amputated.”

Taking his cap off and waving it about, Naldie asked, “What the hell kind of crazy, perverted person are we dealing with?”

With a softer voice, an emotionless Dr. Anthony answered, “He’s like a complete unknown.”

Nube stared at the coroner, who was subconsciously picking at a scab on his left forearm, causing it to bleed. “If I may ask, Doctor, I see that you’re bleeding from what looks like a fresh wound. Did you hurt yourself?”

Without bothering to blot the blood, he pulled his shirtsleeve down over his forearm and held his right hand over it. “It’s nothing, really. It’s from my rose bushes. I was doing some pruning recently.”

He kept his eyes on the young man as he pulled his lab coat off the back of his chair and draped it over the bleeding forearm. “Is there anything else you gentlemen require of me this afternoon? If not, Leo should be arriving shortly and I would like to proceed with the autopsy.”

“Just a couple of things, Doctor,” Nube continued, and he held up his fingers to enumerate. “One, when will we know the
identity of the victim? Two, when will we have the results of the tox screens? Three, when will we receive the results of the trace evidence studies you’re sending in? And four, I’m going to want to interview Leo. Just to be complete, you understand. I would like to do that Monday morning if that’s okay with you.”

“Hopefully I’ll know the identity of the young man by tomorrow or Monday at the latest. And hopefully I can have the tox screen and trace reports by Tuesday morning. And yes, Monday morning would be just fine. Say, nine o’clock?”

“Thank you and nine o’clock will be just fine.”

Dr. Anthony rose from his chair and walked around from behind his desk. However, Nube remained sitting and looked at Naldie, who seemed lost in a sea of bewilderment. “Chief, when you were obtaining the paint mars from the doorjambs did you dust for fingerprints as well?”

“Ah, sure. Yeah, I did all the spots you indicated on our walk through. Picked up a few latent prints. I sent those to Marie and hopefully she can get those out today as well.”

Receiving the answer he had hoped to hear, Nube slowly rose from his chair, smiled, and extended his right hand to Dr. Anthony. “Doctor. Thank you for your cooperation and your help today. If not before, I’ll see you Monday morning when I come to see Leo.”

“No worry,” Dr. Anthony said.

“I think we’re done here,” Nube said. “Let’s head back to your office, Chief.”

He was sitting in his favorite chair, an old overstuffed leather chair purchased from Goodwill years ago. He was in his favorite room, where he kept the light low, preferring the dark. It didn’t hurt his eyes that way. He began thinking about the funeral. Nice church; good food. That’s all he could say for it and that’s as much time as he would spend thinking about it.

He began reflecting on his latest garbage detail. The young man had to be the choice. That acne-covered, beer-drinking, tobacco-spitting punk. And that hideous scar at the corner of his mouth. Just his attitude alone placed him in the need-to-die category. Miscreant. Garbage. That’s why he removed the skin from his face. Had to get rid of that acne and that hideous scar. It drove him nuts just to look at him. And the penis? Well, that had to go as well. Couldn’t stand the thought of this young miscreant breeding in his afterlife. Whatever or wherever that may be. Too bad about the axe. But that can always be retrieved. Again. The young ladies? Unfortunate. What’s that label the media likes to use? Casualties of
war, that’s it. Yeah, they were just casualties of his war on garbage. He was beginning to like referring to himself as the “Garbageman.” He wondered if history would think of him as some type of superhero. Perhaps there would be T-shirts with a big “G” on the front. What a marketing genius he could be. The half-lip snarl appeared on his face.

He allowed himself to float into a meditative state with Dylan’s “License to Kill” playing in the background. He wasn’t sure about the lyrics but absolutely loved the title. How apropos. He was starting to think of Dylan as his mentor and guidance counselor.

Then the headache suddenly recurred. Always behind his eyes. Throbbing and relentless. With his face contorted in severe pain, he closed his eyes as hard as he could, hoping that this pain would overcome the headache pain. He rocked back and forth in his chair while digging his knuckles into his eyes and temples in an attempt to lessen the pain. He knew that something terrible and perhaps terminal was going on, but he again vowed not to have it evaluated. He thought aloud, “Who cares? Who ever cared? I’ll tell you who, no one! That’s who!”

As the pain began to subside, he wondered how much time he had left, because there was so much work left to do. So much garbage for the “Garbageman” and so little time.

He rose from his chair and slowly went to his bookshelf where he retrieved a worn, leather three-ring binder. On the cover he had inscribed the words:

He took great pleasure in reading the works of Robert Frost and William Ernest Henley. While holding his beloved treasure tightly to his chest, he closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and recited Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken.” He knew that he had taken a far less traveled road in life and it had made all the difference in the world as to who he was and what he deemed his mission to be.

What would be his legacy? How would people know who he was and what he thought? He surmised that if he used the words of his idols, he could leave a message for posterity. He closed his eyes and the words started coming to him: