Alpha Micah Black: Werewolf Detective (Complete)

Chapter Eighteen

Back at Homicide Division...

Cass and I walk over to our desk area. We are surprised to see Doc Jacobson standing there. A forensic minion sure, just not Doc. I guess he has some news for us as well. Chief Edwards and Lieutenant Isaiah Barton are here. Patrol officers Roger Oren and George Harper have been helping out with the investigation as well. It seems we all are moving forward with this case.

The minion from forensics is the same one that grabbed the small evidence bag from my hand. This is going to be fun.

“Doc, Demon,” I said acknowledging them.

“Demi,” everyone sharply corrected me. Would you believe the minion actually glared at me? In my defense, I was close.

“Sorry,” I muttered. “Please, proceed.”

George and Roger pull a vision-type board out so we can place and see what all we have. Basically, another way to say it would be that we are getting our ducks in a row. Cheesy, I know. Moving on.

Let me explain the setup here. Stepping off of the slow-moving elevator are two large areas dedicated to the robbery/fraud divisions. Beyond that to the left is Captain Winston's office. To the right is narcotics. And then there's homicide shoved into the left-field of the floor. There are four desks shoved together in one corner, and then Cass and mine are located in another one. So, what I am saying is that homicide detectives get the smallest work area in the whole building. And, with everyone showing up unexpectedly, it's a bit crowded in here.

The boards are stored opposite the four desks. These are the vision boards, there are officially two in use. One specifically for Peter Bryant and the other one is for what appears to be slowly turning into a serial killing. The other detectives in charge of those have turned up no new leads. The trail went cold. More on those later.

Okay, so enough stalling. We all know that hearing the autopsy report is rough. No matter how many times we have had to deal with it, it's never pleasant.

“So, shall I begin,” Dr. Jacobson volunteered.

“Please,” the Chief nodded extruding his authority.

Placing graphic photos of the victim onto the board, Doc Jacobson begins his report.

“Our victim Peter Bryant. Age twenty-two years. Approximately one hundred seventy-eight pounds. Five feet and ten inches. Beginning with the interior examination, his toxicology and blood work came back clean. No drug or alcohol in his system whatsoever. No signs of usage either was found anywhere on the body.”

“So why in the hell was a bag of meth found on his person?!” I couldn't help but blurt out. It doesn't make sense. Knapelli just wouldn't set himself up like that.

“Please continue, Gil,” the Chief gruffly said.

“Thank you. What was left of his organs showed no signs of disease. His stomach contents contained what was left of a protein shake and bar. The kind one would consume after a workout. He was overall a healthy young male.”

“What do you mean by 'what was left of his organs'?” Cass asked. This is a first for us with this type of discovery.

“I'll explain that soon enough,” the Doc answered not missing a beat.

“Moving to the exterior.” He pointed to the photos. “There are three different sets of injury.”

“Okay, now my interest is piqued,” I think to myself. “Three? Dang dude.”

“Starting with the oldest and least likely to have caused death,” Doc started pointing to an area on the photo. “He has what appears to be old contusions that have started to heal. From their appearance alone I would place that particular injury at about two weeks ago. The next injury led to the newer compilation of abrasions on the various parts of his limbs.” He pointed to the photos. “The contusions located on his knuckles, face--hence the added edema, shoulders, and abdomen. Lacerations are on his knuckles and face, and hairline fractures to the knuckles and rib cage.”

“So he was in one hell of a fight,” Cass stated matter of factly.

“I would say so,” Doc continued.

“And now that brings us to the COD—not the fish, but as in the cause of death,” Doc chuckled clearly amused with himself. We all groaned internally at that. Why does he insist on telling those? Mine is much better.

“The skull fracture located at the back of his head,” he said pointing to the appropriate photo. Man, that's nasty looking. It looks like his brain is wanting to ooze out from it. Sorry. That turned my stomach as well. Continuing. “Most likely came from an extreme blunt force that resulted in massive blood loss. The same force also severed the base of his neck, here, and dislocated his left and right scapulae. That would be both shoulders.”

“Exactly how much force are we talking about?” Roger asked the question that everyone was thinking.

“From the impression on the heavy steel door, we figure the amount would be equivalent to being hit by a vehicle moving at approximately thirty-five to forty miles per hour. And that vehicle would've had to have stood over six feet tall,” the forensics minion stepped in.

“But there were zero tire tracks found at the crime scene apart from our own,” I reminded the minion. Yeah, I took her thunder.

“Correct, Sergeant, there wasn't,” she quickly recovered. “But there were tufts of pelage found at the scene.”

“So what are you trying to imply?” I asked brashly. I'm finding myself suddenly getting defensive. I'm not liking where this is going.

“One could presume that a very large mammal with incredible strength...” she began.

“Are you talking about a Werewolf?” Roger just couldn't help himself.

“You could also presume that it was Bigfoot just as well!” I just had to say something. “Since when do we consider mythological beings for suspects, especially without solid corroborating evidence?”

“Well, there is the 9-1-1 call made from the area,” the minion suddenly mentioned. Damn. Oh, wait, any distress calls from The Roundhouse area basically get suddenly “dropped” per Madame Mayor Jabberwocky's orders.

“How do you know that there was a call made?” Cass spoke up again. As far as we all knew, these particular types of calls just seem to disappear out of our emergency system.

“Moving on. May I remind you, Miss Mason, that you are deviating down a rabbit hole? Please stay on course,” the Chief reprimanded her, but everyone knew that it was directed toward all of us. “Please continue with the rest of your report.”

“Right. Sorry. Everyone. Chief,” she apologized.