Authors: Ken Goddard
“But you saw me kill her, right in front of your eyes,” Marcini reminded.
“Homicide being defined,” Cellars went on, “as the unlawful killing of a
homo sapien
— a human being.”
“But —”
“And, as a medical professional, are you aware of any documented behavior by any
homo sapien
— as far back as records have been kept — that is even remotely comparable to what you saw take place in your apartment less than an hour ago?”
“No, but —”
“Let me finish,” Cellars said. “The killing of other non-human species is certainly regulated by any number of Federal, State and local laws, specifically including the Endangered Species Act and the Marine Mammal Protection Act. But those laws pertain to specifically-
defined
species, or groups thereof. It is, for example, not a crime in Oregon to kill a Bigfoot … among other perfectly good reasons, because we don’t have a written definition of one, much less a standard comparison specimen.”
“You really think you’re going to be able to convince some Assistant District Attorney — we won’t even discuss your average jury of twelve stalwart citizens — that our victim is some kind of undefined and thus unprotected hairy primate?”
There was a slightly hysterical edge to Marcini’s voice now, and Cellars realized he was going to have to start being a little more careful about the things he said and did in her presence.
“Not necessarily,” he shrugged. “It might make for an interesting argument — possibly explaining why no one has ever found a body or skeleton of a Sasquatch. But, all things considered, I think we’re going to have to go for something more definitive in the way of proof.”
“And you think —?”
“Hold it,” Cellars said — almost missing the sign in the falling snow — as he suddenly tapped his brakes … and then pulled the SUV off the road and into the parking lot of a small shopping complex.
“What are you doing now?” Marcini demanded.
“Almost forgot, I have to pick up something,” he said as he quickly hopped out of the vehicle and shut the door.
Less than ten minutes later, he got back in the car, handed a brightly wrapped package to Marcini, and then began to buckle his safety belt in place.”
“What the hell’s this?” she demanded as she opened and looked into the package.
“A present.”
“You think you can bribe —?”
“Not exactly bribe,” Cellars said as he stared up the SUV’s engine. “Maybe just put into a better mood.”
* * *
The very tired-looking white-coated attendant — who was once again waiting patiently at the stainless steel receiving bay doors of the Jasper County Morgue with a stainless steel gurney — suddenly had a very confused expression on his face when he recognized the man who brought the snow-covered white SUV into the covered bay, braked to a stop, then quickly got out of the driver’s side door with a brightly wrapped package in his hand.
“Wow, you sure do drive a lot of different vehicles, Major,” the young man said with a yawn. “When I buzzed you in through the gate, I thought you said you were —”
“What’s your name, son?” Cellars called out as he continued around to the back of the vehicle with a purposeful stride.
“Uh, Nick, sir … Nick Grange,” the attendant said as he hurried to follow Cellars with the Morgue gurney.
“Good to see you again, Nick,” Cellars said. “So, why are
you
still here? I thought you’d be off duty by now. Here, mind holding this for me?” He handed the brightly wrapped package to the attendant.
“I should be,” Grange grumbled. “The day shift guy called in sick — which was probably a bullshit story, I’m betting he just didn’t want to drive in all that way through this storm — so the doc told he I had to stay and work his shift too.”
“Regular peach, your doctor Sutta,” Cellars commented absentmindedly as he carefully unlocked the SUV’s rear panel doors.
“Ah, the doc’s not so bad,” Grange shrugged as he took in the stylish features of the new SUV with his tired eyes. “Say, what happened to that big Humvee —”
He stopped in mid-question, and then blinked in surprise as Lisa Marcini — now dressed like Cellars in boots, blue jeans and a dark green cold-weather hiking jacket — suddenly appeared from around the passenger side of the vehicle with a shaken and uneasy expression on her otherwise beautiful face … along with a Mini Stun Baton® in her left hand and a 5-ml syringe cocked in her right.
“Whoa — wait a minute!” the attendant yelped in surprise as he stepped back away from the gurney and brought his hands up, his eyes widening in shock. “What’s all that for?”
“Hey, don’t drop that, or Sutta really will be pissed,” Cellars said as he quickly reached over and retrieved the brightly wrapped package.
“Yeah, just relax, kid,” Marcini muttered, keeping her eyes on the rear door of the SUV as she moved the young attendant aside with her left hand. “None of this is for you.”
“Oh … wow, I sure am glad to hear that,” Grange chuckled nervously. “You just — holy shit!”
The white-coated attendant leaped all the way around to the opposite side of his gurney when he saw Cellars set the package on the gurney, reach into his partially-unzipped jacket, pull out a glistening semiautomatic pistol … and then pause to look up at Marcini as he start to reach for the SUV’s left rear door handle.
“Hey, come on, you guys are really starting to scare me,” Grange rasped. “What the hell do you have in there?”
“Are you ready?” Cellars directed the question at Marcini, ignoring the young attendant.
“Yes, I’m ready … but do you really think all this is absolutely necessary?” she whispered, staring at the door uneasily.
“I have no idea, which is precisely why we’re going to be a little over-cautious until I do,” Cellars replied as he yanked the left side door open, and then immediately aimed the pistol at what looked like the head of a sheet-wrapped body as he waited for Marcini to pull open the other door.
“Okay,” Cellars said as he stepped over to his left, took a two-handed grip on the pistol, set himself into a wide stance, and then aimed the pistol at the sheet-wrapped head from a distance of about two feet just as the right side door came open, “do it.”
On cue, Marcini stepped forward, set the syringe down on the SUV’s rear bumper while keeping the baton-like Taser® out and ready, pulled the sheet away from the curly-blond-haired head of Allesandra with her left hand, and then quickly felt for a carotid pulse.
“No pulse, she’s still dead,” Marcini said.
“Are you absolutely sure?” Cellars demanded.
“What, you think I don’t know dead when I see it?” Marcini retorted, glaring at Cellars.
“Yeah, well, it’s not that I don’t believe you … but we’re still going to get ourselves a second opinion,” Cellars said firmly, and then turned to the wide-eyed attendant.
“Okay, Nick, here’s the situation. I’m Detective-Sergeant Colin Cellars from the Oregon State Patrol, and I’ve got a really serious problem that I need to talk to Dr. Sutta about, right away. Is he in?”
“Detective-Sergeant? But I thought you said you were —?” Grange stammered.
“A U.S. Army Major? Yeah, I don’t blame you for being confused,” Cellars said. “Sorry I couldn’t explain the situation at the time; but I was dressed in that Army uniform and driving an Army ambulance as a part of a joint State/Federal covert operation.”
“You mean these bodies are part of a big undercover investigation? Wow.”
“Yeah, ‘wow’ pretty much sums up the entire investigation,” Cellars muttered as he reached into his jacket with his left hand, removed his badge case, and held it out for the attendant’s inspection. “This is my real badge and ID … and the thing is, Nick, I really do need to get this new body inside the morgue and then talk to Dr. Sutta as soon as possible. Can you help me do all that?”
“Uh, yes sir, I sure can,” Grange stammered.
“Good, then let’s do it … right now.”
* * *
By the time Dr. Elliott Sutta came bursting through the Autopsy Center’s stainless steel double doors, Cellars and Marcini had managed to wrestle the sheet-wrapped body of Allesandra off the gurney and onto the middle autopsy table. She was now lying face up and completely exposed — as she had appeared in Marcini’s apartment — wearing only the diamond necklace and earrings. The silk sheet that they had used to wrap her up for transport lay in the near corner of the large rectangular room where it had been carelessly tossed.
“What’s this bullshit about some big joint State/Federal undercover investigation … and the hell did you just put on my autopsy table, Cellars?” Sutta demanded as he stomped over to the table.
He took one brief — and mostly indifferent — glance at Allesandra’s naked body, and then whipped his head around, first to glare at Cellars … and then to stare down at his right hand. “And why are you running around in my Autopsy Center with what I assume is a loaded and cocked pistol in your hand?”
“I brought you what may or may not be the body of a dead human female,” Cellars replied, meeting the pathologist’s scowl with a defiant stare of his own. “And I’m not putting this gun away until I know for sure.”
“Well, she certainly looks like a human female to me,” Sutta muttered, glancing quickly over at the body again. “What’s the matter …did you forget what girls look like, too?”
“We’ll get back to the human female issue in a minute,” Cellars said firmly. “But right now, before you do anything else, I want you to tell me if she’s dead.”
Sutta started at Cellars with an incredulous look on his grizzled face.
“You’re not sure if this woman is dead … and yet you brought her here — to the County morgue — instead of the closest ER? Have you lost your —?”
“We’ll get to that topic, too,” Cellars promised. “But not until you tell me whether or not she’s really dead.”
Sutta started to say something else, but the unyielding look on Cellars’ face told him that any further arguing would simply be a waste of time. So the supervising pathologist settled for muttering and shaking his head some more as he stepped over to the table, reached down and peeled back both of Allesandra’s eyelids, one at a time, examining each eye carefully — first in the ambient light of the autopsy center, and then with a small flashlight … then placed the smooth surface of an empty stainless steel tray against her mouth and nose … and then finally felt for a carotid pulse before turning around and glaring at Cellars.
“This woman’s body is cold … it’s in apparent rigor … both of her pupils are completely dilated … there is no sign of respiratory activity … and she has no discernable carotid pulse,” he said evenly. “That, in my professional experience, means she’s dead.
Now
will you put that damned gun away? You’re making me nervous.”
Cellars reluctantly holstered his pistol.
“Okay, let’s start with the basic details,” Sutta said, turning back to the body and starting to examine it more closely. “What was the situation at the scene where you found her?”
“Actually, it was the other way around,” Cellars said. “We were at the scene first — her apartment,” he clarified, gesturing with his head at Marcini, “when this broad showed up, went after us, and we killed her.”
Sutta snapped his head around. “
You
— killed her? Are you telling me that you’re the
suspect
in this case, and not the investigator?”
“No, that’s not exactly the way it happened,” Marcini interrupted from the near corner of the room where she’d taken refuge. “I was the one who killed her. She had already attacked me, and was getting ready to kill Sergeant Cellars. I reacted to save both of our lives.”
“And just who the hell are you?” Sutta demanded as he wrenched his head around further in surprise, apparently aware of Marcini’s presence for the first time.
“I’m Professor Lisa Marcini, a neuropsychologist at the VA clinic here in Jasper County,” Marcini said as she stepped forward out of the corner.
“You mean the VA clinic out at the Army Training Center … the place where Detective-Sergeant Cellars was being confined for neurological observation?”
“That’s right.”
Sutta stared first at Marcini and then at Cellars disbelievingly for a few seconds.
Then he shook his head and muttered some more as he turned back to the body again, pulled on a pair of surgical gloves, and then began to make a careful examination of Allesandra’s head and neck.
“I’m not feeling any bumps, breaks or abrasions, and I don’t see any obvious puncture or slash wounds,” he said, looking back over at Marcini. “So tell me, professor Marcini, how, exactly, did you manage to kill this young woman?”
“With these,” Marcini said as she walked forward, holding up the syringe out in her right hand and the Mini Stun Baton® in her left.
Sutta jerked back away from the autopsy table and Marcini as if he’d seen a snake … or, more to the point, as if he was about to be tasered and stabbed.
“I recognize the Taser®. What the hell’s in that syringe?”
“A Farmington-U Cocktail, an extremely fast acting sedative.”
“Are you serious?” Sutta looked shocked. “You deliberately injected a human being this size with five cc’s of that shit?”
“No, I only injected her with three,” Marcini replied matter-of-factly, “because that was all I could get into the three-cc syringe I had access to at the time.”
“But —”
“And I
would
have five cc’s in this syringe now ,” Marcini went on, “but there was only four left in the vial, thanks to my patient over there —” she glared over at Cellars “who’s been running amok all over southern Oregon the last few hours, injecting Army MP’s right and left with the damned stuff.”