A Long December by Donald Harstad Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Donald Harstad
themselves and not be distracted by us as we focus on some particular items of evidence. We proceeded together but separately, so to speak. That is, until it came time to move Gary’s car back from the human debris field. At that point, we formed a little crowd.
Gary was told to back up very slowly and to stop when Bob signaled him. He did, and had backed up not more than fifteen feet when he was told to stop.
“Now, better call a wrecker, Sergeant,” said Dave, the senior lab man. “We’re going to have to have those tires.”
“What?”
“We need your tires. They’ve been in our, uh, evidence. There may be small fragments and tissues adhering to them.”
“You have to be shitting me.” Gary was astonished.
“I assume you have to get permission,” said Dave.
Dave was right. The tires had been in the blood and bone fragments, and some of that material was now transferred to them. The lab crew was going to take all four, as it turned out, and Gary was pretty disgusted. He’d have to get permission from high up, get the wrecker and four new tires ordered out to the scene. It was probably going to affect the maintenance budget for his entire post, and would reflect on his personal stats, as well. All just because he stopped a few feet closer to the body, in a well-intentioned effort to protect the scene.
“Don’t let it bother you,” said Lamar. “We’ll get a receipt for the tires to you. And you ought to get ‘em back in, oh, what you think, Carl? Three-four years?”
“Not any longer than that,” I said.
I don’t think it took any of the sting out.
“Look at that,” said Lamar, pointing to the mobile crime lab truck. “I wonder when they got that?”
The lab crew had set up a portable generator with halogen lights attached to an extendable aluminum tripod, so we had truly exceptional lighting for our first real look at the extended debris field.
“Wow,” I said. “Cool.”
“Those halogens set somebody back,” grumbled Lamar as he moved closer to take advantage of the brilliant lighting.
The debris field, if you could call it that, was roughly fan-shaped, with the small end closest to the body. There was blood, naturally, but a lot of it had been distributed in the form of a reddish haze by the blast, and we were confronted by mostly large droplets as opposed to pools of the stuff. It was a lot like spatter painting. There were two relatively large sections of skull, with the attached skin and hair. That would be a big help. The hair appeared to be either black or very dark brown. At that point, I appreciated any identifiers at all. There were a couple of chunks of bony tissue that would eventually be identified as parts of the maxilla. Most of the teeth were still attached, but some appeared to have been sheared off by the blast. They eventually salvaged four good upper teeth. “Good” in the sense that a dentist could use them to attempt to identify the former owner. There really wasn’t an identifiable clump of brain tissue, except for one section about four inches by three that was near the far end of the debris field.
“This piece carried further, because it had more mass than the smaller fragments,” said Bob, the younger lab member.
“Um hum,” said Hester. She knew that, of course. It was just a matter of basic ballistics.
“That’s the cerebellum, there,” said Doc Zimmer. He got a quizzical look from Bob. “I’m no expert, but if it was a contact shotgun wound to the back of the head, we’d see the blast effect distributing the majority of the brain tissue.” He peered more closely at the yellowish gray matter. “Whereas this bit was probably sucked out by the vacuum caused by the gases from the bore, and wasn’t damaged all that much.” He shrugged. “The brain divides pretty naturally into sections, with enough trauma.”
“I’ve got some teeth and fragments of teeth scattered up here,” said Dave, the older lab man. “Some still in pretty good
Gary was told to back up very slowly and to stop when Bob signaled him. He did, and had backed up not more than fifteen feet when he was told to stop.
“Now, better call a wrecker, Sergeant,” said Dave, the senior lab man. “We’re going to have to have those tires.”
“What?”
“We need your tires. They’ve been in our, uh, evidence. There may be small fragments and tissues adhering to them.”
“You have to be shitting me.” Gary was astonished.
“I assume you have to get permission,” said Dave.
Dave was right. The tires had been in the blood and bone fragments, and some of that material was now transferred to them. The lab crew was going to take all four, as it turned out, and Gary was pretty disgusted. He’d have to get permission from high up, get the wrecker and four new tires ordered out to the scene. It was probably going to affect the maintenance budget for his entire post, and would reflect on his personal stats, as well. All just because he stopped a few feet closer to the body, in a well-intentioned effort to protect the scene.
“Don’t let it bother you,” said Lamar. “We’ll get a receipt for the tires to you. And you ought to get ‘em back in, oh, what you think, Carl? Three-four years?”
“Not any longer than that,” I said.
I don’t think it took any of the sting out.
“Look at that,” said Lamar, pointing to the mobile crime lab truck. “I wonder when they got that?”
The lab crew had set up a portable generator with halogen lights attached to an extendable aluminum tripod, so we had truly exceptional lighting for our first real look at the extended debris field.
“Wow,” I said. “Cool.”
“Those halogens set somebody back,” grumbled Lamar as he moved closer to take advantage of the brilliant lighting.
The debris field, if you could call it that, was roughly fan-shaped, with the small end closest to the body. There was blood, naturally, but a lot of it had been distributed in the form of a reddish haze by the blast, and we were confronted by mostly large droplets as opposed to pools of the stuff. It was a lot like spatter painting. There were two relatively large sections of skull, with the attached skin and hair. That would be a big help. The hair appeared to be either black or very dark brown. At that point, I appreciated any identifiers at all. There were a couple of chunks of bony tissue that would eventually be identified as parts of the maxilla. Most of the teeth were still attached, but some appeared to have been sheared off by the blast. They eventually salvaged four good upper teeth. “Good” in the sense that a dentist could use them to attempt to identify the former owner. There really wasn’t an identifiable clump of brain tissue, except for one section about four inches by three that was near the far end of the debris field.
“This piece carried further, because it had more mass than the smaller fragments,” said Bob, the younger lab member.
“Um hum,” said Hester. She knew that, of course. It was just a matter of basic ballistics.
“That’s the cerebellum, there,” said Doc Zimmer. He got a quizzical look from Bob. “I’m no expert, but if it was a contact shotgun wound to the back of the head, we’d see the blast effect distributing the majority of the brain tissue.” He peered more closely at the yellowish gray matter. “Whereas this bit was probably sucked out by the vacuum caused by the gases from the bore, and wasn’t damaged all that much.” He shrugged. “The brain divides pretty naturally into sections, with enough trauma.”
“I’ve got some teeth and fragments of teeth scattered up here,” said Dave, the older lab man. “Some still in pretty good