Ralph pushed through the front doors of the Dallas Police Department, brown fedora pulled low over his grey eyes. His footsteps made intentionally loud sounds across the lobby tiles as he made his way toward the main desk.
"Detective Hugh," The desk sergeant looked up from his crossword puzzle, "midnight on a Friday. You must not have anything better to do with your time off."
Ralph paused at the desk, resting one hand on the worn wood.
"Yeah, well. The wife left me, the dog ran away, and my favorite bar burned down. Figured I might as well make myself useful."
The sergeant chuckled.
"You've never been married and you hate dogs."
"I hate cats," Ralph corrected as he tapped the brim of his hat.
"Got a call about a homicide victim. Other detectives are tied up with cases, so here I am. Bart waiting for me?"
"Should be down in the morgue by now."
The sergeant returned to his puzzle while grunting, "have fun with that."
Ralph walked off toward the rear elevators, pulling a cigarette from his coat pocket. He didn't light it. Couldn't smoke inside the station, even at midnight when most of the building sat empty.
The elevator car arrived with a soft ding. Ralph stepped inside and pressed the button for the basement level. The ride down took maybe thirty seconds, long enough for Ralph to roll the unlit cigarette between his fingers and wonder what the hell Bart had found that required calling him in on his night off.
The doors opened to a sterile hallway lit by harsh lights. The chemical smell of disinfectant hung in the air, mixed with something else. Something organic and familiar that no amount of bleach could ever completely mask.
Ralph's shoes clicked against the linoleum as he approached the morgue entrance. He knocked twice on the metal door.
"Come on in!"
Bart's voice carried through the door, cheerful despite the hour and the setting.
Ralph entered to find exactly what he expected. Clean steel tables and cabinets full of instruments along with refrigerated drawers lining one wall. Everything gleamed under the overhead lights, sterile and cold. Bart was meticulously clean.
Bart stood near the center examination table, already elbow-deep in his work. He glanced up as Ralph approached, a smile creasing his round face.
"Detective Hugh! You're looking particularly under the weather tonight. Did you forget to eat your vitamins?"
Ralph slipped the cigarette behind his ear.
"Your jokes just get funnier every time I see you, Doc."
Bart laughed, the sound bouncing off the tiled walls, completely at odds with their surroundings.
"I do try."
Ralph's gaze shifted to the body on the table. Male, naked, already opened up with the characteristic Y-incision. The corpse's skin had taken on that waxy, pale quality that death brought. A massive bullet wound decorated the left side of his skull, the entry point unmistakable. His jaw hung at an odd angle, clearly broken or dislocated.
Not very old. Late twenties, maybe early thirties at most.
Ralph moved closer, studying the victim with experienced detachment.
"You didn't call me down here on my night off just to show me another homicide victim. Not when there's half a dozen detectives on duty right now."
"Perceptive as always."
Bart adjusted his round glasses.
"Let me walk you through what I found."
He gestured at the body.
"Male, thirty-two years old. Found sitting against the wall of a low-income apartment complex, small empty lot between buildings. Gun in his hand."
Bart pointed to an evidence bag across the room containing a black pistol.
"That's the weapon."
Ralph crossed his arms.
"I'm failing to see what's so interesting about this."
"Patience."
Bart held up one bloody gloved finger.
"I ran his identification. Name's Joseph Keenan. Wanted out of Galveston for aggravated bank robbery, grand larceny, and aggravated assault with a deadly weapon. Two accomplices named in the reports."
"So he thought laying low in Dallas was a good idea," Ralph shrugged, "criminals aren't exactly known for their intelligence."
"Quite true," Bart nodded.
"Now, initially our Mr. Keenan presented with two obvious injuries. First, a completely shattered jaw."
He gestured at the misaligned bone.
"Second, this lovely bullet wound to the left lateral aspect of his head. No exit wound. Made by a .40 caliber handgun with the serial numbers filed off."
Ralph waited. There had to be more.
"Here's where it gets interesting," Bart's expression grew more serious, "the jaw injury was inflicted pre-mortem, judging by the bruising patterns. Blunt force trauma, but no obvious indication of what weapon was used. No fragments, no clear impact pattern."
He moved his hand to hover over the bullet wound.
"The gunshot? Post-mortem. There was minimal blood loss around the wound despite the victim being covered in dried blood when he arrived. And the blood he was covered in didn't come from this wound."
Ralph leaned in closer, examining the wound himself. Bart was right. The tissue around the entry point showed none of the hemorrhaging you'd expect from a living person taking a bullet to the brain.
Ralph looked up curiously, "was the blood his?"
Bart nodded quickly, "yeah all his according to the test results."
Ralph shook his head before straightening back up and motioning for Bart to continue.
"When I opened him up..." Bart pulled back the skin flaps slightly, "almost no blood was found in his body. He'd been completely exsanguinated, Ralph. No obvious cause. The most likely explanation for death is hypovolemic shock due to massive blood loss."
Ralph's eyes narrowed in response as he stepped around to examine the man's neck more closely, tilting his head to see both sides. Nothing. No marks, no wounds, no indication of where all that blood had gone.
"You think..." Bart's voice dropped lower, even though they were alone, "could this be one of yours?"
Ralph straightened, jaw tight. The pieces fit together too neatly. Broken jaw from a struggle. Complete exsanguination with no visible wounds. Staged suicide to cover it up.
"Maybe."
He pulled the cigarette from behind his ear, rolled it between his fingers.
"Someone new, you think? Inexperienced?"
Bart's suggestion was reasonable to assume given the circumstances.
"Would explain the sloppiness," Ralph agreed.
Bart pushed his round glasses up his nose.
"If I hadn't looked closely, this would've passed as a suicide. Gun in hand, criminal on the run, bullet to the brain. Open and shut. But there's just enough wrong with it to raise questions."
Ralph remembered something.
"What about that arson victim from last month?"
"Ah."
Bart moved to a filing cabinet and pulled out a folder.
"I was going to mention that. Also exsanguinated, though we attributed the blood loss to the fire. Fire Marshal reported accelerant used post-mortem. Victim's head had been bashed against the floor hard enough to crack the skull."
"Two bodies in a month."
Ralph lit the cigarette despite the no-smoking policy and took a long drag.
"If someone's running around Dallas without supervision, without anyone showing them the ropes properly..."
He didn't finish the thought.
Bart waited, giving him space to think while waving away the cigarette smoke with annoyed muttering, "smoking indoors is against policy" which Ralph promptly ignored.
"Thanks for the heads-up, Doc."
Ralph exhaled smoke toward the ceiling.
"I'll start looking into this."
"What should I put in the official report?"
Ralph considered that for a moment, then shrugged.
"List it as suicide. Easiest way to cover it up. Criminal on the run, facing life in prison, takes the easy way out before he can be apprehended. No one's going to look twice at that story."
"No one will miss him either," Bart agreed quietly, "one less deadbeat criminal in the world."
"Exactly."
Ralph turned toward the door, cigarette dangling from his lips.
"Appreciate you keeping me in the loop."
"Anytime, Detective."
Ralph pushed through the morgue doors and headed back toward the elevator. As he rode up to ground level, he couldn't shake the odd feeling settling in his chest.
Two bodies in a month, both staged to look like something else. Both clumsy enough that Bart had spotted the inconsistencies. Granted Bart was an incredibly gifted medical examiner but if he could easily spot inconsistencies then it suggested other medical examiners could spot them too.
Someone inexperienced was running around Dallas. Someone who didn't know what the hell they were doing.
And Ralph had a sinking suspicion another body would turn up sooner rather than later.