Read Online God of the Dead (Seasons of Blood #1): A dark paranormal crime thriller novel by Elias Anderson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elias Anderson
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“Hello, John. How are you?”
“Ah, good, Paulie. How’s things?”
“Well, I’ve run across something very, very odd. Of course, it could be some kind of clerical error, which is most likely the case. But in the event that it’s not--”
John was thrown. Normally Paulie started in on him about some kind of bullshit or another, the guy was an encyclopedia of the worst jokes you ever heard; it was rare the guy went straight into business mode.
“Whoa, whoa, Paulie. Take it easy, huh? I wanna get outta this coat and into a shot of Wild Turkey.”
“Ah, yes, how…hard boiled of you. Come here.” They went to a table where a body lay, covered by a black, plastic sheet. Paul pulled it down to the stiff’s waist. “Do you know this fellow?”
“Yeah I know him. He’s the guy who got whacked at the gas station yesterday morning. Busted with a ball bat.”
Paul frowned. “Very peculiar.”
“What? What’s the problem here?”
“Well,” Paul said, pushing his glasses up again. “This is the guy you thought was on maybe PCP, meth, something? Said he withstood getting hit in the head with a wine bottle, and once with a bat, before finally dropping after being struck with the bat a second time, right?”
“Right,” John said. “You get the tox-screen back on him yet?”
“So, I know this guy took some damage,” Paulie said, ignoring John’s question. “His skull is fractured in three different places. Come here.”
John stooped closer to the body as Paulie lifted the head, turning it as he spoke.
“This here, along the back, you can feel a hairline fracture, I even did an X-ray to be sure. This is from the wine bottle. There were still bits of glass in his hair and the skin had split open. No blood, though. Weird, right?”
John was about to object but then stopped. That was strange; normally a head wound would absolutely gush.
“Again here,” Paulie said, indicating the side of the corpse’s head. “The second fracture, this being from the first strike the kid—what’s his name?”
“AJ,” Lubbock said, his voice papery and thin.
“This is where AJ hit him the first time with the bat. You can see his skull is dented here, even. Then we have the coup de grâce, the killshot. Again, split the head open. Split his fucking skull open, a little. No blood.”
Lubbock felt the world grey out a bit before the color swam back in. He had missed this. How had he missed this? All of them: him and the cops at the scene. The EMTs hadn’t said anything, either.
Did you miss it, though ? John asked himself. Did you miss it or did you ignore it?
“Then we have the tox-screen,” Paulie said.
“Y-yeah?” John asked. “What’d that look like?”
“Heroin. Only heroin. No meth, PCP, bath salts, not even a fucking Adderall. Absolutely nothing that was an upper, nothing would explain how this guy could sustain two blows to the head that were hard enough to fracture his skull, and nothing to explain why those wounds didn’t bleed, either. We’re not talking just a little heroin, either. A lot. Even considering the guy’s tolerance, what he had in him was enough to kill him twice, maybe three times over.”
John thought of that traffic camera footage: three minutes of motionlessness, followed by a giant seizure, then sitting up as though he were being pulled by strings.
“And this isn’t even all of it,” Paulie said. “Come here.”
John followed Paulie to another table, where Karen Rosenthal was laid out.
“Similar situation with her,” Paulie said. “Gunshot through the lungs, right? No blood.”
“She was covered in blood,” John said, though to him his own voice sounded far away.
“Sure, all from her wrists. Nothing in the wound, no blood in her lung . Not to mention the lividity , John. You said when you got there, she was face down, yes? No one had moved her?”
Lubbock didn’t answer verbally, didn’t seem capable of it. He shook his head.
“Lividity starts thirty
“Ah, good, Paulie. How’s things?”
“Well, I’ve run across something very, very odd. Of course, it could be some kind of clerical error, which is most likely the case. But in the event that it’s not--”
John was thrown. Normally Paulie started in on him about some kind of bullshit or another, the guy was an encyclopedia of the worst jokes you ever heard; it was rare the guy went straight into business mode.
“Whoa, whoa, Paulie. Take it easy, huh? I wanna get outta this coat and into a shot of Wild Turkey.”
“Ah, yes, how…hard boiled of you. Come here.” They went to a table where a body lay, covered by a black, plastic sheet. Paul pulled it down to the stiff’s waist. “Do you know this fellow?”
“Yeah I know him. He’s the guy who got whacked at the gas station yesterday morning. Busted with a ball bat.”
Paul frowned. “Very peculiar.”
“What? What’s the problem here?”
“Well,” Paul said, pushing his glasses up again. “This is the guy you thought was on maybe PCP, meth, something? Said he withstood getting hit in the head with a wine bottle, and once with a bat, before finally dropping after being struck with the bat a second time, right?”
“Right,” John said. “You get the tox-screen back on him yet?”
“So, I know this guy took some damage,” Paulie said, ignoring John’s question. “His skull is fractured in three different places. Come here.”
John stooped closer to the body as Paulie lifted the head, turning it as he spoke.
“This here, along the back, you can feel a hairline fracture, I even did an X-ray to be sure. This is from the wine bottle. There were still bits of glass in his hair and the skin had split open. No blood, though. Weird, right?”
John was about to object but then stopped. That was strange; normally a head wound would absolutely gush.
“Again here,” Paulie said, indicating the side of the corpse’s head. “The second fracture, this being from the first strike the kid—what’s his name?”
“AJ,” Lubbock said, his voice papery and thin.
“This is where AJ hit him the first time with the bat. You can see his skull is dented here, even. Then we have the coup de grâce, the killshot. Again, split the head open. Split his fucking skull open, a little. No blood.”
Lubbock felt the world grey out a bit before the color swam back in. He had missed this. How had he missed this? All of them: him and the cops at the scene. The EMTs hadn’t said anything, either.
Did you miss it, though ? John asked himself. Did you miss it or did you ignore it?
“Then we have the tox-screen,” Paulie said.
“Y-yeah?” John asked. “What’d that look like?”
“Heroin. Only heroin. No meth, PCP, bath salts, not even a fucking Adderall. Absolutely nothing that was an upper, nothing would explain how this guy could sustain two blows to the head that were hard enough to fracture his skull, and nothing to explain why those wounds didn’t bleed, either. We’re not talking just a little heroin, either. A lot. Even considering the guy’s tolerance, what he had in him was enough to kill him twice, maybe three times over.”
John thought of that traffic camera footage: three minutes of motionlessness, followed by a giant seizure, then sitting up as though he were being pulled by strings.
“And this isn’t even all of it,” Paulie said. “Come here.”
John followed Paulie to another table, where Karen Rosenthal was laid out.
“Similar situation with her,” Paulie said. “Gunshot through the lungs, right? No blood.”
“She was covered in blood,” John said, though to him his own voice sounded far away.
“Sure, all from her wrists. Nothing in the wound, no blood in her lung . Not to mention the lividity , John. You said when you got there, she was face down, yes? No one had moved her?”
Lubbock didn’t answer verbally, didn’t seem capable of it. He shook his head.
“Lividity starts thirty
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