Read Online Hold Your Breath (Search and Rescue) by Katie Ruggle - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Katie Ruggle
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postmortem.”
“That’s good. Not good about the cutting part, of course. That he wasn’t alive when… I mean, I’d rather not be feeling it if someone was going to chop off my hands, if I had to choose, although I probably wouldn’t get a choice in that situ…um. Right.”
Her babbling cut off at the heavy weight of one of Callum’s hands on her shoulder. Closing her mouth with a snap, she stared at her beer and started picking at the corner of the label.
“Much better to be dead if someone’s going to chop off your hands with a Sawzall,” Belly agreed.
Swallowing, Lou had to ask, “Is that how the murderer did it? With a Sawzall?”
“Yep. The head, too. Messy business. Didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. Guess we’re not looking for a surgeon or a butcher or even someone who hunts much.”
Making a conscious effort not to meet Callum’s gaze, Lou gently probed, “How old was this guy—the victim, I mean?”
“Sixty-five-ish.” To Lou’s surprise, Belly seemed perfectly willing to share. “Caucasian, diabetic, five-ten or thereabouts, one hundred and fifty pounds, gray hair—although the hair on his head might be different from the hair on his body—probably died of some kind of head trauma.”
“How can you tell it was head trauma if he, ah, didn’t have it on him? His head, I mean.”
“Well, it had to be, didn’t it?” Belly asked. “The rest of him was fairly healthy—except for the diabetes—so it was either a bullet to the head or something hit him really hard. I’d need to see the head to tell you for sure.”
“Oh, that makes sense.” Lou thought for a second. “How’d you know he had diabetes?”
Belly gave her a flat look. “Do you really want to hear about a dead man’s pancreas?”
“Um…not really.” She was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to understand what the coroner told her, anyway.
“Plus,” Belly added, turning back to her beer, “he was missing two toes on his right foot.”
“Had they been amputated before he died, or was it part of the whole Sawzall thing?”
“Amputated. Few months before, I’d guess. Pretty common for diabetics. Nerve damage and poor circulation can lead to nonhealing foot ulcers. If they’re not treated quickly, the resulting tissue damage can require part of the foot or leg to be amputated.” Belly sounded impressively coherent for a small woman with several beers under her belt. Glancing at Callum’s untouched beer, Lou realized that Belly was the reason Callum had brought her to the bar. The coroner was their research source.
“Hmm.” Great, now she was doing the humming thing again. Lou tried to think of any other questions she could ask the coroner. “He didn’t have any birthmarks or tattoos or anything, did he? I don’t remember any, but I was a little distracted by the dead body and the shock and everything at the time.”
Belly gave a short laugh. “Yeah, you have a pretty good excuse for not noticing his back had been ripped to shit at one point, a long time ago. Looked like shrapnel scars, from Vietnam, I’d guess—just a guess, mind you, since he’s about the right age, plus he had an Army tattoo on the left side of his chest.” She patted halfway between her breast and collarbone. “Served our country and then someone chopped him up and tossed him in the reservoir. There’s respect for you.” Turning her head, she spat in the general direction of the floor. Lou hurriedly yanked her foot back before the loogie could land on her boot.
“Thanks, Bel.” Callum gave Lou a light time-to-go pat on her shoulder before tossing another bill in the bartender’s direction. “Have a good night.”
“Yes, thanks for talking with us, Belly,” Lou echoed as she slid off her stool. “Good-bye.”
Belly waved, focusing on her beer as they moved away from the bar.
* * *
“I feel kind of dirty,” Lou admitted as they walked through the bar’s snow-packed parking lot.
Callum’s
“That’s good. Not good about the cutting part, of course. That he wasn’t alive when… I mean, I’d rather not be feeling it if someone was going to chop off my hands, if I had to choose, although I probably wouldn’t get a choice in that situ…um. Right.”
Her babbling cut off at the heavy weight of one of Callum’s hands on her shoulder. Closing her mouth with a snap, she stared at her beer and started picking at the corner of the label.
“Much better to be dead if someone’s going to chop off your hands with a Sawzall,” Belly agreed.
Swallowing, Lou had to ask, “Is that how the murderer did it? With a Sawzall?”
“Yep. The head, too. Messy business. Didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. Guess we’re not looking for a surgeon or a butcher or even someone who hunts much.”
Making a conscious effort not to meet Callum’s gaze, Lou gently probed, “How old was this guy—the victim, I mean?”
“Sixty-five-ish.” To Lou’s surprise, Belly seemed perfectly willing to share. “Caucasian, diabetic, five-ten or thereabouts, one hundred and fifty pounds, gray hair—although the hair on his head might be different from the hair on his body—probably died of some kind of head trauma.”
“How can you tell it was head trauma if he, ah, didn’t have it on him? His head, I mean.”
“Well, it had to be, didn’t it?” Belly asked. “The rest of him was fairly healthy—except for the diabetes—so it was either a bullet to the head or something hit him really hard. I’d need to see the head to tell you for sure.”
“Oh, that makes sense.” Lou thought for a second. “How’d you know he had diabetes?”
Belly gave her a flat look. “Do you really want to hear about a dead man’s pancreas?”
“Um…not really.” She was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to understand what the coroner told her, anyway.
“Plus,” Belly added, turning back to her beer, “he was missing two toes on his right foot.”
“Had they been amputated before he died, or was it part of the whole Sawzall thing?”
“Amputated. Few months before, I’d guess. Pretty common for diabetics. Nerve damage and poor circulation can lead to nonhealing foot ulcers. If they’re not treated quickly, the resulting tissue damage can require part of the foot or leg to be amputated.” Belly sounded impressively coherent for a small woman with several beers under her belt. Glancing at Callum’s untouched beer, Lou realized that Belly was the reason Callum had brought her to the bar. The coroner was their research source.
“Hmm.” Great, now she was doing the humming thing again. Lou tried to think of any other questions she could ask the coroner. “He didn’t have any birthmarks or tattoos or anything, did he? I don’t remember any, but I was a little distracted by the dead body and the shock and everything at the time.”
Belly gave a short laugh. “Yeah, you have a pretty good excuse for not noticing his back had been ripped to shit at one point, a long time ago. Looked like shrapnel scars, from Vietnam, I’d guess—just a guess, mind you, since he’s about the right age, plus he had an Army tattoo on the left side of his chest.” She patted halfway between her breast and collarbone. “Served our country and then someone chopped him up and tossed him in the reservoir. There’s respect for you.” Turning her head, she spat in the general direction of the floor. Lou hurriedly yanked her foot back before the loogie could land on her boot.
“Thanks, Bel.” Callum gave Lou a light time-to-go pat on her shoulder before tossing another bill in the bartender’s direction. “Have a good night.”
“Yes, thanks for talking with us, Belly,” Lou echoed as she slid off her stool. “Good-bye.”
Belly waved, focusing on her beer as they moved away from the bar.
* * *
“I feel kind of dirty,” Lou admitted as they walked through the bar’s snow-packed parking lot.
Callum’s
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