Conversation · Perception

"One more thing -- this was really good work, detective."

The word lingers in the air of basement, far away ice cream makers are buzzing and the sea wind blows outside...

Detective.

The word lingers in the air of the yard, as far away dogs are barking, further yet the sound of motor traffic...

Detective.

"Who would do this?"

"That's for us to find out. But this -- it will make finding them just a little easier."

"Maybe the bullet holds more answers?"

"Yes. We should take a closer look at it. I am certain it has more to tell us."

This little thing could reveal much about the weapon that shot it.

"Maybe they just shot him while they hanged him?"

"To put him out of his misery?" He thinks. "It's possible, but it does not explain all the other dubious things here -- lack of struggle primarily. I may be intellectually sloppy, but I prefer one theory at a time. And this just smacks of treatment to me."

"Why would anyone do this?"

"To hide something. The real killer? The real motivation? What really happened here."

"We should have known."

He nods. "I had my doubts -- there were no signs of a struggle on his hands. No claw marks on his neck. But still..."

His brow furrows while his eyes glaze over. The lieutenant looks regretful for not figuring this out before.

He's proposing the bullet was the real cause of death -- and the hanging an attempt to conceal this fact.

"The ligament mark, the fractured hyoid bone, it was all treatment..."

"Yes. And the belt around his neck; the hanging; even dragging him to the yard... all of it was done after this man was already dead."

"Dead, daba-doop-doop."

"Deadady-dead-dead."

"Aren't we jumping to conclusions?"

"I have had this doubt since I inspected his hands, officer -- there were no signs of struggle. No claw marks on his neck. Why? Why didn't he fight for his life?"

"There have been other signs too, small details. Everything is too neatly designed for us to assign probable cause here. As we did, foolhardily. Well -- no more."

We almost fell for it, he thinks. Almost.

There is of course the very real possibility he was both shot and hanged.

"There have been other signs too, small things. We were right not to assign hanging as cause of death. As the perpetrators expected we would -- no such luck for them."

We didn't fall for it, he thinks. There's pride in there.

"You think so?"

"I did not just come up with this. I've had my doubts since we found no signs of struggle on his wrists. No claw marks on his neck -- why? Why didn't he fight for his life?"

"Agreed."

"I have had my doubts for a while now. Since I saw there were no signs of struggle on his hands. And no claw marks on his neck..."

"Treatment?"

"As I said, treatment is an attempt to manipulate the body after death -- to hide the real cause with a false cause. In this case..."

"...this injury here." He points to the mark encircling the corpse's neck.

"Treatment, officer, is an attempt to manipulate the body after death -- to hide the real cause with a false cause. In this case..."

He's proposing the bullet was the real cause of death -- and the hanging an attempt to conceal this fact.

"This concurs with the Hardie boys story."

"God damn right."

"I'm still not sure." (Look at your hand, quizzically.)

"We have extensive tissue destruction away from the wound track -- we have a bullet."

"Wasn't that what we thought the last time?" (Clean your hand in the snow.)

"That was then. This time we have extensive tissue destruction away from the wound track. This time we have a bullet."

"Sounds like heaven."

"Correct."

"Sounds about right."

"Beautiful..."

"Oh yeah..."

Fish it out.

You pick the object between your index and middle finger. It feels sharp, like metal. With your face twisting from pain and concentration, all you need to do is just...

Slowly pull your fingers out...

The inside of the head feels cold and smooth like a glove as you pull out, sweat dripping down your brow -- careful not to lose the prize between your fingers...

With a plop, your hand emerges from the mouth, covered in blood up to the wrist. Between your fingers -- a small flower, a blossom made of lead!

"A bullet..." The lieutenant puts a small bag marked evidence under it.

Drop it in.

The bullet falls in the bag leaving a smattering of blood on the plastic. He raises the bag under his eyes and says:

"Unknown calibre. Rifled. Some kind of brittle alloy, fractured on impact..."

"Can I have it?"

"Of course. You've earned it." The lieutenant drops the bag in your bloody hand. It feels light.