windar
Teller of Tales
1.
“Live fast, die young and leave a beautiful corpse,” Stan Goldman said as he stared at the naked young woman lying on one of the morgue’s examining tables. He didn’t know enough about the deceased to swear to the first, but she was certainly young and her corpse was lovely, among the nicest that Stan had seen in his long career with the NYPD Major Crimes Unit, and he had seen quite a few.
“Amanda Berger, 18 years old,” Charlie Yang pronounced, like a museum guide pointing out the high spots of the collection. Yang was the Medical Examiner, or ME, with whom Stan had worked on any number of cases, and Stan had learned to put a lot of trust in what he said. Most recently, just a few months ago, Charlie had helped Stan solve the most celebrated case of his career- the one the media had called “The Bronx Crux Murders”-in which young women had been crucified, just like in the good old days of the Roman Empire, but in abandoned warehouses in New York’s least fashionable borough.
“Cause of death, strangulation by rope,” Charlie continued, pointing out the rope marks on the deceased’s neck and the underside of her chin. Detective Moore flinched for a moment at Charlie’s discourse. That would be Detective Barbara Moore, Stan’s partner and bedmate since they had worked together on the Bronx Crux case.
Though it pained Stan to admit it, despite it having been her first big case in the Unit, Moore had provided a key insight that led to solving the case. He owed her for that one. On the other hand, she had pulled a stupid stunt on him and ended up kidnapped and crucified in her own right by the murderers and it had been Stan who had found her just in time to save her life, almost getting himself killed in the process.
“You OK, Moore?” Stan asked. “No mutilation, no gaping wounds. I’ve seen much worse and so have you.”
“I don’t know, Stan,” she replied. “Maybe it’s that she looks so young and innocent, such a tragic waste of life. For some reason, a chill went down my spine for a second. But, I’m fine now.”
Stan looked at her a bit concerned, but Barb quickly regained her professional demeanor. “Where was she found?” she asked. “Not in an abandoned warehouse, I hope?”
Yang smiled. “Nope, hanging by a rope around her neck from a beam in the attic of her parents’ house in Riverdale.” Riverdale was an enclave within the Bronx that looked more like a tony suburb in Westchester or Connecticut than like part of the city. Stan didn’t know it that well-not that crimes weren’t committed there, but they were typically things like insider stock trading and money laundering, which fell under the jurisdiction of the FBI, rather than the NYPD.
Yang continued, “Her father found her this morning around 7. Estimated time of death was yesterday evening between 9 and 11 PM. Cause of death-strangulation. We’ve gone over every inch of her body and there are no signs of struggle at all. None.”
“So you’re saying it’s suicide?” Stan asked.
Charlie nodded. “That’s how I’ll have to rule it unless something else turns up.”
“So why did you call us?”
Charlie frowned. “It may be suicide. There was an overturned chair under the spot where she was hanging. She certainly could have climbed up on it and then kicked it away. But there are a couple of odd things.”
Stan looked at Yang, interested. He’d learned to pay attention to Charlie’s hunches. They were rarely too far off base. “Like what?” he asked.
“Well, first, she was naked. Her clothes were discarded on the floor of the attic.”
“Some suicides strip naked,” Moore said. “I’m not sure why, maybe they want to leave the world as they entered it. Maybe they want to shock those who find them even more. Who can say?”
“Sure,” Yang replied. “The other odd thing is that there doesn’t seem to be a note. Not on paper, Facebook, Twitter, nowhere that anyone has found yet.”
“That isn’t unheard of either,” Moore said.
“I agree,” Yang said. “It’s nothing I can put my finger on and there’s a good chance I’m totally off base, but I think you guys should have a look. Talk to her parents, friends, teachers, therapists if she had any. If it comes back that she was deeply depressed and talked of suicide all the time, you can close the case and I’ll buy you guys a nice dinner at Shanghai Garden.”
Stan felt hungry all of a sudden, though he had had lunch just a couple of hours ago. Shanghai Garden was a wonderful restaurant in the large and vibrant Chinatown in Flushing, Queens, where Charlie Yang had grown up.
“So what’s your theory, Charlie?” Stan asked. “Was she drugged and then hung up?”
“Her preliminary tox screen is negative,” Yang replied. “She had pizza an hour or two before she died, pepperoni and mushrooms, but no alcohol. There was some caffeine in the blood, so she likely drank some soda, or possibly coffee or tea, but certainly not an unusual amount. We’re running some more detailed tests, but that’s all we have for the moment.”
“You know, Charlie,” Stan said, “If it were anyone else, I’d say close the books, call it a suicide and move on. But if you smell something a bit off here, it’s worth a bit of digging. Let’s head back to the station, Moore, and run this by Reggie.”
“Live fast, die young and leave a beautiful corpse,” Stan Goldman said as he stared at the naked young woman lying on one of the morgue’s examining tables. He didn’t know enough about the deceased to swear to the first, but she was certainly young and her corpse was lovely, among the nicest that Stan had seen in his long career with the NYPD Major Crimes Unit, and he had seen quite a few.
“Amanda Berger, 18 years old,” Charlie Yang pronounced, like a museum guide pointing out the high spots of the collection. Yang was the Medical Examiner, or ME, with whom Stan had worked on any number of cases, and Stan had learned to put a lot of trust in what he said. Most recently, just a few months ago, Charlie had helped Stan solve the most celebrated case of his career- the one the media had called “The Bronx Crux Murders”-in which young women had been crucified, just like in the good old days of the Roman Empire, but in abandoned warehouses in New York’s least fashionable borough.
“Cause of death, strangulation by rope,” Charlie continued, pointing out the rope marks on the deceased’s neck and the underside of her chin. Detective Moore flinched for a moment at Charlie’s discourse. That would be Detective Barbara Moore, Stan’s partner and bedmate since they had worked together on the Bronx Crux case.
Though it pained Stan to admit it, despite it having been her first big case in the Unit, Moore had provided a key insight that led to solving the case. He owed her for that one. On the other hand, she had pulled a stupid stunt on him and ended up kidnapped and crucified in her own right by the murderers and it had been Stan who had found her just in time to save her life, almost getting himself killed in the process.
“You OK, Moore?” Stan asked. “No mutilation, no gaping wounds. I’ve seen much worse and so have you.”
“I don’t know, Stan,” she replied. “Maybe it’s that she looks so young and innocent, such a tragic waste of life. For some reason, a chill went down my spine for a second. But, I’m fine now.”
Stan looked at her a bit concerned, but Barb quickly regained her professional demeanor. “Where was she found?” she asked. “Not in an abandoned warehouse, I hope?”
Yang smiled. “Nope, hanging by a rope around her neck from a beam in the attic of her parents’ house in Riverdale.” Riverdale was an enclave within the Bronx that looked more like a tony suburb in Westchester or Connecticut than like part of the city. Stan didn’t know it that well-not that crimes weren’t committed there, but they were typically things like insider stock trading and money laundering, which fell under the jurisdiction of the FBI, rather than the NYPD.
Yang continued, “Her father found her this morning around 7. Estimated time of death was yesterday evening between 9 and 11 PM. Cause of death-strangulation. We’ve gone over every inch of her body and there are no signs of struggle at all. None.”
“So you’re saying it’s suicide?” Stan asked.
Charlie nodded. “That’s how I’ll have to rule it unless something else turns up.”
“So why did you call us?”
Charlie frowned. “It may be suicide. There was an overturned chair under the spot where she was hanging. She certainly could have climbed up on it and then kicked it away. But there are a couple of odd things.”
Stan looked at Yang, interested. He’d learned to pay attention to Charlie’s hunches. They were rarely too far off base. “Like what?” he asked.
“Well, first, she was naked. Her clothes were discarded on the floor of the attic.”
“Some suicides strip naked,” Moore said. “I’m not sure why, maybe they want to leave the world as they entered it. Maybe they want to shock those who find them even more. Who can say?”
“Sure,” Yang replied. “The other odd thing is that there doesn’t seem to be a note. Not on paper, Facebook, Twitter, nowhere that anyone has found yet.”
“That isn’t unheard of either,” Moore said.
“I agree,” Yang said. “It’s nothing I can put my finger on and there’s a good chance I’m totally off base, but I think you guys should have a look. Talk to her parents, friends, teachers, therapists if she had any. If it comes back that she was deeply depressed and talked of suicide all the time, you can close the case and I’ll buy you guys a nice dinner at Shanghai Garden.”
Stan felt hungry all of a sudden, though he had had lunch just a couple of hours ago. Shanghai Garden was a wonderful restaurant in the large and vibrant Chinatown in Flushing, Queens, where Charlie Yang had grown up.
“So what’s your theory, Charlie?” Stan asked. “Was she drugged and then hung up?”
“Her preliminary tox screen is negative,” Yang replied. “She had pizza an hour or two before she died, pepperoni and mushrooms, but no alcohol. There was some caffeine in the blood, so she likely drank some soda, or possibly coffee or tea, but certainly not an unusual amount. We’re running some more detailed tests, but that’s all we have for the moment.”
“You know, Charlie,” Stan said, “If it were anyone else, I’d say close the books, call it a suicide and move on. But if you smell something a bit off here, it’s worth a bit of digging. Let’s head back to the station, Moore, and run this by Reggie.”
Oh, I know, I WILL pay in one way or another...
Great to see Moore and Goldman in action again!
