“That’s so sick. And you don’t think it was done with a knife?”
He shook his head. “Like you noticed, there are two, very similar wounds less than a half-inch apart. Both penetrating into the skin at almost identical lengths.”
“So he was stabbed with something twice. By someone with good aim.”
“That could be one theory. But with what,DetectiveFloris? That is the question.” He winked.
I leaned-in closer. The body was no longer a ‘gross, dead man,’ but someone with a story to tell. Someone who had been brutally tortured and murdered. Someone whodeserved justice. It was like my own little CSI case. Perhaps it was my personal connection to Crazy Carl but I felt an immediate need to help solve his case. I squinted in deep thought, my brain flooding with theories of what could have happened to the man in his final moments of life.
“Ice pick?” I asked. “Maybe he was stabbed with an ice pick?”
“No, the wounds aren’t wide enough.”
“Letter opener?”
“What is this? The eighteen hundreds? Who uses a letter opener anymore?”
I rolled my eyes, then watched him work for a minute, fascinated, and forgetting why I was there in the first place.
“That’s all you got, Detective?” He asked. “An icepick or a letter opener?”
“I’m thinking, I’m thinking…”
Another minute slid by.
“Andrew.”I gasped.
“What?”
“You saidtwopuncture wounds, close together, both blades the same length?”
“That’s right.”
I spun on my heel, jogged to the long counter that lined the side of the room and began pulling open drawers. Once I found what I was looking for, I jogged back and raised my hand, excitement pitching my voice. “Scissors.” I wagged the shiny pair of small, silver scissors in my hand. “Carl was stabbed with a pair of scissors.” My nose wrinkled in disgust. “Stabbedin the headwith a pair of scissors.”
Andrew didn’t look up, didn’t move, his concentration remained on the hole in the man’s head where he was poking around. Finally, he appeared to pull something outof Carl’s head. He straightened his back and raised the tweezers. Clamped into the end was a tiny, blue speck.
“You’re right, Doctor Floris. Scissors. But scissors with ablue,plastic handle.”
My jaw dropped, a zing of excitement shooting through me. “That’s an actual piece of the scissors used?”
Andrew nodded, staring at the tiny object. “Takes a lot of force to penetrate the brain. A piece of the handle must’ve broken off.”
The image of a man brutally stabbing someone else’s head sent my stomach swirling again.
Andrew continued. “We now have a piece of one of the tools used to torture this poor guy. Pull on some gloves and hand me an evidence baggie.”
Elated, I did as I was told. He slid the object into a plastic bag, then pulled his mask down. “Nice work, Floris.”
I grinned. “All in a day’s work.”
“Okay, big shot, you get your five minutes now.” He pulled off his gloves and grabbed his coffee. “Let’s head to the office.”
12
ROSE
Ifollowed Andrew into the front office. He bypassed the light switch and hitched a hip onto the desk, knocking a few pieces of paper markedconfidentialto the floor.
