“That’s your second opinion. Whomever owns that eye, and likely the rest of them, were dead before they were removed from their bodies. Your‘killer’isn’t using fresh bodies.”
This wasn’t her first rodeo.
She knew killers were seven days past sane, and she wanted to make sure she covered every angle, so this didn’t bite her in the ass.
Elizabeth pointed at the jars.
“What’s the solution they’re stored in? Is it embalming fluid? Or is it something different?”
To give her an answer, Chris opened the lid, and he held it out to her. The whole time, she looked horrified beyond belief that he assumed she wanted a hands-on experience with a jar full of cuckoo.
Yeah, someone lost his nut if he thought she was going to smell that vat of nastiness.
“Pass.”
Alexi took a shot.
He sniffed it, and he knew exactly what it was.
“That’s an alcohol solution. The eyes are being pickled in it, or preserved. Someone knows their way around a lab, or knows how to Google things on the internet,” he admitted, covering all the bases.
Yes, yes, they did.
“So what you’re telling me is those eyes were in someone’s head, already embalmed, and then this person decided to put them back in skulls, some of them out of order like a wackadoo?”
Alexi beat Chris to it.
“I mean, we just give you the facts. Is Wackadoo a term you like us to use?”
Chris was in his glory.
He found an ME that didn’t speculate, and could pick through the Elizabethisms to deal with that crazy.
Yep, this was his lucky day, and he’d won the‘I have to staff the office’lottery.
He was about to get him a backup ME.
The younger version of himself.
“Yes, Elizabeth. I’m telling you that the eyes don’t match the skulls. I’m telling you that someone is collecting dead people’s eyes, and then playing with them. By that alone, you can say they are most definitely‘wackadoo’,” he admitted.
Holy.
Shit.
That was disgusting, even for their work.
Corbin was curious.
“Where would they get embalmed eyeballs from?” he asked. “I’m sure no one is selling them embalmed on the black market. Maybe a fresh set, but a pickled eyeball? That’s gotta be niche.”
Tora raised her hand.
As she’d been listening, something came to mind that might be pertinent.
“Uh, not that long ago,Holladayhad a rash of someone digging up graves. We thought they were to steal jewelry, and nothing else.”
Gene sighed.
