The medical examiner was not striking in appearance, but his intelligence combined with an ensnaring wit made him quite the affable character. The morgue’s tiny exam area seemed instantly crowded with him, Kenny and now Gas and Riley gathering around the table where the specimens were covered.
Doc sighed, “Detective Gaskins has had the previous privilege to acquire knowledge regarding my work ethic. I typically do not allow anyone into my lab other than an assistant. Unfortunately, the squad room transformed into a garden variety tabloid tip line, so I am left with no choice. So let’s get down to it shall we?”
He uncovered the remarkably well preserved head of a man and the newly discovered arm.
“For starters, I ran preliminary blood work, and determined the parts are indeed from the same victim. From the ante mortem detachment of the sexual organs, it is safe to say the victim was male and quite possibly an adulterous bastard. The latter is of course speculation for the amusement of my audience. He was in his mid to late twenties. African American and Hispanic in descent. I am one hundred percent positive he was Puerto Rican.”
Riley spoke up, “You were able to determine the ethnicity of the vic based on just a blood screen?”
Gaskins and Kenny both winced because they both knew unless Doc asked, he didn’t like to be questioned.
“Detective Amanda Riley, is it not?”
“Riley is fine, sir.”
“Well Mandy, of course you know I am brilliant, but being brilliant was not how I determined this man’s ethnicity. I obtained it simply by being observant.” Doc reached over the table and grabbed the vic’s arm flipping it over to display the Puerto Rican flag. Gaskins bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing while Riley left the room in a huff.
“Gas, I think Mandy needs a little more toughening up. And this guy here, needs to thaw a little more in order for me to positively identify what type of chainsaw was used to hack him to pieces. That’s all I have for now.”
With a wave of his hand, Doc dismissed Gaskins and Kenny.
The ice-cream truck came to a slow stop on the side of the road. A slight hiss was heard when the back door swung open. After which, a slight, yet stealth figure swiftly emerged hopping out only to walk a few yards to toss a cooler into a small brush in the Mojave. The figure then re-entered the truck, flicked a switch and the ever captivating Turkey in the Straw blared out of its speakers as it head to its next destination.
Forty-seven more coolers left.