the person he’d expect to work in such a stark, sterile environment, filled with death and stories of depravity.
Dr. Westbrook had come on as coroner right about the time Reed was graduating from the academy, taking the place of Dr. Cathlyn Harvey, who had been the coroner during the time Reed’s biological father was terrorizing the city. Reed had heard nothing but praise for the previous coroner, but frankly, he was glad he was part of a new generation of Cincinnati law enforcement and forensic science. It was enough that Reed thought of his genetic legacy as often as he did. He didn’t need others reminded every time they saw his face as well.
Reed offered a slight smile, despite the overwhelming urge to keep his lips pressed together in the midst of the myriad of unpleasant smells. “Doctor, how are you?”
“It’s difficult to come up with complaints after working with the dead all day.”
His eyebrows shot up with amusement. But truthfully? He figured that was a pretty good way of looking at things.
The older man led him to a gurney holding a human form with a white sheet over it. He pulled it back and Reed was surprised that the sight of the man with black, dripping holes for eyes was almost as jarring the second time as the first.
The coroner pulled the sheet to Steven Sadowski’s waist, exposing the Y-shaped incision on his chest where the autopsy had been performed.
“What can you tell me about the missing eyes?” Reed asked, gesturing to the black sockets.
“It was done postmortem, I can tell you that.”
Reed nodded, glad for some small mercies on the victim’s behalf. “And the black substance? The criminalists on the scene thought it might be oil paint.”
“They were correct. Spray paint is my guess. Otherwise the holes wouldn’t have been filled so . . . thoroughly and neatly, for lack of a better word. Plus, you can see a film of overspray around the periphery of the wounds. Concentrated in the center, mist at the edges. An aerosol can would do that, a paintbrush, or even pouring it in, would not.” He used his finger to gesture to the black drips tracking down the victim’s cheeks. “These tracks indicate the victim was in an upright position when the paint was applied, and enough was used that it pooled at the edges of the sockets and spilled over.”
Reed resisted a grimace. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”
Dr. Westbrook paused. “Enucleation, yes. Unfortunately. Before I took the position here in Ohio, I was working in Texas when a serial murderer known as The Eyeball Killer was on the loose.”
Reed nodded, thinking. “Yeah, I vaguely remember reading about that. He was murdering sex workers and removing their eyes postmortem.” He paused. “Didn’t he turn out to be a taxidermist or something?”
“He didn’t do it for a living, but he’d taken taxidermy courses in his youth after his adoptive mother caught him killing small animals.”
“That’s never a good sign.”
“No,” Dr. Westbrook said. “But the person who committed this crime”—he gestured to Sadowski’s missing eyes again—“is not nearly as skillful. If I had to make a guess, I’d say, it was his first time.”
“The murder?”
“Not necessarily the murder, but the enucleation itself.” He gestured again. “The extraction was not clean in the least. In fact, it appears that the perpetrator of this crime had quite a bit of trouble.” Reed leaned in a little closer, noting the jagged pieces of tissue around the edges, the tearing, even small cuts and slices in the skin around the sockets.
“What’d he use?” Reed murmured. “A butter knife?”
“Not a butter knife, but let’s put it this way, whatever it was, it was the wrong tool for the job.”
Dr. Westbrook turned around, reaching for something behind him. He held up a baggie holding what looked like two lumps of bloody flesh. He angled the bag and Reed realized what he was actually looking at. Holy shit. “Are those . . . the victim’s eyes?”
“Yes. I found them stuffed down his pants.”
“Jesus,” he murmured. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I wish I could tell you.”
“Have you verified the cause of death as strangulation?” He pointed at the red mark surrounding the dead man’s throat.
“Yes. I’d guess a garrote wire. His windpipe is crushed and whatever was used dug very deeply into his tissue. Something that would make it almost impossible to dig out if the person behind him was stronger.”