19 Smell of Death (1/2)

The morgue is a curious place. It doesn't exactly smell of death, but the sterility and smell of disinfectant make it ominous and suffocating. I had never been to a morgue before, never having to face the stiff and cold bodies of my deceased family. Neither had I been asked to identify any of the other victims found related to the Elegant Butcher. It was odd to see Mr. Butler so at peace in this place. I wondered how many trips it had taken him to get to this point of indifference, this sense of belonging to a place associated with decadence.

According to Mr. Butler, a corpse as old as this would not fall under the category I had wanted to avoid. He commended nature on its fast pace of decomposition as he led me into the room. To be fair, there was not much left of the corpse for it to be dreadfully unsightly. There was still trace of some soft tissue and muscle, but nothing too gruesome. The medical examiner was removing his gloves when he noticed us.

”You must be the specialist,” he said, a faint smile on his lips. Certainly not what I was expecting at the time.

”What is the condition of the newer corpses?” Mr. Butler asked. He wasn't bothered with pleasantries. The good doctor handed him a file. He went over it and then handed it to me as if to make me go through it.

I opened the report and went through the pages. All reservations about not seeing corpses flew out of the window. The graphic photographs of severed limbs and bones peeking out were a somewhat familiar image, but part of a distant memory that I did not want to revisit. I sighed as I read the comments about the bruising of the wrists and ankles and the strikes that dismantled the body. I didn't quite understand the language of the autopsy report but could sense that there were changes in the pattern of killing. I reserved the questions for later when Mr. Butler was free to answer them.

My eyes moved back to the man in question. His face was uncomfortably close to the skeletonized body. He seemed to be moving the limbs around looking for something.

After a few minutes, he looked up and signaled at me to get close. I sighed and walked up to him reluctantly. He motioned to lean closer and then started whispering the information.

”Do you see the location of cutting?” I nodded. ”Tell me what you see.”

”I don't know what it means,” I told him sullenly.

”Just articulate what you see. I'll explain it.”

”The bone seems to have irregular indentations,” I squinted as I tried to frame my thoughts. ”It looks like when you try to cut bread with a dull knife and saw at it, leaving behind an uneven sliced side.” I scrunched my brows as I thought about the example.

”Excellent,” he encouraged. ”Then? What happened to the other corpses?” I revisited the pictures in my mind.

”As time goes on the cuts become cleaner, but then…” I trailed off, taking the moment to stare at Mr. Butler. ”It's as if he sliced through the limbs in one stroke with a very sharp object… like cutting through butter.”

”He changed his weapon.” Mr. Butler nodded.

”Any other observations?” I shook my head. ”Look at all the cuts. They are all different in ridging and angles, but in the more recent corpses the angle of cutting is exactly the same.”

”I don't understand,” I confessed.

”He did change his weapon. Previously he used butcher knives or similar cutters to chop the limbs, but he got braver and made a machine that could do the same thing in lesser time.” Safe to safe I could not picture what he was talking about.

”Like a killing machine?” I tried in a weak voice. He nodded.

”Call Seth Watson,” he said in an excited voice.

.

I gave him the phone and watched him rush out of the room as he spoke. The medical examiner who had been silent all along suddenly spoke up.

”Are you his apprentice?” He seemed genuinely interested. He was surprised when I answered negatively. ”He took the time to explain the scene even though he had everything figured out. I assumed.”

The conversation seemingly ended there and I was quite relieved.

”You're a local? You know Seth Watson,”

”I was his neighbor for some time,” I informed him. His curiosity got the better of him.

”We had a lot of reports about the demon girl living in the area. Was that you?” He asked jokingly. I was not amused.

”Demon girl?” I heard Mr. Butler inject as he entered the room. ”She might be a little alien, but she doesn't seem to possess the grotesque nature of a demon.”

Ironic that he would call me an alien when he was the one with the lack of social skills and a general sense of superiority over the rest of humanity. I'm pretty sure the sour look I gave him conveyed my thoughts perfectly.

”You were living with your aunt for some time, right? I heard your story. Utterly surprised that you can handle being the apprentice.”