THE FIELD
Over the hills and through the woods to grandmother’s house... Okay, not really, Officer Locke thought. He shined his flashlight on a pair of dingy wader boots. The man had been dead less than 24 hours. No blood. No weapon. No trauma. Just dead.
“What do you think?” Officer Smith asked as the CSI’s roped off the area.
“It’s fucked.” Locke said.
“Man looks asleep.”
“Yeah. For eternity. God rest his soul.” Locke gazed at the starless sky.
“Coroner’s on the way.” Smith said.
“Dr. Black?” Locke asked.
“Yeah. Him.”
“Man gives me the creeps.”
“Ditto.” Smith said as he watched the 1989 Cadillac hearse roll through the only opening in the hedge wall.
“Man hasn’t seen the sun since 1922.” Locke said.
Smith shivered.
The Cadillac jostled to a stop in front of the yellow tape. Dr. Black exited with his usual cannibalistic grin. “What do we have?”
“Dead man.” Locke said.
Black made a sound as he pulled on his rubber gloves – the kind more associated with mad-scientists than doctors. “Dead. Yes.” He placed a finger on the man’s pulseless neck before standing and walking back to his Cadillac. Opening the back, he pulled out a body bag.
“We need an autopsy.” Locke said.
A grunt.
“We’re finished.” A CSI said.
“Find anything?” Locke asked.
“Enough. Hairs. Fingerprints.”
Locke nodded.
Fifteen minutes later, Dr. Black rolled out of the field, body stowed, and pulled out his cell. “Idiot! I told you not to leave him in the field.”