Episode 20-2: Hartford's Caveman

"Nothing," Clyde says, his grin giving away his playful nature.

I let go of the breath I was holding. "Oh, a joke, how amusing. We still have no idea what could've done this damage to a person."

Clyde walks around the scene to ignore the body and check out the rest of the markers the police force tagged. A dismembered finger is labeled "B" not too far from the body. He bends down and hovers the device over it. "Gross," he says. "There's an imprint on this finger, it looks like there used to be a ring on it."

"Violently ripped off in the struggle?"

"In my opinion, it looks more like the finger was ripped off and then the jewelry was removed postmortem."

"Not a wild beast then, it had a motive. A robbery gone wrong?"

Clyde shakes his head. "You may be right, but I sincerely doubt it. This is one hell of a display just to steal a single ring."

"We technically don't know if there's anything else that's gone missing. I can ask the force if you want."

"No need, remember that we're not here to convict someone, only to find whatever caused such a supernatural death."

"Oooh, ghosts!?"

"That's not what that means, all I'm saying is that it goes beyond scientific reasoning... for now."

I walk over next to him and examine the finger for myself. "I like your optimism. Now that we've done what Adams asked us for, can we just report this in and keep the rest of our day off?"

Clyde stands up and examines the blood splatter that is not short of presentation. "Of course not, this is indeed something worth Ispio's time, and we need to stick with this until the end."

I cross my arms and sigh. "Why? Why is this something Ispio would be interested in? No doubt it's a strange death, but I feel like the local law can assess this case without the help of a high-tech, super-secret company."

"We've been over this, Troy. We do what we need to, there are no real days off, and potential wonders are to be observed by Ispio and Ispio alone. The local law will have to wait its turn until after we've decided it's safe for the public to view."

I go back to the body displeased with the current future and squat down to get a good look at the wounds. The lacerations are so severe, they travel very deep and caused major damage and most likely immediate death. The organs have been mixed up like they just went through a blender, and the entrails break up in segments and leak everywhere on the inside. None of this is going to come out of the carpet or walls, or even the ceiling. The face is unrecognizable, and the victim will need to be identified by either property ownership or surrounding possessions. Then, I see a scrap of fur resting on top of one of the major gashes. It's blood-soaked, so I can't even tell what color it could've been.

"It's contaminated," I say.

"What?"

"The body, it's contaminated. Someone dropped their fur while inspecting the body. I guess it was a shedding rookie."

"That's unfortunate, they'll have to throw that out of the evidence log during court if they find their guy."

"So do we have everything that we need to get out of here?"

"There's not much we can do with the evidence that we do have, but it's definitely something to report to Adams about. Come on, we can pick up something to eat before heading back to HQ."

"Oooh, food! You know the exact way to my heart, don't you?"

"With a knife? Through the stomach and lunge it underneath the ribcage."

"And you killed it."

*** *** ***

I won't lie, there's some money to be made as a field agent, but Clyde and I share a frugal trait where we commonly don't like to spend much money unless we really want it. Clothing is my weakness, but agreeing on a fast food joint for a quick lunch comes easy for us. I'll always pick a low-carb meal, but Clyde currently sits across from me with burger grease dripping from his mouth. Instead of using a napkin for his slobber, he inhales some of his drink and uses the newfound moisture to mop up whatever dribbles out. It's quite disgusting, really.

I stare at this beast swallow his meal while I tap away at the lettuce sitting in front of me. "Wow. I always believed people who cover their mouths while eating were just insecure, but you really should pick up that habit."

"What?" he asks with a mouthful of beef. "You're the one who looks like a prude sitting in a burger joint with a salad."

"Ouch. Yeah, you have better insults than me. Have you texted Adams the rough draft?"

He nods. "Yes, she may want to push forward on the case, but I don't think she's going to hand it to us."

"What makes you say that?"

"Firstly, it's our day off; secondly, Adams understands that we can survive outside of Connecticut for weeks at a time, she'd rather send us somewhere further than keep us here in our town."

"That's a shame, we haven't had a case here since we first got hired. I was hoping that we could go to our own homes after a day of work. Sleazy motel beds never feel great on my lower back, and the stains... good golly, the stains."

He attempts to laugh without choking on chunks. "You'd think that we'd get something closer to five stars for having the highest success rate out of the units. Marston knew how to treat a top dog."

"And fox."

"Right, and fox." He finally finishes what he has in his mouth, actually wipes it with a napkin, and rests his hands on the table. "So, Troy, I wanted to ask you something."

Oh, what could this be? Have I done something wrong? "Y-Yeah? Go ahead."

He keeps his eyes on the table, refusing to look at me. "I was thinking, for when we decide to take our vacation weeks, that you and I, well, we," his beautiful, brown eyes finally raise up.

"Uh-huh..."

"We could visit my hometown. I could show you where I grew up."

Oh, is that it? I was worried there for a second. "Cute idea. Where'd you grow up again? I know it was Missouri, but you never really wanted to talk about it."

"I-" he begins, but is interrupted by his phone. "Oh, it's Adams." He accepts her call. "Yes, ma'am?" He stays silent, and all the while his face becomes more and more distraught. "That's unbelievable. We're on our way." He hangs up, gets out of his seat, and heads for the door. I collect our garbage and trash it on the way out.

"Whoa," I holler, "what's going on?"

He keeps his head forward forever and says, "Well, the good news is we got the case."

"What's the bad news?"

"One of our agents has been mortally wounded. Adams wants us to visit him in the doctor's infirmary for a statement."