Prologue

Forsaken Amongst Men

 

Prologue

 

Dr. Atkinson slumps forward in his rickety aluminum chair staring blankly into the pile of photographs strewn across his desk. His glasses hang precariously on the tip of his nose. His chin resting firmly in his left hand. Fifteen years as the county coroner and he’d never seen anything like this. The brutality and viciousness was sickening. Who could have possibly done this?!

The doors to the coroner’s office swing open, crashing into a nearby hospital gurney sending it rolling into the adjacent wall. Detective Anderson marches through the entrance, his black dress shoes gleaming in the dimly lit room, clicking against the tile floor with each step. “Turn some f*****g lights on in here man. You’re gonna go blind.” A short chortle escapes his lips as Sheriff Sawyer stumbles through the now closing coroner’s doors, struggling to keep up.

 

”Um... uh... Mr. Anderson�" “

 

“Detective.”

 

”Um... Detec... Detective Anderson. You need to check in.” exhaled the Sheriff, stammering through each word. “Sorry, Ray. I tried to stop him at the front desk.”

 

“What do we got here, Doc?” Detective Anderson bellows, stopping his strut just short of the doctor’s desk. His hands emphatically sweeping the sides of his suit jacket back, coming to rest on his hips. Ray Atkinson looks up from the mess of photographs, his brow wrinkling in confusion.

 

”I’m sorry. I was elsewhere.” He says sliding his glasses back up to their proper place with the tip of his finger. “Who are you?” His brow still wrinkled, eyes narrowing.

“Detective Anderson. I’ll be taking over this investigation. Walk me through what you’ve found.”

 

Ray looks over at Sheriff Sawyer, annoyance in his eyes. The pale, blonde haired sheriff clutching his hat can only muster a faint whimper, his cheeks becoming redder with each passing second. The sheriff looks down at his boots, kicking an invisible rock providing Ray the satisfaction of making his point.

 

“Well...” he says, moving his gaze to meet the cold, hard stare of Detective Anderson. “What we have here is a hell of a mess. And so far I haven’t been able to find a damn thing.” Dr. Atkinson says, sliding his hips forward in the chair as he leans back crossing his arms. As his chin comes to rest on his chest, he stares directly over the frames of his glasses looking directly into the Detective’s eyes, unnerved by his arrogance.

 

“You haven’t found anything?!” Detective Anderson nearly shouts, his frustration quickly beginning to fill the room. “You’ve had the body for two days now and you’re going to sit there and tell me that you haven’t found a single piece of evidence? Not one?!”

Ray Atkinson was well liked throughout Jefferson County and considered a model citizen, but if there was one unwritten rule everyone knew, it was to never talk to him with such flagrant disrespect as being displayed by the detective. Ray leaned forward placing his dry, calloused hands on his knees and slowly pushed himself up to a standing position. Sheriff Sawyer shuffled back a few steps. He’d never seen anyone speak like that to the doctor and he wasn’t sure he wanted to stick around to see what happened next. Only the idea of the detective laying into him for leaving kept him from back pedaling further.

 

“Detective. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt on this one since you’re obviously from the city, but don’t forget that you’re in my office and in our town.” Ray said, motioning his fingers between himself and Sheriff Sawyer. “So a little respect would be nice. And maybe before you question my abilities, you’d like to see what I’m dealing with.”

 

Raising his eyebrow, he calmly turns and motions towards a set of swinging double doors on the opposite wall.  Detective Anderson stands motionless, struck by the doctor’s calm yet powerful demeanor. “Follow Me.” He finally says, turning his back to the silent authorities before making his way to the next room. The main entry room of the coroner’s office was not where he performed his work. During construction, Ray insisted the main entry room be used for office visits and body identifications. “It’s hard enough when someone needs to identify a loved one. The last thing they need is to see is an autopsy table.” He had once said. As such, it did not require the intense fluorescent lighting now threatening to burn the unconditioned retinas of the detective.

 

Three steel autopsy tables aligned parallel to one another and the entryway took up the majority of the room with the exception of several industrial sized sinks lining the left wall. On the opposite side of the room, half the wall was covered with pale gray drawers and cabinets, while the other half contained a large laboratory fume hood adjacent to a meticulously organized analysis desk complete with microscopes, petri dishes and various “occupant” clipboards. Dr. Ray quickly grabbed clipboard #2 and escorted Detective Anderson and the sheriff around the first table, motioning for them to stand in front of the middle table, while he continued around the other side stopping to face them. Again, Detective Anderson stood with his feet shoulder width apart, chest out and shoulders back with his hands on his hips. Sheriff Sawyer, reluctant to step forward to the table clutched his hat again until his knuckles became white. Ray slowly reached out grabbing the blanket covering the victim. Hesitant, he takes another look at the detective, before pulling back the sheet.