“I’d say you can take it in the morning. I didn’t see a funeral home on the island.”
“No, Father Fernando is of the old church. There is no embalming or cremation. Nothing to interfere with the natural process of the body returning to dust. I’ll tell the family they can retrieve him in the morning to be cleaned and prepared for the wake. They’ll want to have an open casket.”
I pressed my lips together at that. “Generally victims that have had their brains removed and put back in don’t get an open casket funeral.”
“Is it necessary to remove the brain? It seems to me there would be no reason since there was a knife in his heart.”
“I can do however little or much you want me to. It’s about documentation and making sure the victim gets the justice he deserves. But I’d agree with you in this case. There’s no reason to remove the brain and study it.”
“Thank you,” Joe said sincerely. “Leon’s funeral would be the talk of the island for years to come. Joe took a bandana out of his pocket and wiped the sweat from his face. “Everyone knows everyone’s business and they have an opinion about it. And a lot of times they know your business before you do. It takes some getting used to.”
“Believe me,” I said. “We understand. Our town is pretty much the same way. Jack’s mother always told me when we were growing up that if we did anything bad she’d know about it before we got home.”
“Jack’s mother?” Joe asked. “She raised you?”
I pressed my lips together and smiled, not willing to talk about my parents, especially on my honeymoon.
The police station was made from stacked cinder blocks and painted a bright turquoise. There were two square windows at the front, one of which couldn’t be opened because some thoughtful soul had painted it shut. There were no windows on the backside of the square box, so there was no cross breeze. The ceiling consisted of three heavy beams across and sheets of tin laid flat on top of it for the roof. Two ceiling fans were attached and wired precariously from the center beam and they ran on the highest speed—meaning just fast enough to move the air around a little. It was like being trapped in a concrete oven.
Joe had a metal desk that held an ancient computer and a filing cabinet stood against the wall. There was one cell in the back corner of the room and rusted iron bars made up two sides of the square. There was bed attached to the cement block wall, a metal toilet and sink on the other wall, and there was a giant drain in the floor meant for things I had no desire to think about.
It was a far cry from the sterility of my lab at home, and I still wasn’t convinced this was the best decision that could’ve been made. Joe could’ve called the main island and had investigators from there come take over, and he could’ve sent the body to an actual morgue. But he said he’d do the investigation himself before he sent Leon to the mainland.
According to Joe, the mainland investigators would file Leon away as an unsolved homicide, most likely committed by a tourist with no hope of tracking them down. There was enough crime on the mainland that they stayed busy on their own and didn’t have time to deal with the smaller islands. And they didn’t want to either. It hadn’t sounded like there was any love lost between Joe and the mainland cops.
“Were you able to get the supplies I asked for?”
“Yes, they should be here any moment. Doctor Hizumi is sending his son with them.”
“What about the electronics?” Jack asked, helping me move the body to the table.
A strange look came over Joe’s face and he cleared his throat. “The rest is being gathered by a—friend. It’s the best equipment on the island.”
I removed Leon’s clothes and pulled a white sheet over the lower half of his body. There were no table drains, and I was extremely thankful for the drain in the floor.
A knock sounded at the door and it opened before Joe could reach it to stop whoever was entering. Jack and I immediately moved to the front of Leon’s body, shielding the poor person who was coming in from the surprise of a lifetime. Not everyone dealt well with the dead.
My clothes were soaking wet and clung to my skin, and my face was flushed from the heat. I would’ve given anything for closed toe shoes and the big leather butcher’s apron I wore during autopsies. I’d had to make due with industrial size trash bags with head and armholes cut out.
“Hey, Joe,” the man at the door said. “I’ve got that stuff you asked for.”
The closer I looked, the more I realized he was still more boy than man. His size was deceptive. He was brawny and broad through the chest and shoulders, and it was obvious he spent a lot of time outdoors by the brown tint of his skin. But he still had the softness in his face of someone in their late teens or early twenties. His hair was dark and he had it pulled back in a stub of a ponytail.