Sum of the Parts
Riggs did a quick up and down on the young woman when she opened the door. Her untucked flannel shirt had that soft, washed-many-times look. A couple of the buttons were in the wrong places too. She’d thrown it on, and the skinny jeans were ripped in that fashionable style. Barefooted.
Ash blond hair was pulled back into a hasty pony tail that let a lot of strands escape, and she wore glasses with heavy, dark rims. Maybe geek sheik but probably worn more after-hours when the contacts were taken out.
“You’re Hannah?”
He always asked for a name and double checked it. Avoided misunderstandings.
She studied him a moment then nodded. “You got here quick.”
“Taphonomic alterations start in a couple of hours. Rigor can be a headache.”
Eyes widened behind those broad lenses. Maybe she hadn’t expected precise jargon. He wore a faded black tee with a metal band logo and jeans that looked more distressed than hers.
“Couple of years of pre-med,” he explained.
“There have already been a few…taphonomic alterations,” she said.
“Maybe you’d better let me have a look before we talk price,” he said.
She reached forward to turn a small latch on the full-glass storm door that separated them.
“Come on in.”
The floors were hardwood, the veneer shiny. They’d been redone in at least the last couple of years. Nice house, well-kept, nice neighborhood. She was doing okay. They moved down a hallway with attractive artwork, one piece maybe an original. All right classy. No bloodstains. Nothing had been done up here.
A door off the living room opened to darkness. Riggs slipped a hand into his back pocket. He kept a small, flat knife there. The blade was sharp and could be nasty if he needed to defend himself.
Hannah flipped a switch and brought light to a stairway made of treated but unpainted wood. A pile of rags and towels rested two steps down, stained with black-red, some spots glistening.
“Down there,” she said.
“You lead,” he said.
Shrugging, she descended first.
The concrete floor at the bottom was painted a dark green but hadn’t had a fresh coat in a while. It was spotted in a few places. Old stains. She’d done pretty good at cleanup.
Riggs paused when he saw an X-cross covered in black vinyl against with nail-head trim on one wall. A restraint had been clicked tightly around a wrist, male from what it looked like. Riggs’ gaze trailed downward. The forearm was hairy. That was where the limb stopped.
“Do you have a medical background?” he asked.
“I’m an orthopedic surgical device rep,” she said. “A thing for tendons. It’s kind of innovative. I’m in a lot of ORs on the job, but I’m not as elegant as the doctors. Of course ortho doctors are kind of like carpenters.”
The hack marks had been made just below—or maybe it was technically above the elbow in this position. A little fresh blood streaked down the X’s branch. Muscle and tendon were jagged, with strings of veins and arteries dangling down, though a hacksaw had probably been used on the bone. A patch of skin had been sliced in an almost perfect rectangle, leaving exposed red muscle.
“Tattoo?” Riggs asked.
Hannah’s lips and cheek muscles contorted into a guilty grimace. Then she touched a corner of her mouth, seeking reassurance it was clean. “I just got a little carried away,” she said.
She had not been joking about taphonomic alterations. The head sat in a royal blue Dutch oven on a wire shelving unit. Longish hair was tangled in bloody masses, one central clump sticking up like the spiked handle it had been used as. The eyes were closed at least.
Feet extended from beneath a multi-colored crocheted throw. They appeared to be still attached to legs and those extended under the blue-and-pale-blue pattern to what might be fairly intact.
“How long ago?”
She pulled a phone from her hip pocket and checked the time.
“Hour and a half.”
“Everything else is under there?” he asked.
She expelled a breath through pursed lips. “The, uh, genitals are in a Tupperware container in the fridge.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Carried away again?”
“A little.”
He looked everything over again. “One eighty, one eighty-five?”
“You’re good.”
“Sum of the parts,” he said.
He stroked the Van Dyke at his chin, looking from head to arm to the throw.
“Five thousand,” he said. “You’re still going to want to wipe everything down with bleach after I’m gone.”
“Sure, sure. I’ll be careful. I was thinking more seventy-five hundred.”
He hadn’t expected a haggle. He eyed her for a moment, impatient. She had some balls and not just in the fridge. Still, while they were vulnerable to each other here and now, he could account for his whereabouts at the time a medical examiner could place time of death. She was looking at worse charges. He was after the fact.
“How tall was he? Six-one?”
“About that.”
“Seven even,” he said. “Final offer.”
She didn’t want to keep the guy.
Hopefully she’d made sure no one knew who the guy was meeting tonight. That wasn’t Riggs’ concern.
“Deal,” she said.
He slipped out his phone. “Venmo okay?”
“That will work?”
He tapped a few keys, looking over the remains again.
The internal organs would still be in fairly good shape, and she’d been smart to preserve the sex organs, if she hadn’t gotten out of hand with the removal. He could turn a nice profit even with the bargain she’d driven, and she’d reap the dual benefit of the payout and having the body gone with virtually no trace. He’d mark it a win/win.
It was around two a.m. so the neighbors would be dozing, and she had a garage that would accommodate his van and allow him to avoid Ring cameras and the like.
He could be out of here in a couple of hours and get early messages to all of clients. A few had grown impatient since his contact at the med school had moved on.
He didn’t know what buyers needed bones or body parts for. He never asked.
Horror Sleaze Trash 