Doc." His eyes never left the submerged body.
Doc slid by Lou with a polite nod and stood next to the chief. "What do we have, Bill?" He strained his eyes to see through the glare and into the water.
Chief Radlon pointed to the spot. "Take a look."
"Dear God, he was only a child."
The chief grabbed a nearby stick and used it to scare away the fish that picked at the body. When he turned back, Lou looked blue around the gills too. He hoped the poor guy wasn't about to pass out. He had enough to deal with.
He slid into his hip-waders and put on the rubber gloves before entering the water. Lou clutched his stomach again, as if he would puke at any moment, but his eyes never wavered. It always happened that way; people were drawn to the most gruesome sights.
"Careful, Bill," Doc said. "We don't want to upset any evidence that might be found, so be gentle when moving it to the shore."
The chief nodded reflexively and bent over the body, which he noted might have remained undiscovered were the water deeper. He looked at it for several seconds, gathered his will, and grasped the small corpse under the arms to drag it carefully to the shore.
"Sonuvabitch!"
Lou and Doc soon understood the reason for his anger. They grimaced as the corpse's arms—severed at the elbows—bobbed like buoys in the muck. Bill struggled to carry it through the thick mud, and finally managed to lift the body onto dry ground.
"Ah shit."
The boy's legs, severed two inches above the knees, trailed skin and tissue. His left eye was gone, a deep gouge left in its place. Muscle and bone peeked from holes in the skin. The chief noticed, despite his wish never to look upon this body again, that the one remaining eye, though filmed over, appeared oddly content. Perhaps his imagination worked on him, a kind of wishful thinking.
He prayed the boy hadn't been required to endure the damage inflicted upon him.
Doc put on latex gloves and knelt over the body. A full examination would wait until the victim was in the morgue, but the mutilations clearly intrigued Doc. He ran his hand over the end of one of the severed legs, and sighed. He looked up and shook his head.
The chief understood. The fish in the Fox River could not do that to a body—not in twenty-four hours. Some rotten bastard had chopped off the boy's limbs.
Difficult days lay ahead for his sleepy little town.
Lou watched with ashen face and hugged himself, shaking noticeably. The chief regretted allowing the man to observe this. Civilians were not so immune to such horror.
"Did somebody do that to the boy? Did a person cut him into pieces?" Lou fidgeted and nearly hopped. "Dear God, that's what happened, isn't it?"
"Now listen, Mr. Pratt," the chief said, "I don't want the whole town in a panic over something we don't yet know enough about. We need time to get this investigation moving, and to examine the forensic evidence, before we jump to any conclusions. In the meantime, I'll ask you say nothing about this to anyone . Do you understand?"
Lou hung his head in sorrow and whispered, "Yes, I understand. But this is Algonquin, for God's sake, not Chicago. This sort of thing isn't supposed to happen here."
The chief ignored him and pulled the picture from his shirt pocket. He studied it for a few seconds and compared it to the mutilated corpse.
"Damn it."
Chapter 22 – May 21, 1978: Tony Hooper
Dad pulled me from a sleep filled with dreams of Alex, which included several appearances by Mom. I'd been out for hours.
"Tony, Chief of Police Bill Radlon is here and he needs to speak with us."
I emerged from my room in a pair of shorts and a tee shirt, with hair that announced my many hours in bed. The chief glared at Dad, uncomfortable with my presence. He hadn't come to speak with me , but Dad couldn't face this alone.
The chief declined the offer of coffee, which we now lived on, and Dad poured himself another big cup. I filled one for myself as I struggled to come awake.
Tensions
Doc slid by Lou with a polite nod and stood next to the chief. "What do we have, Bill?" He strained his eyes to see through the glare and into the water.
Chief Radlon pointed to the spot. "Take a look."
"Dear God, he was only a child."
The chief grabbed a nearby stick and used it to scare away the fish that picked at the body. When he turned back, Lou looked blue around the gills too. He hoped the poor guy wasn't about to pass out. He had enough to deal with.
He slid into his hip-waders and put on the rubber gloves before entering the water. Lou clutched his stomach again, as if he would puke at any moment, but his eyes never wavered. It always happened that way; people were drawn to the most gruesome sights.
"Careful, Bill," Doc said. "We don't want to upset any evidence that might be found, so be gentle when moving it to the shore."
The chief nodded reflexively and bent over the body, which he noted might have remained undiscovered were the water deeper. He looked at it for several seconds, gathered his will, and grasped the small corpse under the arms to drag it carefully to the shore.
"Sonuvabitch!"
Lou and Doc soon understood the reason for his anger. They grimaced as the corpse's arms—severed at the elbows—bobbed like buoys in the muck. Bill struggled to carry it through the thick mud, and finally managed to lift the body onto dry ground.
"Ah shit."
The boy's legs, severed two inches above the knees, trailed skin and tissue. His left eye was gone, a deep gouge left in its place. Muscle and bone peeked from holes in the skin. The chief noticed, despite his wish never to look upon this body again, that the one remaining eye, though filmed over, appeared oddly content. Perhaps his imagination worked on him, a kind of wishful thinking.
He prayed the boy hadn't been required to endure the damage inflicted upon him.
Doc put on latex gloves and knelt over the body. A full examination would wait until the victim was in the morgue, but the mutilations clearly intrigued Doc. He ran his hand over the end of one of the severed legs, and sighed. He looked up and shook his head.
The chief understood. The fish in the Fox River could not do that to a body—not in twenty-four hours. Some rotten bastard had chopped off the boy's limbs.
Difficult days lay ahead for his sleepy little town.
Lou watched with ashen face and hugged himself, shaking noticeably. The chief regretted allowing the man to observe this. Civilians were not so immune to such horror.
"Did somebody do that to the boy? Did a person cut him into pieces?" Lou fidgeted and nearly hopped. "Dear God, that's what happened, isn't it?"
"Now listen, Mr. Pratt," the chief said, "I don't want the whole town in a panic over something we don't yet know enough about. We need time to get this investigation moving, and to examine the forensic evidence, before we jump to any conclusions. In the meantime, I'll ask you say nothing about this to anyone . Do you understand?"
Lou hung his head in sorrow and whispered, "Yes, I understand. But this is Algonquin, for God's sake, not Chicago. This sort of thing isn't supposed to happen here."
The chief ignored him and pulled the picture from his shirt pocket. He studied it for a few seconds and compared it to the mutilated corpse.
"Damn it."
Chapter 22 – May 21, 1978: Tony Hooper
Dad pulled me from a sleep filled with dreams of Alex, which included several appearances by Mom. I'd been out for hours.
"Tony, Chief of Police Bill Radlon is here and he needs to speak with us."
I emerged from my room in a pair of shorts and a tee shirt, with hair that announced my many hours in bed. The chief glared at Dad, uncomfortable with my presence. He hadn't come to speak with me , but Dad couldn't face this alone.
The chief declined the offer of coffee, which we now lived on, and Dad poured himself another big cup. I filled one for myself as I struggled to come awake.
Tensions
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