Post by thorgrimm on Nov 17, 2007 3:33:29 GMT 1
Poyks, I know you do not know me from Adam, but I know the pain you are going through. For last year I lost my older sister to colon cancer.
A long time ago, the Romans used to believe that as long as someone was remembered, they were never truly dead, and they would only die when they were no longer remembered in the world of the living. So to ease my pain I wrote my sister into one of my novels and I am content that as long as my books will be around my sister will never die.
The reason I am telling you this is that, tentatively, I have written your grandfather into another book I am working on. And if you like it and give me your blessing I will continue, if not I will remove him from the novel. Below is an excerpt from that book, and if you are ok with it I will write your grandfather into the rest of the novel. It is the least I can do for someone in pain from the loss of a loved one.
Here is the excerpt:
“Jimmy, dude, I think this one is beyond talking or help. Man his neck and spine are broken so that would make it kind of hard to speak, don’t you think? Look they’re coming.”
He was right. In the near distance a siren whooped once, twice. James looked up. He could see the bob and weave of bright ambulance lights bearing down on them through the traffic. Kevin stormed up the embankment. Two patrol cars of the New Mexico Highway Patrol peeled out of the traffic flow and parked by the ditch behind the ambulance.
“Over here, sir,” Kevin called, waving his arm. Roman Siekerkowski, the chief of detectives from the Highway Patrol’s Santa Fe office, was getting out of the lead squad car.
“What is it, hit and run?” He came up, looking disheveled and weary.
“Yes sir, appears to be.” Kevin responded.
“Do we know who it is?”
“No identification of any kind on the body. By the looks of him, I’d say he was a transient in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Siekerkowski’s eyes narrowed speculatively. “We can’t be sure. Check the Santa Fe hostels to see if they have any record of a transient who fits the description of John Doe here. Its twenty miles, and I don’t know how in the hell he would have gotten here, but he could have been delusional and got lost. You never know.”
“Sure thing, I will check with them ASAP.” Kevin said as he closed up his notebook.
“Anything else? You’ve called for the forensics team right?”
Kevin nodded. “Nothing else. Naturally we’d like to get the bastard that nailed our John Doe and left him here like this. It’s all routine… except for the fact that he started talking after he died.”
“What’s that?” Siekerkowski did not look amused.
“Well, we found him dead as a doornail, thrown off the highway, sir. Broken neck, probably broken spine as well, but my partner here…”
Siekerkowski turned towards James, who had come up out of the ditch to the squad cars. “What’s the story Rawlings?” Siekerkowski demanded brusquely.
“Well, I did hear him speak sir, plain as day, even if his neck does appear to be broken. He said, ‘Help me.’ It was quite clear. At first I thought detective Simonson had said something to me, but he hadn’t.” James stopped, realizing by the look on the faces around him that they thought he was practically a raving madman.
“Usually, I find being dead inhibits the power of speech considerably,” Siekerkowski remarked dryly.
“I’m not saying I can explain it, sir. I’m sure if you’d been there, you would have heard him too.”
Siekerkowski frowned. “You’re not on traffic duty, your assigned to homicide, so what are you doing here in the first place?” Junior highway patrolmen in neon orange safety vests were out on the highway now, easing the flow of traffic.
“No sir, my partner and I were heading home along route 30 when the radio dispatch caught us. We knew it was a matter for Traffic once we saw the nature of the crime.”
“You might have submitted a report and waited until morning before calling me.”
“The storm would have wiped out a lot by morning.”
Siekerkowski gave the detective a quick look. Fiftyish, built like a brick shithouse, and he loomed over James as if he was contemplating a beat down.
James stuck to his guns; “I know the state of the body makes it unlikely…”
“Unlikely? Was his neck broken or wasn’t it? If you are half-assed competent as a detective you should be able to get at least that detail right.” Siekerkowski snapped.
They clambered down into the storm ditch. Reaching the body, Siekerkowski bent down and rocked the head back and forth in his beefy hands. It moved with a sickening ease. He plucked lightly at the skin over the elbow, flexed the fingers once or twice.
“Give me your impressions,” he said abruptly.
“Impressions, sir? Just what I have relayed to you.” Kevin replied with a puzzled look on his face. “If you mean are there any skid marks or any other evidence, we haven’t spotted any.”
A pair of paramedics, bored and chilly, emerged from the darkness and hovered nearby. Siekerkowski stood up and shook off the raindrops that were leaking down the back of his neck. “You can take him to the county morgue now,” he ordered, turning away and climbing heavily back up the storm ditch.
Lifting his hand, Siekerkowski beckoned James with a flick of his wrist. James scrambled up and joined him next to the lead squad car. “Did you want Kevin, Detective Simonson, up here to?”
“Did detective Simonson hear your dead man talk?”
“No sir.”
“Then I don’t want him up here to. Besides, I’m sure you think he’s a wet behind the ears local oaf, you being a big city detective from Chicago and all.” Siekerkowski had a good ear for accents.
“I don’t think that at all, and begging the inspector’s pardon, but I am originally a local oaf to.”
A long silence hung in the air. “You are aware, of course, that the body was almost cold when I touched it? Cold enough to tell me that death probably occurred at least an hour ago?”
The tone of the comment made James angry. “I know what I heard, sir.”
Siekerkowski went on, unheeding. “And the disposition of the body leaves no doubt that death was instantaneous.” The two men stared at each other. “Are you still sure of what you heard?”
James bit his lip. “Well, we’re getting off to a great professional relationship, aren’t we?” Siekerkowski opened the driver’s side door of the cruiser and sat down heavily in the driver’s seat.
“You didn’t ask me about my impressions, sir.”
“What?” Siekerkowski looked at James once again.
“Back there, sir, you asked for our impressions, and I haven’t given you mine yet.”
“Go on.”
“I don’t mean to contradict my partner, but I don’t believe it was a hit and run. The condition of the body doesn’t lend itself to that conclusion. A car striking a person hard enough to throw him that distance from the road, about twenty feet, would have left gravel and asphalt embedded in the hair and skin. The clothes would be torn, but the victim’s trousers and overcoat weren’t. I saw no major contusions on the body, either.”
When James paused, Siekerkowski whistled. It could have been irony or appreciation. “Are you prepared to go further in your observations?”
“Further, sir?”
“If it wasn’t a hit and run, what was it?”
“My gut is telling me murder, sir.”
“Ah,” Siekerkowski raised his eyebrows. “And you were doing such a damned fine job up to that point. I can say yes to it not being a hit and run, but murder doesn’t sit so well with me. Sufficient facts may be on hand to negate one hypothesis without adequately supporting another. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” James looked down, crestfallen. Then Siekerkowski muttered, as if to himself, “Good job all the same.”
I hope you don’t think I am crazy, sir.”
“You’re observant and probably very clever. So I will rule out crazy for the time being.”
They saw Kevin come up, looking impatient. “Paramedics need you to sign a form, sir, to release the body for autopsy. Unless you want us to call the county coroner away from his dinner.”
“Too damned much paperwork,” Siekerkowski grumbled. He got out of the driver’s seat like a bear standing on it’s hind legs and walked James and Kevin back to the ambulance just as the two paramedics were swinging the rear doors shut. Siekerkowski signed the forms, in triplicate, nodded curtly to no one in particular, and left.
Cheers, Þórgrímr
A long time ago, the Romans used to believe that as long as someone was remembered, they were never truly dead, and they would only die when they were no longer remembered in the world of the living. So to ease my pain I wrote my sister into one of my novels and I am content that as long as my books will be around my sister will never die.
The reason I am telling you this is that, tentatively, I have written your grandfather into another book I am working on. And if you like it and give me your blessing I will continue, if not I will remove him from the novel. Below is an excerpt from that book, and if you are ok with it I will write your grandfather into the rest of the novel. It is the least I can do for someone in pain from the loss of a loved one.
Here is the excerpt:
“Jimmy, dude, I think this one is beyond talking or help. Man his neck and spine are broken so that would make it kind of hard to speak, don’t you think? Look they’re coming.”
He was right. In the near distance a siren whooped once, twice. James looked up. He could see the bob and weave of bright ambulance lights bearing down on them through the traffic. Kevin stormed up the embankment. Two patrol cars of the New Mexico Highway Patrol peeled out of the traffic flow and parked by the ditch behind the ambulance.
“Over here, sir,” Kevin called, waving his arm. Roman Siekerkowski, the chief of detectives from the Highway Patrol’s Santa Fe office, was getting out of the lead squad car.
“What is it, hit and run?” He came up, looking disheveled and weary.
“Yes sir, appears to be.” Kevin responded.
“Do we know who it is?”
“No identification of any kind on the body. By the looks of him, I’d say he was a transient in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Siekerkowski’s eyes narrowed speculatively. “We can’t be sure. Check the Santa Fe hostels to see if they have any record of a transient who fits the description of John Doe here. Its twenty miles, and I don’t know how in the hell he would have gotten here, but he could have been delusional and got lost. You never know.”
“Sure thing, I will check with them ASAP.” Kevin said as he closed up his notebook.
“Anything else? You’ve called for the forensics team right?”
Kevin nodded. “Nothing else. Naturally we’d like to get the bastard that nailed our John Doe and left him here like this. It’s all routine… except for the fact that he started talking after he died.”
“What’s that?” Siekerkowski did not look amused.
“Well, we found him dead as a doornail, thrown off the highway, sir. Broken neck, probably broken spine as well, but my partner here…”
Siekerkowski turned towards James, who had come up out of the ditch to the squad cars. “What’s the story Rawlings?” Siekerkowski demanded brusquely.
“Well, I did hear him speak sir, plain as day, even if his neck does appear to be broken. He said, ‘Help me.’ It was quite clear. At first I thought detective Simonson had said something to me, but he hadn’t.” James stopped, realizing by the look on the faces around him that they thought he was practically a raving madman.
“Usually, I find being dead inhibits the power of speech considerably,” Siekerkowski remarked dryly.
“I’m not saying I can explain it, sir. I’m sure if you’d been there, you would have heard him too.”
Siekerkowski frowned. “You’re not on traffic duty, your assigned to homicide, so what are you doing here in the first place?” Junior highway patrolmen in neon orange safety vests were out on the highway now, easing the flow of traffic.
“No sir, my partner and I were heading home along route 30 when the radio dispatch caught us. We knew it was a matter for Traffic once we saw the nature of the crime.”
“You might have submitted a report and waited until morning before calling me.”
“The storm would have wiped out a lot by morning.”
Siekerkowski gave the detective a quick look. Fiftyish, built like a brick shithouse, and he loomed over James as if he was contemplating a beat down.
James stuck to his guns; “I know the state of the body makes it unlikely…”
“Unlikely? Was his neck broken or wasn’t it? If you are half-assed competent as a detective you should be able to get at least that detail right.” Siekerkowski snapped.
They clambered down into the storm ditch. Reaching the body, Siekerkowski bent down and rocked the head back and forth in his beefy hands. It moved with a sickening ease. He plucked lightly at the skin over the elbow, flexed the fingers once or twice.
“Give me your impressions,” he said abruptly.
“Impressions, sir? Just what I have relayed to you.” Kevin replied with a puzzled look on his face. “If you mean are there any skid marks or any other evidence, we haven’t spotted any.”
A pair of paramedics, bored and chilly, emerged from the darkness and hovered nearby. Siekerkowski stood up and shook off the raindrops that were leaking down the back of his neck. “You can take him to the county morgue now,” he ordered, turning away and climbing heavily back up the storm ditch.
Lifting his hand, Siekerkowski beckoned James with a flick of his wrist. James scrambled up and joined him next to the lead squad car. “Did you want Kevin, Detective Simonson, up here to?”
“Did detective Simonson hear your dead man talk?”
“No sir.”
“Then I don’t want him up here to. Besides, I’m sure you think he’s a wet behind the ears local oaf, you being a big city detective from Chicago and all.” Siekerkowski had a good ear for accents.
“I don’t think that at all, and begging the inspector’s pardon, but I am originally a local oaf to.”
A long silence hung in the air. “You are aware, of course, that the body was almost cold when I touched it? Cold enough to tell me that death probably occurred at least an hour ago?”
The tone of the comment made James angry. “I know what I heard, sir.”
Siekerkowski went on, unheeding. “And the disposition of the body leaves no doubt that death was instantaneous.” The two men stared at each other. “Are you still sure of what you heard?”
James bit his lip. “Well, we’re getting off to a great professional relationship, aren’t we?” Siekerkowski opened the driver’s side door of the cruiser and sat down heavily in the driver’s seat.
“You didn’t ask me about my impressions, sir.”
“What?” Siekerkowski looked at James once again.
“Back there, sir, you asked for our impressions, and I haven’t given you mine yet.”
“Go on.”
“I don’t mean to contradict my partner, but I don’t believe it was a hit and run. The condition of the body doesn’t lend itself to that conclusion. A car striking a person hard enough to throw him that distance from the road, about twenty feet, would have left gravel and asphalt embedded in the hair and skin. The clothes would be torn, but the victim’s trousers and overcoat weren’t. I saw no major contusions on the body, either.”
When James paused, Siekerkowski whistled. It could have been irony or appreciation. “Are you prepared to go further in your observations?”
“Further, sir?”
“If it wasn’t a hit and run, what was it?”
“My gut is telling me murder, sir.”
“Ah,” Siekerkowski raised his eyebrows. “And you were doing such a damned fine job up to that point. I can say yes to it not being a hit and run, but murder doesn’t sit so well with me. Sufficient facts may be on hand to negate one hypothesis without adequately supporting another. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” James looked down, crestfallen. Then Siekerkowski muttered, as if to himself, “Good job all the same.”
I hope you don’t think I am crazy, sir.”
“You’re observant and probably very clever. So I will rule out crazy for the time being.”
They saw Kevin come up, looking impatient. “Paramedics need you to sign a form, sir, to release the body for autopsy. Unless you want us to call the county coroner away from his dinner.”
“Too damned much paperwork,” Siekerkowski grumbled. He got out of the driver’s seat like a bear standing on it’s hind legs and walked James and Kevin back to the ambulance just as the two paramedics were swinging the rear doors shut. Siekerkowski signed the forms, in triplicate, nodded curtly to no one in particular, and left.
Cheers, Þórgrímr
