T Bone Steak
05-03-2006, 04:44 AM
Title: Forensic Research
Author: T Bone Steak
Proofreader and editor: Freaky Girl
Jan Vermeers walked into his familiar working room. He was the coroner of Appeldoorn. A policeman stood idly by, looking at the dead body on the metal table.
“What can you tell me about the body, officer?” he asked routinely.
“We found her at her home. The neighbors complained about a loud television set. When we entered the house we found her corpse. Since she was only 25 according to her identity card, it’s rather a suspicious death. Her name was Synthia Peer,” the officer elaborated.
“I’ll take it from here.” Vermeers said.
The officer couldn’t wait to get out of the cold, sterile room. He took one last glimpse of the young lady and wished the coroner good luck. Then he left the room.
The old coroner, who’s hair had started graying, walked to his desk to find a Dictaphone. He sat beside the body, on his working stool which had three legs.
“Subject was a Caucasian female named Synthia Peer. Her hair is dyed blonde; she was one point sixty meters long. No defensive wounds. Suspicious bruises on her neck,” he said while inspecting her body.
He stopped the Dictaphone. He took her temperature; he calculated that she died eight hours ago. Vermeers used a needle to draw some blood out of the subject. When his needle was full, he used the intercom system. Soon a familiar, young man entered the room.
“Here, take this and run the standard tests. I almost forgot it,” the coroner said to the toxicologist.
“I’ll have this analyzed in no time”, the confident man said.
“I expect nothing less from you,” Vermeers scrutinized him.
The coroner was once more alone in his room, concentrating on his corpse.
“Subject has no other significant injuries. Synthia maybe died of asphyxiation. I’m going to crack open her chest now.”
After five minutes her lungs and heart were exposed. He removed them from her body to weigh them and to look for suspicious spots.
“Her black lungs indicate she was a smoker but she didn’t suffocate.” He continued.
The coroner grunted; he was frustrated.
He investigated her vagina; he put hairs into a bag. Then he looked inside her vagina, collecting several pubic hairs. He noticed vaginal bruises. When he was finished with that, he focused on the rectum. It was prolapsed, something which he never seen before, except in college books. It smelled. He collected hairs inside her rectum. Vermeers wondered about her sex life. He pressed a button and a female DNA expert appeared.
“Here, run this through the system and see if you get a match,” he said, giving her labeled bags.
The woman quickly left his cold room.
Then he inspected Synthia’s arms closely. He found a new mystery - a tiny, healed spot on her left arm. The doctor recognized it immediately; it looked like it could be an old injection spot, but it was nowhere near a vein. He quickly looked for other spots and found another one on her other arm.
“What the hell is it?” he wondered.
He decided to get an X-ray of all her limbs, just to be sure. Vermeers took the corpse to another room where a technician was waiting.
“I need X-rays of all her limbs,” the coroner said dryly to him.
The technician didn’t protest and he hastily prepared the room. Both Vermeers and the technician stood safely behind a wall to keep the radiation exposure to a minimum. Then the first pictures came up on the computer. They sat down to investigate them. The technician looked at one of the pictures.
“That’s odd; there are tiny black spots on her arm. They seem more or less spread evenly. It’s almost like the bone is fragile at those spots and healed itself,” the technician observed.
Vermeers and the man paused, each in deep in their own thoughts.
“Osteoporosis?” the technician shyly said, remembering vaguely something about it.
“Not a chance, she was far too young.”
“Maybe it’s bone death, my wife knows someone who has it.”
“Bone necrosis wouldn’t leave tiny spots. We should see healed fractures of some kind,” the coroner said professionally.
Again, the men were in deep thought. The technician wetted his lips and carefully said:”Maybe…it’s…I suppose”
“Yes?” Vermeers said gently.
“I don’t want to sound morbid but maybe the holes are man made,” the technician wondered.
“But how would you do it?” the coroner inquired.
“Maybe whoever did it used a plain drill.”
Despite his years of training, Vermeers was genuinely upset.
“What kind of monster would do this?”
“It couldn’t have killed her.”
The coroner thanked the technician for his insight and returned with the corpse into his working room. The DNA expert was waiting for him.
“The hairs you’ve collected were all from different men. We’ve run it against the computer but as usual nothing has come up. Too bad we can’t force criminals to give a DNA sample,” the woman said.
Vermeers thanked the woman for the report and he continued his investigation. He wondered again about the non fatal bruises on her neck and about the tiny holes. The toxicologist interrupted him.
“I’ve got the results back,” he said.
“Well, what is it?”
“We found high concentrations of Artemisia absinthium-“
“She drank Absinthe?” Vermeers interrupted him.
“Yes, probably French Absinthe, the kinds which has a high alcohol percentage. She died of alcohol intoxication.”
The coroner sighed. He looked at the corpse. Then he shrugged
“What a waste,” he uttered.
The toxicologist left the room. Vermeers sat in front of the computer, thinking and pondering. At the end, he started to write his report.
It read: ”Synthia Peer died of alcohol intoxication. Victim had no visible defensive wounds. Subject had vaginal bruises and a prolapsed rectum. Several pubic hairs from different men were retrieved. She either had group sex or forced group sex. The strangulation marks could indicate erotic asphyxiation. Tiny holes indicate torture but it was possibly voluntary because no defensive wounds were found.”
Author: T Bone Steak
Proofreader and editor: Freaky Girl
Jan Vermeers walked into his familiar working room. He was the coroner of Appeldoorn. A policeman stood idly by, looking at the dead body on the metal table.
“What can you tell me about the body, officer?” he asked routinely.
“We found her at her home. The neighbors complained about a loud television set. When we entered the house we found her corpse. Since she was only 25 according to her identity card, it’s rather a suspicious death. Her name was Synthia Peer,” the officer elaborated.
“I’ll take it from here.” Vermeers said.
The officer couldn’t wait to get out of the cold, sterile room. He took one last glimpse of the young lady and wished the coroner good luck. Then he left the room.
The old coroner, who’s hair had started graying, walked to his desk to find a Dictaphone. He sat beside the body, on his working stool which had three legs.
“Subject was a Caucasian female named Synthia Peer. Her hair is dyed blonde; she was one point sixty meters long. No defensive wounds. Suspicious bruises on her neck,” he said while inspecting her body.
He stopped the Dictaphone. He took her temperature; he calculated that she died eight hours ago. Vermeers used a needle to draw some blood out of the subject. When his needle was full, he used the intercom system. Soon a familiar, young man entered the room.
“Here, take this and run the standard tests. I almost forgot it,” the coroner said to the toxicologist.
“I’ll have this analyzed in no time”, the confident man said.
“I expect nothing less from you,” Vermeers scrutinized him.
The coroner was once more alone in his room, concentrating on his corpse.
“Subject has no other significant injuries. Synthia maybe died of asphyxiation. I’m going to crack open her chest now.”
After five minutes her lungs and heart were exposed. He removed them from her body to weigh them and to look for suspicious spots.
“Her black lungs indicate she was a smoker but she didn’t suffocate.” He continued.
The coroner grunted; he was frustrated.
He investigated her vagina; he put hairs into a bag. Then he looked inside her vagina, collecting several pubic hairs. He noticed vaginal bruises. When he was finished with that, he focused on the rectum. It was prolapsed, something which he never seen before, except in college books. It smelled. He collected hairs inside her rectum. Vermeers wondered about her sex life. He pressed a button and a female DNA expert appeared.
“Here, run this through the system and see if you get a match,” he said, giving her labeled bags.
The woman quickly left his cold room.
Then he inspected Synthia’s arms closely. He found a new mystery - a tiny, healed spot on her left arm. The doctor recognized it immediately; it looked like it could be an old injection spot, but it was nowhere near a vein. He quickly looked for other spots and found another one on her other arm.
“What the hell is it?” he wondered.
He decided to get an X-ray of all her limbs, just to be sure. Vermeers took the corpse to another room where a technician was waiting.
“I need X-rays of all her limbs,” the coroner said dryly to him.
The technician didn’t protest and he hastily prepared the room. Both Vermeers and the technician stood safely behind a wall to keep the radiation exposure to a minimum. Then the first pictures came up on the computer. They sat down to investigate them. The technician looked at one of the pictures.
“That’s odd; there are tiny black spots on her arm. They seem more or less spread evenly. It’s almost like the bone is fragile at those spots and healed itself,” the technician observed.
Vermeers and the man paused, each in deep in their own thoughts.
“Osteoporosis?” the technician shyly said, remembering vaguely something about it.
“Not a chance, she was far too young.”
“Maybe it’s bone death, my wife knows someone who has it.”
“Bone necrosis wouldn’t leave tiny spots. We should see healed fractures of some kind,” the coroner said professionally.
Again, the men were in deep thought. The technician wetted his lips and carefully said:”Maybe…it’s…I suppose”
“Yes?” Vermeers said gently.
“I don’t want to sound morbid but maybe the holes are man made,” the technician wondered.
“But how would you do it?” the coroner inquired.
“Maybe whoever did it used a plain drill.”
Despite his years of training, Vermeers was genuinely upset.
“What kind of monster would do this?”
“It couldn’t have killed her.”
The coroner thanked the technician for his insight and returned with the corpse into his working room. The DNA expert was waiting for him.
“The hairs you’ve collected were all from different men. We’ve run it against the computer but as usual nothing has come up. Too bad we can’t force criminals to give a DNA sample,” the woman said.
Vermeers thanked the woman for the report and he continued his investigation. He wondered again about the non fatal bruises on her neck and about the tiny holes. The toxicologist interrupted him.
“I’ve got the results back,” he said.
“Well, what is it?”
“We found high concentrations of Artemisia absinthium-“
“She drank Absinthe?” Vermeers interrupted him.
“Yes, probably French Absinthe, the kinds which has a high alcohol percentage. She died of alcohol intoxication.”
The coroner sighed. He looked at the corpse. Then he shrugged
“What a waste,” he uttered.
The toxicologist left the room. Vermeers sat in front of the computer, thinking and pondering. At the end, he started to write his report.
It read: ”Synthia Peer died of alcohol intoxication. Victim had no visible defensive wounds. Subject had vaginal bruises and a prolapsed rectum. Several pubic hairs from different men were retrieved. She either had group sex or forced group sex. The strangulation marks could indicate erotic asphyxiation. Tiny holes indicate torture but it was possibly voluntary because no defensive wounds were found.”