Wednesday, December 27, 2006

12/27/06

I call dispatch and they give me the address of the decedent.

"So, Clara, can you tell me anything?" I ask.

"Oh..." Clara chuckles. "You're gonna love this one. Been there for at least two weeks."

I groan. I'm the queen of decomps.

"Two weeks? Didn't she have anybody who cared enough to check on her?"

I get the phone number of the lead detective and hang up. While I'm dialing Detective Jonas, I look over my shoulder at LHM and he gives me an encouraging smile.

Detective Jonas answers on the first ring. "Hey!" Jonas sounds chipper. "I haven't seen you in a while! Where've you been, Sunshine?"

"I was on my honeymoon in paradise. You know...far far from here." I smile as I sit back in my chair.

"Isn't that a song? Honeymoon in Paradise?" Jonas asks.

"No. I think it's a low-budget 80's porn flick, actually, but thanks for asking. So, what's up with the decomp?"

Jonas proceeds to tell me about a 40-year-old woman that hasn't been seen for at least two weeks. The apartment complex manager, Zed, called the decedent's sister and the cops that morning because fellow residents were complaining of the smell. After forcing entry, they found her slumped on the couch in an advanced stage of decomposition.

"Any suspicion of foul play?" I ask?

"No. The apartment manager said he propped some mail up on the door two weeks ago and it hasn't moved. All the doors and windows were locked from the inside. I haven't taken a good look at the body, mind you. The smell is just so bad. Do you have anybody to help you move her when you get here? I can't go back in there."

I pull the phone from my ear and look at the reciever in disgust. Big baby. "Don't worry about it," I say and hang up.

I look over at LHM again as he happily continues to work on the desk...completely oblivious to what I'm about to ask of him. Poor, man. He had no idea what he was getting into when he married me.

"Hey, uh, honey?" He looks over at me. So innocent, I think to myself. Like a lamb before the slaughter. "Whatcha doin'?" I cock my head to the side and flutter my eyelashes at him in what I hope is an irrisistably provocative way.

"I'm doing exactly what I've been doing for the past hour." He puts the screw driver down on the floor next to him. "And you can stop flapping your eyes at me. I don't know why you think pretending your going into a grand mal seizure will make me want to help you more. I'll do it, but you seriously owe me."

I jump up from the chair and give him a huge hug. What a guy. I can't believe I was seriously considering demasculinizing him not 10 minutes ago. "Thank you, honey! It's just that the stupid cops are being big babies and refuse to go into the apartment."

"Yeah. I gathered that. Let me go put my crappiest clothes on. I hope this doesn't wreck my sneakers."

While we drive to the scene I coach LHM on how to avoid barfing from the smell. I also tell him to stand back and let me do the talking. "You're the brawn, darlin'. Strong and silent. Like a bouncer only you have to get your hands a little dirty. And don't tell anybody you're my husband."

"Whatever you say." LHM sits back and looks out the window for a moment before turning back to me. "I've had to clean dead rats out of an attic once before and that was pretty horrible. I can't imagine this is any worse than that."

You have no idea. I smile at him encouragingly. "I've never done dead rat before, so you'll have to let me know if it's different."

More later.

3 comments:

Stephen Blackmoore said...

Now that is true love. Sounds like a keeper.

Polly P.I. said...

Hi, Stephen. Yeah, he's a keeper, alright. I just checked out your blog(s) and found it very, very interesting. How's sunny SoCal?

Julia Hart said...

Aahhh...better than filleting him and serving him up with some faver beans and a nice bottle of chianti.

Poor sucker.