“I certainly didn't go into homicide to deal with dead bodies,” Detective Pavil said. The two fingers clamped down on his nostrils made his voice come out high pitched and cartoonish. He wore three latex gloves on each hand and had a piece of cloth tied around his mouth.
Detective Sylvester wasn't fairing any better despite shunning the protective cloth and wearing only one set of latex gloves. She was hoping to exude an air of confidence, but the vomit splattered on her shirt and shoes, the remains of an expensive lunch with friends, belied her true emotional state. “Are we sure he's dead?”
Pavil tried to snort through shut nostrils and nearly strained a muscle in his throat. Once he regained his composure, he said, “His head is missing.”
Sylvester shrugged. It seemed like a question a cop should ask. “Did anyone see anything?” she asked.
There were two uniformed police officers standing by, each with their backs turned to the crime scene. “Don't know. Haven't talked to anyone yet,” one of them called back to them. “Can we go now?”
Just then, the body expelled the gas that was trapped in its abdomen.
“Fucking hell,” one cop cried. Pavil ran away from the body as if it was about to explode and Sylvester unleashed the rest of her lunch onto herself and the floor.