A Bad Hair Day
By Peter C Byrnes

Excerpt:

I stood a little away from the body.
I didn't want to get up close and personal so to speak.

In his face......because......um......he didn't have a face!

According to the Forensic Pathologist who was still scurrying around the body like one of Nature's carrion species, it had been here for roughly 20-26 hours. She couldn't provide a more exact time. The weather that we had been experiencing over the last several days throwing out any reasonable estimations.

Bitterly cold southerlies, squalling showers and rain periods.

Perhaps a more accurate time of death could be provided during the post-mortem.

Local wing type feathered birds were already tentatively pecking at the corpse, mainly the bloodied head. Flies and blow flies had already marked out their reservations on the body and ants, both those little black ones and the red-orange vicious Bull-ants, were making hurried forays across every part of the body. Hoping perhaps to have as much of the cadaver whisked away for a rainy day before the unthoughtful humans removed the treasure trove.

Nature works fast.

'A bad hair day?' My new partner asked deadpan.

'Looks that way doesn't it. A Hairdresser would have been a better option don't you think?' I replied just as dryly.

'His Dentist is likely to have a coronary at the damage done to those beautiful white and capped teeth of his if he saw this.' She continued.

The bottom jaw bone had been partially ripped from the upper mandible. He was missing quite a few teeth from both the upper and lower jaw.

The victim's head was so badly damaged that one would not be able to make a clear ID from the facial remains.

'By the bruising and trauma on the upper arm and what I can see of his shoulder, it wasn't a baseball bat.....more than likely something wider.....like a cricket bat.'

'Thank God!' I croaked.

The bile slowly coming up the back of my throat. This was the worst bashing death that I had seen in my almost twenty year career. Admittedly, less than 5 of which were in the Murder Squad. The entire head just a bloody mess of gore, blood and brain matter. Not an identifiable portion of his face left intact.

'Thank God for that.' I repeated. 'At least we're looking for a true Aussie who loves his cricket and not some American loving......what do they call them.....I know an Anglophile is a person who loves all things English......but what do they call a creep with no sense or taste who loves everything American?'

A shrug of my partner's shoulders an indication of her ignorance.


Clem 'Lofty' Hills Series:



Murder Squad Series: