The lack of bruising indicates it could be either one of those possibilities.
His flesh is severed with a flap of missing dermis upon his left side. That injury reveals the floating ribs and a bit of the false ribs. It’s the lowest portion of the rib cage. While the clarity of the photograph is compromised with excessive enlargement, ribs eleven and twelve appear to have suffered spiral fractures.
A spiral fracture is most common in a twisting injury and rare with ribs. They’re more common in arms or legs.
“Why hasn’t this report been shared with the family?” Keith asks. “He had obvious trauma.”
“The injuries could have occurred postmortem and likely perpetrated by wildlife.”
“Or they could have caused his death.”
“I spoke to Austin Kolldike today.” Keith turns toward me. “Austin used the wordcrumpledto describe the way Craig looked when they found him.”
I wrinkled my nose noticing a portion of Craig’sintestines were loose, the decaying tissue appearing like rope.
“I hope so.” With a sour taste, I click that picture away.
The next photo is of one of Craig’s legs. His foot is bloated, toenails dark, and ankle is at an unnatural angle. It’s impossible for me to know if it is his talus that was fractured or the fibula or tibia. Again, his dermis has multiple lesions and lacerations.
“What do you think?” I ask.
“Despite having seen numerous corpses in my line of work, I’m not an expert.” He leaned forward, squinting at the photograph. “To me, with the way these pictures appear, I assume that during the time Craig was considered a missing person—after his disappearance and before he was found—multiple species of wildlife, from insects to birds to mammals, feasted on him.”
Gritting my teeth, I took a sip of the merlot.
The next picture is of Craig’s other leg. Tilting my head from side to side, I determine it is his left.
“Crumpled,” Keith says.
This time I don’t need to guess as to what bone is fractured. The left femur suffered a compound fracture, protruding through the dermis.
Could it have happened postmortem from the rushing water and debris in the ditch? My question isn’t stated out loud. It would be one of a thousand.
The next photo has his corpse lying facedown. The spine, which is normally straight, is bent near both the cervical and lumbar vertebrae regions.
I quickly click through the fifthand sixth photographs. The final one contains a close-up of one of the eye sockets.
“Ugh,” I say.
“Yeah.”
“I mean, my knowledge is limited, yet what’s left seems as though a sloppy evisceration was performed.” The procedure removes the intraocular contents while preserving the scleral shell, muscles, and orbital tissues. “This isn’t clean; it’s botched as if the eyeball was haphazardly removed.”
“My guess is postmortem.”
“I wonder if Marty’s eyes were removed in a similar way.” I scribble in my notebook, reminding myself to find out. “I planned to call the funeral home, but my day got away from me. I’ll call tomorrow.”
My gaze goes to my forgotten dinner as I push the fruit cup away. Suddenly, the grapes are no longer appetizing. “I think I lost my appetite.
Keith turns my direction. His dark gaze causes my breathing to hitch. My brain tells me to step away. My body doesn’t listen. I lean forward, our lips millimeters apart.
“Fuck, Jill.”
It makes no sense. Yet with a slight grin, I nod and move until our lips come together.
My counselor would tell me that getting involved with the brother of the man who changed my life forever wasn’t a well-thought-out reaction. She would be right.
In the dark hole that has consumed me since I crossed the village-limits sign welcoming me back toBlue Gil, in some strange twist of fate, Keith Gilbert has been my only true confidant.
