Det Jack Bliss was a big help to my career. Early on, he told me that some day soon the NPD was going to need two detectives and that job would go to the person who had some experience doing the work. He said that if I was interested he'd show me how to work cases and do the reports. I'd have to do this off-duty, but I jumped at the chance.
One early morning, Jack called me and said he had a gunshot suicide and could use me. I was just getting off the 11 to 7 shift, so I responded immediately. When I arrived I saw the most gruesome site I'd seen up to that time. The deceased had sat down on the floor, with his back to a corner, put a shotgun under his chin, and pulled the trigger with his toe. His entire head, in gory chunks, had been blown up the corner walls, ricocheted off the ceiling and splattered the room.
Glad I hadn't eaten breakfast yet, I helped Jack photograph the scene, do the evidence collection, and write notes for the report. When we'd completed, Jack told me to photograph the outside of the house. I complied.
When I returned, Jack, excited, said, "There's a rare creature over there. Go take its picture."
I looked at him, questioning his request.
He pointed to the headless body, still sitting in the corner. "Cyclops," he said.
On closer inspection I could see that there was a single eyeball, balanced on the remaining spinal stalk. Jack busted out laughing, grabbed the camera and started taking photographs. This work of art had required him to fish around in the goo until he'd found an eyeball, then delicately balance it on the spinal stem.
The resulting photo bounced around the PD for years and caused many a rookie gastric distress.
One early morning, Jack called me and said he had a gunshot suicide and could use me. I was just getting off the 11 to 7 shift, so I responded immediately. When I arrived I saw the most gruesome site I'd seen up to that time. The deceased had sat down on the floor, with his back to a corner, put a shotgun under his chin, and pulled the trigger with his toe. His entire head, in gory chunks, had been blown up the corner walls, ricocheted off the ceiling and splattered the room.
Glad I hadn't eaten breakfast yet, I helped Jack photograph the scene, do the evidence collection, and write notes for the report. When we'd completed, Jack told me to photograph the outside of the house. I complied.
When I returned, Jack, excited, said, "There's a rare creature over there. Go take its picture."
I looked at him, questioning his request.
He pointed to the headless body, still sitting in the corner. "Cyclops," he said.
On closer inspection I could see that there was a single eyeball, balanced on the remaining spinal stalk. Jack busted out laughing, grabbed the camera and started taking photographs. This work of art had required him to fish around in the goo until he'd found an eyeball, then delicately balance it on the spinal stem.
The resulting photo bounced around the PD for years and caused many a rookie gastric distress.
* * *
Another time we were at the funeral home and Jack was showing me how to fingerprint a corpse. This can be quite a trick, especially if it's during a period of rigor. This one, a mature, heavy, man, just required that we break loose several of his fingers. There was a device , called a spoon, to help you obtain the print, but it didn't work too well. You got a better print if you just cracked the finger loose from it's curled position, and rolled it on a regular pad and card.
I was thankful that this wasn't a floater. The water so shriveled their skin, that you had to cut off the fingertip skin, flatten it in saline solution for a while, then place it over your own finger and roll out the print.
Howsumever, our gruesome work was interrupted by a thunderous fart, obviously from Bliss. But he wasn't going to take credit. Cradling the deceased's chin in his big hand, he tilted the head and looked into its half-open eyes. "If you're that damn lively," he said, "you can fingerprint yourself."
By that time, I'd been around awhile and discovered that dark humor could keep you reasonably sane. I joined Jack in healthy laughter.
I was thankful that this wasn't a floater. The water so shriveled their skin, that you had to cut off the fingertip skin, flatten it in saline solution for a while, then place it over your own finger and roll out the print.
Howsumever, our gruesome work was interrupted by a thunderous fart, obviously from Bliss. But he wasn't going to take credit. Cradling the deceased's chin in his big hand, he tilted the head and looked into its half-open eyes. "If you're that damn lively," he said, "you can fingerprint yourself."
By that time, I'd been around awhile and discovered that dark humor could keep you reasonably sane. I joined Jack in healthy laughter.
No comments:
Post a Comment