Page 58 of Unnatural Death

I explain that the female has multiple blunt force trauma injuries, and the question is whether they were inflicted before or after she was shot. I draw attention to the radio-opaque shape of a projectile in her abdomen.

“I can tell you right now that’s not from their ammunition.” Marino looks at the x-ray image. “They were shooting ten-mil Hydra-Shok hollow-points that expand on impact. The bullet casing is scored to open like a razor-sharp metal claw so it can do the most damage. That’s not what this is.”

“Possibly a rifle round,” I reply. “Probably the same thing Tron found at the scene. And there’s something else in her left hip.”

It’s too small for a bullet, the cylindrical shape too regular to be shrapnel. There’s no correlating injury, no entrance wound.

“Whatever it is, we’ll get there soon enough. I try to do things in a certain order, so I don’t forget anything,” I explain. “Next I want to look at her hands.”

* * *

Rigor mortis has continued to advance, requiring considerable effort to break the stiffness in the arms, allowing me to manipulate them. I hold up the hands, turning them front and back while explaining that missing fingertips and other areas of flesh are from marine predation. As I pass along the gory details, I’m envisioning the massive turtle head surfacing, the shadow of it under the surface.

“These injuries are what’s known as postmortem artifacts, normal changes that occur after death,” I explain to the video screens. “The exception is the hiking poles. I’m all but certain those were a parting gesture.”

“They were a weapon of opportunity,” Benton says. “That’s not what the killer brought with him to take out the victims. He came prepared for a one-sided battle in which he planned to completely overpower them. He knew they didn’t have a chance.”

“To play devil’s advocate,” Bella Steele asks, “are we absolutely certain an animal didn’t kill them? I can’t imagine a bear stabbing someone with hiking poles, but we need to explore every possibility. God only knows what accusations and theories will be flying around. We’d better be able to address them.”

“It would seem that a bear or bobcat might inflict injuries similar to some of what we’re seeing.” Bart of counterterrorism speaks up. “You know, if you put your hands out to protect yourself?” He defensively raises his arms as if about to be mauled. “And something big could have dragged the male down into the mineshaft. We don’t know what lives in there.”

“If claws or teeth were involved, I would expect to see the associated gashes and puncture wounds.” I pick up a magnifier from the surgical cart. “The injuries to this woman’s hands front and back are incisions. You can see the clean edges made by a sharp blade. The male victim has the same type of injuries, their hands, fingers, wrists cut in an organized manner and for a purpose.”

“In your opinion, why would someone do that?” Bart asks me from the video displays.

“The assailant was trying to find something.” It’s Benton who answers. “I’m guessing that’s the purpose and not mutilation. He also was enraged, his system in overdrive. It’s important to remember there can be more than one reason.”

Benton explains that surveillance video footage from a variety of sources indicate Huck and Brittany Manson had injected RFID microchips beneath their skin. They purchased the necessary equipment off the internet and did it to themselves. As he’s informing us of this, I open a cabinet, finding the old-style handheld RFID scanner.

It’s the same thing used in a veterinarian’s office to read a chip that’s been injected into your pet. Only this scanner, like our camera, is obsolete and cumbersome. It’s used only in here and must be plugged into an electrical outlet. People injecting microchips into themselves isn’t as uncommon as it used to be. But we know to look and have found them in the past.

These days injected RFID or near-field communication (NFC) microchips can be located by scanner apps available for your phone. It’s what I use to track bodies and evidence throughout my building.

“Huck and Brittany had chipped their right hands,” Benton says. “You can see them on their security cameras releasing electronic locks they’d installed at their store, the fulfillment center, their house. A wave of a hand and they could open doors.” He shows us with an abracadabra gesture. “They could pay for things without physical credit cards if they wanted. Only someone close to them or spying would know this.”

“A typical location for those types of chips is in the web of the hand between the thumb and the forefinger,” says Gus with the CIA.

“It wouldn’t be possible to cut such a thing out of a body without knowing it was there and having a means to find it,” I reply. “This would be especially challenging in the dark, suggesting to me that the assailant had some sort of night-vision enhancement.”

“I think you can count on that,” Benton says.

“If a chip has been injected, it’s going to light up when syncing with the scanner. You can see it glowing under the skin,” I reply. “So, it wouldn’t have been difficult to find a microchip if you knew about it in advance and had a scanner app on your phone.”

“The assailant had to have known to look, that’s absolutely true,” says Lucas from Interpol. “But why make so many cuts? Why slash up both hands?”

“Frustration and rage. He didn’t find what he’d come for,” Benton repeats as I scan the lower arms and hands.

“Well, I’m supposing he found something. The microchip isn’t here now. The same may be true with the male victim. We’ll know soon enough.” I continue to tell them what I’m finding.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the assassin took them,” Benton says. “But they weren’t going to be helpful. It wasn’t what this person was looking for.”

“If you don’t know who the killer is, how can you be so sure what he was after?” Marino asks skeptically. “Maybe he just hated the Mansons and that’s why he tore the hell out of everything, including them.”

“I’m going to venture a guess that he found the microchips implanted in Huck’s and Brittany’s hands,” Benton replies. “And he realized that wasn’t what he was looking for. This was when he started smashing up everything, impaling the bodies and all the rest.”

I move the cumbersome RFID scanner over the left hip where the small object shows up on x-ray. Nothing happens.

“Am I to assume that what you’re looking for isn’t a normal microchip with a radio antenna?” I ask.

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