Headhunter One Charlie by Larry Low

 And the leaves of the tree were for the healing of nations.  (Ray Bradbury)

              Chapter One      Stench Trap

Stepping out of the shower, I caught the phone on the third ring.

"Berger."

"Max, this is George.  Could you spare a few minutes?  I think we've found something."

"I'll be down just as soon as I put some clothes on.  I wouldn't want to be arrested for venturing out in the nude."

"Take your time."

George was as affable and as considerate and as proper as ever.  Maybe it was the thrill of the chase but I sensed something different about him, a nuance of body language, nothing definite.  I sensed a hard edge. I had the impression that this was the way that a suspect was taken down in jolly olde England.

He set a cup of coffee on the desk.  "Cream and sugar. I know you like scones.  Help yourself."  Why did I have the impression that this was the way that suspects were taken down in jolly olde England?  

Finish your shepherd's pie, Mr. Ray. Pray do.  And while you're at it, have another pint; it might be the last that you get for awhile.  Please do.  It's on the Crown.

After a perfunctory knock, Hamish McGurt, the Arizonian's Chief Engineer, entered.  I wouldn't describe him as a dour Scotsman. Sour Scotchman would be more apt, judging by the road map of veins criss-crossing his bulbous nose and the dour expression on his face.  He liked his wee drop, I would say.  It wasn't until he began to elaborate on the situation that I perceived anything positive. Once I got past the brogue, which was to an extent cultivated for effect, I knew that he possessed a sharp intellect.

"The chiller has been taken apart so that the body can be chipped out. A right mess, if you ask me.  We're going to have to let the place warm up a bit today, while we run some disinfectant through the chiller, and have the vents cleaned, after the homicide boys get through with their work that is.  Number two chiller will be running but it won't provide sufficient cooling to bring the ambient temperature down to our target level. It can't be helped.  I trust ye will be able to explain to management, George.  Seeing as this is a police matter, I would rather not say anything.  It's going to take forensics an age to finish and we can't even begin until they have cleared the area.  You should be the spokesperson.  Agreed."

"It's going to be cloudy today, anyway," George said.  "Don't sweat it, Hamish.  I'll keep management informed."

Jones and Creighton came in.  Creighton gave me a curt nod.  Jones ignored me.

"We've got a problem, Max."

"You have the body on ice, don't you?" 

"Yeah, we've got a body and we will eventually be able to identify it but at the moment we have a problem with prints."

"Oh for crying out loud," I said. "Fill a picnic cooler with dry ice. Cut off a couple of fingers and give it a few minutes. You can roll a print off it as sweetly as you please. The autopsy guy can sew them back on."

"Those are not the prints that bother us," he said matter of factly.  "The body is lying face down with his hands under him.  It's encased in ice, so we won't get prints for several hours.  But then again you probably already know that." 

"So what's your problem?"  I was tempted to ignore his last remark.

"Yours were found at the scene."

"Of course mine were at the scene," I said.

"You admit it?"

"The night watchman and I went in there at, I can't remember the exact time, but you can get it off the disk from the night watchman's clock.  It was probably about quarter to twelve.  I touched the white gunk."

"That's not what's bothering us.  We know which fingerprints are yours because they are on file in the office.  However when we ran them, the FBI couldn't give us a match.  That is so weird. The problem stems from the fact that you are the last person that we know of who saw the victim alive.  Who are you?"

I thought fast.  "It is not for me to say why the prints won't come up.  Let me call someone."

"You're entitled to one call," Creighton said.

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