Ch.5Ch.1 – Execution (4)

“Still, this assistant of yours has much more grit. Now, what did you say your name was, officer?”

“Paul Eastman, sir.”

“Ah, yes. Eastman. Looking at this corpse, what do you think? Do you believe this man died honorably?”

Eastman shook his head. He couldn’t say that about the frozen corpse of a man whose skin had been cleanly flayed off and whose forehead bore a horseshoe brand. Hugh bared his teeth.

“You know many people disliked Lyman, right? To be specific about how much, Lyman wasn’t from here. He was an outsider. He practically cut ties with his family and came to the island to become a whaler. So his only connection to this island is his wife’s family, and they’re refusing to claim the body.”

“Why is that?”

“Because they can’t stand the sight of him! If he had no relations, he’d go straight to the public cemetery. But Lyman isn’t such a case. We’re keeping him here under the pretext of an ongoing investigation, but no one knows how long that will last. Poor Josie is working hard, but the police higher-ups want to cover it up. The mayor too.”

“I’ve heard. There’s significant conflict with Mayor Arthur Black over development plans.”

“That’s not all.”

Hugh pointed at Eastman’s notebook. Eastman quickly prepared to take notes.

“Do you know who Lawrence Lyman’s wife is?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Elizabeth Lyman. She’s alive. Insane, but alive. And her maiden name is Black. Did you know that too?”

Eastman looked at Dr. Hugh. The doctor gave a hollow laugh.

“Are you really a journalist? Well, let me indulge myself a bit. Elizabeth Black is the current Mayor Arthur Black’s older sister. The eldest daughter of two sons and one daughter. I only heard rumors, but they say she was a daughter cast out by the family for being obsessed with men. Still, the relationship between sister and brother isn’t easily severed, is it?”

“I see there was such a circumstance. I thought there was just a difference of opinion with the mayor. I actually believed the mafia would have more motive to kill Lyman.”

“Ah, the mafia.”

Hugh stroked his chin.

“Yes, they wanted him dead. Lyman and his vigilante gang went around raiding bars and catching smuggling ships. Do you know this story too? About outsiders, illegal residents, and contraband flooding into this island? That they’re using this place as a stopover since the mainland borders have become more strictly guarded?”

Eastman was too busy taking notes to answer. He seemed to be having trouble processing the sudden flood of information. Hugh sighed softly.

“Well, where else could I tell these stories? Everything’s rotten, top to bottom.”

“So it was indeed the mafia’s doing?”

Instead of answering, Hugh turned and approached the cabinet. When he turned back, he was holding gloves, an apron, and some ointment.

“Take off that coat and put these on. Apply this ointment under your nose. It blocks the stench. Put on the gloves too. Ready? See that mobile shelf over there? Bring it next to this one. Now, on the count of three, we’ll flip this fellow over. He’s heavy, so brace yourself. One, two, three!”

With a thud, Lawrence Lyman’s body rolled over. The skin had been cleanly removed from the back just as it had been from the front.

“Hey, Eastman. Don’t you notice anything strange? You were an officer, right? Have you never been to the front lines?”

“I have. I was at the front during the Second Battle of the Marne.”

“Then your eyes should see it.”

Eastman carefully examined the corpse. It looked immaculately clean, as if someone had drawn an anatomical diagram.

“There are no knife marks.”

Hugh smiled with satisfaction.

“No knife marks. Not a single cut mark on the muscles or anywhere else. How on earth did they remove the skin… no, is this even possible? Was it dissolved perhaps?”

“It was definitely flayed. The skin was in poor condition, so we only have photographs. It looked just like a snake’s shed skin. You asked if it was the mafia’s doing? Well, I don’t know who ordered it. But whoever did this…”

Hugh stroked his beard with his left hand.

“Well, I’d believe it if someone called him the Michelangelo of our time. It’s impossible to flay human skin like this. Even if tiny ants with razor blades the size of their antennae tried to remove it, they couldn’t do it like this. This is… well…”

“Well what?”

“Well, whatever it was… I’d like to believe a human did it.”

“Why is that?”

Sadness settled like night over the forensic pathologist’s tone.

“Because among all creatures on earth, only humans can inflict such malice on other humans. If it wasn’t done by a human, then we should pray. It would mean that something that hates humans more than anything and is full of malice is close to us.”

There was a click, but no one turned to look.

The wristwatch pointed to 3.

Droplets formed on Lyman’s frozen back. It was a sign that the cooling was wearing off. From a certain perspective, it looked as if Lawrence Lyman was lying face down, trapped in a bad dream, sweating cold sweat.

Dr. Hugh noticed the droplets.

“Don’t worry, we’ve taken plenty of photographs. The original autopsy report is kept in my office. I don’t plan to hand it over to the main building’s administrative department until this matter is completely resolved.”

Hugh and Eastman laid the body straight on the freezer shelf. Lawrence Lyman, whose eyelids had also been removed, didn’t avert his gaze even as the light bulb directly above him flickered intermittently.

Creak. Creak. As the shelf slowly entered the freezer compartment and reached the end, it made a bang. As if the dead Lawrence was kicking the metal plate with all his might in protest.

The problem persisted. Due to the age of the freezing unit itself, the freezer compartment door wouldn’t close properly. Dr. Hugh struggled with it, but it wouldn’t budge. Eastman removed his gloves and apron, placing them on an empty shelf.

“Let me do it.”

Hugh stepped aside. The wheel-shaped locking handle, which had been resisting with creaking sounds, gradually turned counterclockwise.

Eastman felt goosebumps rising on his arms. Perhaps it was due to the cold air flowing between the door and the partition.

Or was it the last breath remaining in Lyman’s lungs, unable to escape?

“Just a little more. That’s it. Done. The cold air isn’t coming out. Well done.”

Praise was unfamiliar to Hugh. The forensic pathologist, suddenly embarrassed, wiped the sweat from his forehead with his hand.

“I don’t understand. How could such details be omitted from the police report?”

“There are various reasons. Bureaucracy. Misunderstanding of the job. Pressure from the mayor. Secret involvement of the mafia. I hear there’s quite an uproar in Chicago?”

“You mean the connection between Mayor William Thompson and Al Capone? Capone provided money and connections, and the mayor facilitated Capone’s business. But Pollard Island isn’t in the Midwest, is it?”

“If Chicago is a young man, Pollard is an old man. Everyone notices and condemns a dissolute youth, but they turn away and ignore a corrupt old man. They think it’s natural for an old man to be corrupt, sick, and festering.”

Eastman underlined something in his notebook.

“This… I don’t know where to start.”

Dr. Hugh struck the floor a couple of times with his iron cane for emphasis.

“Officer. One shot, one kill. Isn’t that the basics of shooting?”

“I was a machine gun company commander.”

“Ha! Just shoot and someone will get hit? Well, if that’s your way, do as you please. So, do you have enough supplies?”

Eastman smiled.

“I’d like to have the original crime scene photos and autopsy report of Lawrence Lyman.”

“Well…”

Hugh tilted his head. Then suddenly he sniffed like a dog. Like a hunting dog catching an unfamiliar scent.

“I’ll prepare copies for you rather than giving you the originals. They’ll have my signature. They should be ready by tomorrow morning, how does that sound?”

“That should be fine, but… what’s wrong?”

Hugh kept sniffing, showing his palm.

“Don’t you smell something?”

Smell? What smell? Eastman sniffed.

“I don’t smell anything…”

“You fool. We have ointment under our noses that numbs our sense of smell! Something doesn’t feel right. Something acrid and burning… this is definitely…!”

Crackle. Suddenly the lights went out. The humming freezer stopped working. As the noise they hadn’t been conscious of subsided, a fearful silence descended.

“What’s this? I can’t see! Corpse-girl! Molly!”

Dr. Gregory Hugh flailed his arms. Eastman was equally blinded by the sudden power outage, but he managed to dodge the doctor’s iron cane.

Fortunately, since it was around noon, some sunlight filtered through the cracks of the morgue door.

“Doctor. I’m here.”

Eastman grabbed Dr. Hugh’s arm, but the doctor roughly shook him off.

“No! I need to hold onto you. Give me your arm.”

A forceful hand grabbed Eastman’s left arm. Eastman opened the morgue door with his right hand.

Black smoke was seeping along the corridor. In the distance, staff members including Molly could be seen running around.

“Molly! What on earth is happening!”

Nurse Molly strode over. Her expression was grim.

“Given that the electricity is out, the circuit breaker must have tripped, but with smoke rising, it doesn’t look good. Let’s get outside the building first.”

“What’s with the smoke?”

As if there was no need for further explanation, Molly pushed the two men toward the main entrance.

“You silly man, there’s smoke because there’s a fire! We don’t know where the fire started, so hurry up and get out. Electrical fires are dangerous! Wait, where’s our dandy?”

“Corpse-boy? That fellow ran out long ago. Didn’t you see him?”

“No, I didn’t. Did he go out through the west door? Anyway, let’s go quickly! You’re so slow!”

Dr. Hugh flailed his arms.

“Wait, my office! I need to stop by my office, there are documents there!”

“Old man!”

Molly shouted at the top of her lungs.

“We need to get out, there’s a fire!”

“It hasn’t spread yet!”

No sooner had he finished speaking than there was a crashing sound followed by intermittent explosions. A crackling sound was heard, and heat could be felt from the ceiling. Long exposed wires were heating up the entire ceiling.

“Didn’t you hear me? The building might collapse!”

“Just a moment!”

Molly didn’t wait any longer. She clenched her fist and shouted louder than a fire siren.

“Henry! Curly! Drag this stubborn old man out!”

Two burly undertakers rushed over and lifted Dr. Hugh bodily. The struggling doctor dropped his cane.

“Let go! You bastards, let me go! My legs! My legs!”

Eastman picked up Dr. Hugh’s cane.

“Eastman! The room on the right! Open cabinet C42! The drawer there…”

Thud. Boom. Something collapsed at the end of the building. Black smoke engulfed the corridor. Eastman made a decision.

“Assistant, follow me!”

Ignoring Nurse Molly’s cries, Eastman entered the room. Smoke was seeping through the ceiling cracks.

“Damn it, C42. C42… where the hell… found it? I can’t see what’s written! Wait? What does it say? Ah, here, good job!”

Eastman, who had rushed in with determination, gritted his teeth.

Cabinet C42 had three drawers. When he opened them, they were packed with documents, with no room for even a single sheet of paper.

The sorting criteria was neither by date nor by name, but by unique case numbers, making it impossible to identify which belonged to Lawrence Lyman.

The heat that had been warming the corridor ceiling was now felt from the room’s ceiling as well. It meant the flames had spread across the entire roof. Eastman reached out and gathered as many documents as he could.

“Assistant! You carry these, we’ll have to take our chances! I’ll take half. Now let’s get out, quickly! We’ll die at this rate!”

With a bang, the corridor ceiling exploded. Debris flew in all directions like a shell had dropped. Smoke, fleeing from the flames, took refuge in the room, forcing Eastman to bend down.

“*cough* Lower, lower your posture… Cover your mouth with the papers! *cough* Get out, we need to get out, *cough*! *cough*!”

Eastman crouched down. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was even drooling a little.

“G-gas… gas… gas mask… gas mask… everyone, quickly…”

Incomprehensible words flowed from his mouth. White foam formed around his lips. Crouched down, Eastman lay on his side, trembling violently. His muscles were convulsing and seizing like a decapitated centipede.

Yet Eastman didn’t let go of the bundle of documents.

“Gas… gas… gas… company… *cough*, take cover… take cover… Nicol, Bill, Johnson, *cough*… hurry… gas, gas mask… gas mask…”

There was another bang. A crashing sound, the sound of something being smashed, and some coughing.

“Assistant! Eastman!”

Crayfield appeared at the door, swinging a baseball bat with a surgical mask covering his mouth.

He had a wet white cloth draped over his back—a clean, white, consecrated cloth used for shrouding the dead.

Seeing the collapsed Eastman, Crayfield threw down his baseball bat.

“Eastman! Pull yourself together! Damn it, assistant! Help me carry Eastman on our shoulders! Let’s get out of here!”

“Nicol…”

Eastman grabbed Crayfield’s arm. His eyes were already rolled back. Crayfield roughly slapped Eastman’s cheek.

“Don’t lose consciousness! Assistant, drop those papers right now! You too, Eastman!”

“Gas mask… gas mask…”

Crayfield struck the back of Eastman’s right elbow. The precise hit to the reflex point made Eastman cry out “Ack!” and raise his arm.

Crayfield, who had wrapped Eastman’s upper body with the wet cloth, skillfully pulled under his right shoulder.

“Assistant! You take the other side. Now, one, two, three! That’s it! Now, one, two, three! One, two, three!”

Fortunately, volunteer firefighters and main building staff were at the central lobby. They quickly approached and took over Eastman.

“You need to get out! The building is about to collapse!”

As if on cue, there was a rumbling sound. Just as everyone inside the building came out through the entrance,

“My God. Lord Almighty.”

The morgue building collapsed from the top down. Like a house of cards meticulously built only to fall with a single breath. As if nothing had ever existed on that ground.