John Doe. It wasn't a term often used by the Guard, but Alain had heard it in Earth movies, liked it, and used it for unidentified bodies. Whether they were people he killed on a contract or murder victims who needed to be investigated, they were all John (or Jane) Doe. Alain didn't get too many unidentified murder victims because most of his murder investigation contracts came from families and friends of the deceased, but sometimes the Guard had its hands full and unloaded its "less pressing" casework on him. That meant low priority -- the Guard didn't care what Alain did, so long as he filed some form of report.
The Guard had its hands full in the aftermath of the zombie outbreak.
Alain rarely had the urge to smoke, but he always felt like it when he examined a body. It would give him something to do and keep him from thinking too hard, but the morgue would throw a fit, and rightly so. He was walking a slow circle around the mangled body of a bearded man. Glassy blue eyes stared wide at the ceiling as if he were in awe of his own death.
The detective shook his head faintly and moved for a closer look. He had been cut up plenty, along his throat, his shoulder, his belly, his thigh... but there weren't bite marks.
Alain frowned at the brief letter from the Guard, holding it up to the light as he re-read it. They thought a looter got to him, but it didn't make sense. He was found in the street... but if it had been a looter, or maybe a mix-up with one of the Guards...
No, the body had been dumped after the worst of the outbreak was over. Or someone had killed him at the end of the outbreak, which was possible, but seemed unlikely.
Think like a murderer, Alain told himself. It was a startlingly easy thing to do. If you want to kill someone... a zombie outbreak is ideal cover for it. If you were a Guard, it would have been so easy to have him burned. A looter would not have dragged him out into the street, and wouldn't have taken so much time cutting him up. No, what was done to this poor man was malicious. Very deliberate.
Something shone in his ruined throat. Alain bent closer, and found a copper chain, a necklace, hidden in the blood and his hair. He wrapped his hand in a handkerchief and unclasped it carefully, drew out the necklace, rubbed off the pendant, and held it up to the light.
A copper cross. Alain thought little of religion, but... something about it... frightened and fascinated him. He ran his fingers over it, and dropped it into his pocket. There was a pang of guilt when he removed it, but it would help him focus on the missing man. Maybe someone would recognize it.
He would return it, he told himself firmly, when the case was closed. "Just who the hell are you, buddy," he muttered softly to the cold, bloodied face, gruff but gaunt in an almost noble way. He could imagine this man speaking slowly and wisely, and see him pondering a friend's words over a pewter cup...
Which was why Alain didn't like morgues. He shook his head and left promptly.
The Guard had its hands full in the aftermath of the zombie outbreak.
Alain rarely had the urge to smoke, but he always felt like it when he examined a body. It would give him something to do and keep him from thinking too hard, but the morgue would throw a fit, and rightly so. He was walking a slow circle around the mangled body of a bearded man. Glassy blue eyes stared wide at the ceiling as if he were in awe of his own death.
The detective shook his head faintly and moved for a closer look. He had been cut up plenty, along his throat, his shoulder, his belly, his thigh... but there weren't bite marks.
Alain frowned at the brief letter from the Guard, holding it up to the light as he re-read it. They thought a looter got to him, but it didn't make sense. He was found in the street... but if it had been a looter, or maybe a mix-up with one of the Guards...
No, the body had been dumped after the worst of the outbreak was over. Or someone had killed him at the end of the outbreak, which was possible, but seemed unlikely.
Think like a murderer, Alain told himself. It was a startlingly easy thing to do. If you want to kill someone... a zombie outbreak is ideal cover for it. If you were a Guard, it would have been so easy to have him burned. A looter would not have dragged him out into the street, and wouldn't have taken so much time cutting him up. No, what was done to this poor man was malicious. Very deliberate.
Something shone in his ruined throat. Alain bent closer, and found a copper chain, a necklace, hidden in the blood and his hair. He wrapped his hand in a handkerchief and unclasped it carefully, drew out the necklace, rubbed off the pendant, and held it up to the light.
A copper cross. Alain thought little of religion, but... something about it... frightened and fascinated him. He ran his fingers over it, and dropped it into his pocket. There was a pang of guilt when he removed it, but it would help him focus on the missing man. Maybe someone would recognize it.
He would return it, he told himself firmly, when the case was closed. "Just who the hell are you, buddy," he muttered softly to the cold, bloodied face, gruff but gaunt in an almost noble way. He could imagine this man speaking slowly and wisely, and see him pondering a friend's words over a pewter cup...
Which was why Alain didn't like morgues. He shook his head and left promptly.