Page 10 of Manner of Death

The chainsaw was a popular brand that Bashir knew for a fact would stop when someone released the trigger. If there was resistance against the chain—be it wood or human tissue—it would stop instantly. Still plenty of potential to for serious injury, but unless the chainsaw had been sabotaged or possessed by demons, no one was falling on top of the blade and being chewed up to the extent this man had been. That, and between the vibration of the motor and the spinning of the blade, the tool would’ve likely fallen away from the man unless it was being held in place.

With the chainsaw details rattling around in his mind, Bashir shifted gears to something else that hadn’t sat right with him. During the autopsy, he’d found a significant amount of blood in Upworth’s abdomen. That in and of itself hadn’t been a surprise, given the massive wounds, but the more he thought about where and how it had pooled, and the volume of pooled blood…

He switched to the photos he’d taken of the body turned on his side as well as on his back from both the left and right. Livor mortis had turned Upworth’s skin a deep purple wherever blood had pooled. Though he’d been found on his back, there were blanched areas on his left hip as well as one on the left side of his ribs that matched the shape and size of his arm. His upper arm was also white. In the picture with his back to the camera, there was significantly more purple on the left side of his back and down into his left leg.

The postmortem staining didn’t lie: this was not a man who’d died on his back. He’d expired on his left side, stayed there for at least half an hour—enough time to let Livor Mortis set in—before someone had moved him onto his back.

Not only that, but if Bashir was right—if he was piecing together the pooled blood and the postmortem staining as correctly as he thought he was—Gilroy Upworth had died from internal bleeding.

Good thing Bashir hadn’t sewn him up yet, because this autopsy definitely wasn’t over.

He glanced over his shoulder. Boyce was, as predicted, off in his own world—headphones on and music loud enough that the faint, tinny sound was audible from two tables over. He’d already completed two of his postmortems, and now he was working on his third, oblivious to Bashir’s conundrum and not offering up any snark or commentary. Miracles never ceased.

Bashir put the photos aside, and as he pulled on a fresh pair of gloves, he turned to Tami. “Call Detective Villeray. Tell him I need to see him and his partner right now.”

Her eyes widened. “You… You really don’t think this was an accident?”

Bashir leaned over the body and peered into the open chest cavity. “No, I do not.”

By the time Detectives McKay and Villeray arrived, Bashir was alone in the morgue; Boyce was gone and Tami had stepped out to chase down some paperwork. Bashir had sewn up the body and returned it to the morgue drawer, and as it turned out, his fishing expedition to follow his hunch had indeed turned up some more answers.

Unfortunately for the detectives, those answers would only mean more questions for them.

As the pair strolled into the morgue McKay didn’t seem pleased to be there. Annoyed and deeply inconvenienced, rather. Villeray, though, seemed curious and earnest. Bashir supposed that was to be expected. McKay had been doing this long enough to know what kinds of freak accidents could kill human beings, and he needed some serious probable cause to think such incidents were worth investigating. Villeray had been on the job longer than the poor kid who’d found Upworth, but he was still new enough that he wasn’t as cynical and desensitized as his partner. He’d obviously picked up that something was amiss last night, and his interest in this case was still piqued.

And damn him, Villeray gave Bashir a charming smile, and holy hell, this was neither the time nor the place to be thinking about how attractive this man was. Didn’t matter how desperate Bashir was getting these days—he had a job to do.

So he cleared his throat and plastered on a professional expression. “Thanks for coming down here, detectives.”

“Yeah. Well. We’re here.” McKay slid his hands into his jacket pockets and cocked his head in that impatient I’m-humoring-you-but-don’t-test-me way of his. “Let me guess—our deceased died as a result of being violently stirred by a chainsaw.”

Villeray scowled, cutting his eyes toward his partner, but he said nothing.

Bashir offered a bland smile. “Actually, no.” He held out a file folder. “I’m labeling Gilroy Upworth’s manner of death as, unequivocally, homicide.”

McKay released a long-suffering sigh as he took the folder from Bashir. “We already agreed on that last night, didn’t we?”

“We did,” Bashir said. “But I’d say it’s more than a theory now. And the chainsaw wasn’t the murder weapon.”

McKay shook his head with disbelief.

Villeray was watching Bashir, too, but he seemed more intrigued and confused than anything else. Deep crevices formed between his dark eyebrows as he asked, “What did you find?”

Bashir took a deep breath and explained everything he’d determined regarding the chainsaw. That was supposed to be their territory—his job was just to glean what he could from the body—but with a bizarre case like this and a clearly skeptical detective? Well, some toes had to be stomped on. He explained how after taking a closer look at Upworth’s chainsaw-chewed hands, he’d found what appeared to be defensive wounds on his knuckles.

McKay didn’t seem to quite buy that they were defensive wounds. They were obviously so, but he was still fixated on the chainsaw being the cause of all the damage.

When Bashir got into the Livor Mortis, though, he definitely had both cops’ attention. And when he explained the actual cause of death…

“Internal bleeding?” McKay asked with cautious interest. “And that couldn’t have been from the chainsaw?”

“Uh, Kurt?” Villeray cleared his throat. “If it was caused by the chainsaw, I don’t think it would be, uh... internal?”

McKay looked at Bashir for confirmation.

Bashir shrugged. “He’s not wrong.”

The detective scowled, if not as angrily as Boyce often did. And Bashir thought he saw a little blush on Villeray’s cheeks, but he refused to confirm it.