Living Victim: Delta Detectives

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A black winged cockroach scurried across the mold-stained window in broad daylight, followed by several more of its buddies, and Cage Foster knew it was going to be a bad day.

He pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, expecting to feel the tug of his once shaggy hair. He was still getting used to the short cut his boss had forced on him when he made Criminal Investigator. Where’s the body?

Bobby McKay, a veteran sheriff’s deputy, stood with his hands on his hips, fingertips brushing his gun. Flecks of premature silver hair shimmered in the late afternoon sun. In the bathroom. On the toilet. Surrounded by shit.

Cage grimaced. Already relieved himself then?

McKay snorted, the corners of his plump lips twitching into a grin. I ain’t talking about what’s in the toilet. I’m talking about the stinking adult diapers piled up in the bathroom, which ain’t much bigger than a broom closet.

I’d heard the man was a hoarder, but it’s that bad? Cage prided himself for having a strong stomach. He’d yet to throw up over a dead body, and so far, he’d handled Dani’s wretched morning sickness without gagging.

Another nod from McKay. Plumbing shot craps. This time he didn’t bother to hide his grin. Several years ago, Cage worked his first traffic accident with McKay. He’d been startled and then offended by the man’s off-color remarks, but a few months of experience taught Cage that humor–even black–was often the best defense against the darkest of situations.

Cage rolled his neck, fighting the tense muscles. He hadn’t slept well the night before. Dani’s tossing and turning kept him awake, along with the creaks and groans of the old plantation house they lived in.

How’s the missus feeling? McKay read his mind.

She’s not officially the missus, Cage corrected him. Not until after the baby’s born. She’s twenty weeks today and doing well. Still tired.

And cranky, he added to himself. Ironwood’s restorations weren’t finished, and the unplanned but welcomed pregnancy had put Dani even further behind. Her mood swings were driving them both crazy.

Well, Cage pushed the thought out of his mind. Guess we’d better get to it.

Waiting on hazmat suits, McKay said. I’m telling you Foster, it’s bad.

Cage took his colleague seriously. McKay might joke to lighten the despair, but he never exaggerated a scene. As he waited for the hazmat suits, Cage approached the dead man’s daughter. McKay had already spoken to her, but as lead officer, Cage needed to make sure he offered his assistance.

She leaned against her dusty pickup truck, smoking a cigarette with shaking fingers. Sunglasses hid her eyes, but the shock surrounding her was as toxic as the smoke she exhaled.

Miss Hill, I’m Investigator Cage Foster. I’m real sorry for your loss.

Kara Hill nodded, wisps of her thin blond hair bobbing with the movement. She dropped her cigarette on the ground and stomped it out with her flip-flop. Cage didn’t understand how women walked in those things. Unable to shake the thought of Dani tripping over one and tumbling down Ironwood’s restored dual staircase, he’d hidden all of hers the night they found out she was pregnant. She was still mad at him for it.

My dad and I didn’t really get along, Kara said. I mean, I loved him. But he is–was–sick.

His hoarding, Cage said.

Kara sniffed and then swallowed hard. Destroyed him. After the third cleanup and he still wouldn’t help himself, I walked away. I had to, you know? I have my own kids to take care of and this, she swept her hand in the direction of the house, made me crazy.

You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Cage said. I can’t imagine what it was like for you. What brought you here today?

I still check on him once a month, she said. He didn’t come to the door this morning, and I figured he was just too lazy to get through the mess. But I couldn’t shake the feeling…

Cage patted her arm. No one should have to suffer finding a loved one dead, much less in the undignified manner in which Mark Hill had succumbed. He asked Kara a few more questions, getting a list of the medications Mark was on and information about his various health issues. When the hazmat suits arrived, she offered to lead officers through the house, but Cage gently declined and asked her to wait.

He and McKay shrugged into the paper-like white material. Least it’s not miserably hot yet, Cage said. May in Mississippi meant seventy-plus-degree weather and much less humidity.

Wait until you get inside the house, McKay said.

The structure looked like it was rotting from the inside out, Mark Hill’s mental illness spreading like some kind of biological warfare. No electricity. McKay opened the door, and they were immediately greeted with a stench so thick it seemed to have its own mass.

Holy Lord, McKay said. If you could bottle toe rot, this is what it would smell like.

Breathing through his mouth, Cage slipped the confining mask over his head and tried to see in the murky light. Despite the protective gear, the odor still seeped into Cage’s nose.

Inside, a literal mountain of trash greeted them, so solid and high the door wouldn’t fully open.

Sad thing is, McKay said as he started climbing the teetering pile, this isn’t all trash. Or at least it didn’t use to be. Everything the guy owned is mixed in.

Cage did his best to follow, but every time he grabbed for leverage, the object moved, sending Cage deeper into the pile. For a brief moment, panic swelled. What if he got trapped and smothered beneath all of this filth?

Just go slow. McKay was several feet ahead now. You gotta ride it like a wave.

Deep breaths only resulted in inhaling more of the stench and feeling lightheaded. Cage shook off the claustrophobia and did his best to follow McKay’s bobbing light. Finally, they slid off the first mound and wedged their feet onto the layer covering the floor.

Tell me again, Cage said, how Adams County got stuck with this instead of Roselea PD.

Because we’re in the middle of BFE, and they’re busy writing traffic tickets. McKay sounded like he was smiling. So the big boys from county get the call. And lucky you’s the investigator on duty.

There was no malice in McKay’s tone. After twenty years as a deputy, he was happy right where he was. He’d told Cage he had no desire for the paperwork that came with being an investigator and eagerly supported Cage’s promotion.

Cage suddenly wished he hadn’t taken the job. Where’s the bathroom?

Follow the yellow brick road. Or in this case, trash bag boulevard. McKay laughed at his own joke.

The bathroom door was nowhere to be found, and the adult diapers McKay mentioned littered the floor and hall. Even more were piled in the sink. Cage turned on his own flashlight and directed it to the faucet. Scum, black mold, and fungus crept up the sides, across the steel of the faucet, and into the cracked mirror. Cage shuddered.

It smelled like rotten eggs had been busted on the floor with dead animal sprinkled on top.

Cage’s stomach soured, his cheeks flamed. His eyes watered. The taste of vomit rose in his throat, but he swallowed it back.

He’d smelled decay more than once. Two bodies had been found in the cellar of his own home, tied up in plastic bags. The smell lingered in Ironwood for weeks until a crime scene cleaning crew bleached the entire basement. Several of the antiques left to age had to be stripped and refinished just to get rid of the stench. Even when everything was sterilized, Cage and Dani smelled the decay in their dreams for weeks.

This was worse. Much worse.

He’s there.

Cage stepped in front of the officer. Time to become detached and do his job. Try to forget the thing in the bathtub was once a human being.

Mark Hill looked like he’d been attempting to take a sponge bath in the dirty tub. A five-gallon bucket with murky, roach-filled water sat next to the tub with a thin, discolored washcloth hanging limply off the edge. The man sat in the middle of the tub, slouched against the side. His head rested against a dark brown patch of soap scum. His body was past rigor mortis. Feces and urine surrounded him.

Chubby in life and bloated in death, the body was packed into the bathtub like a rotten sardine. Cage didn’t envy the medical examiner having to