Day 2 1300 hours Central Hospital Autopsy Bay 2
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>They arrived in the autopsy bay, where the pathologist was waiting for >them. Mary Ritchie's body was already laid out on the table, and the >doctor had already started the preliminary external exam.
"Jane Doe, white, female, in her 50s or 60s. " The pathologist rattled off some physical measurements in his monotonus voice.
Jane Doe. What a name. Vanessa thought.
"No physical sighs of struggle or bruise. No identification marks." He ended his physical examination, and then reached out and took a knife, ready to reduce the dead body into an unrecognisable mass of blood and flesh.
>The body >appeared to be in fairly good condition, given the length of time between >when she disappeared and when the body was found. Zenya took a good look >around the room, noticing the array of surgical equipment set out on a >table, and started wondering what in the hell she had wanted to be here >for.
Just then, she heard some noise behind, and turned back to see Agent Jim Reaper approaching.
"Did I miss anything?" He asked. She shook her head, and turned her head back to the body.
"I found something though," he continued.
Both female agents looked at him.
"A photo, of a cabin somewhere. Looks like a good hiding place." He told them, ignoring the sound of the scapel cutting the length of the body in the background, and the smell of stale blood assaulting the air.
"All organs accounted for. None missing. "
The pathologist then proceeded to remove the heart from its lawful place, and then weighed it on a sterilsed weighing machine, and then read off the readings for the benefit of the recorder.
"A scar found on the heart. Very very recent. " He said as he viewed the organ in his heart as it was a art piece.
"A what?" Sheriff Jackson asked, and was rewarded with a closed-up view of the bloody heart.
"You see this line here?"
"Yes."
THe three agents approached the sheriff, curioused.
"You see that? It means a heart attack. I think that we might have solved the mystery of how she died. Just a heart attack. Note that there is no other similar scars, which means that the victim does not have previous of heart attacks. Just this one, which killed her."
"So what you mean that she dead of a heart attack." Jim asked the pathologist, as Vanessa starred at the the heart, her eyes wide. It was the first time she had seen the organ face-to-face, and she found herself fascinated.
"Naturally caused? Or by some foreign substance?" Zenya asked.
"Well, I will have to continue to find out about that, but I believe that it is naturally caused. Such attacks are not uncommon," the pathologist explained, as he switched off the recorder. "A so-called perfectly happy life, and then suddently ended by a heart attack. Any questions?" All of them shook their head, and the pathologist, satisfied, switched on the recorder again as he continued the autopsy, removing the livers, lungs, kidneys etc and inspecting each of them in turn, and declaring them healthy for a middle-age occupant.
At the end of the hour, he proved that he was right. There was no other sighs that prove that the heart attack was induced by chemicals or such. And the autopsy closed with "died of a massive heart attack" which meant quite the same as "died of natural causes."
"Now only one mystery remained. Who she was." Sheriff Jackson said as they left the autopsy room, abit disappointed with the simple results.
"Two. And her cleanliness. If she is really a vagabond, I don't understand why she is so clean. Unless Santa Fe's vagabonds are obessed with cleanliness." Jim told the sheriff.
"Well, that is not surprisingly. Our folks are quite nice people. I will not be surprised if some of them actually take turns taking care of her and to make sure that she got a bath regularly and clean clothing."
Vanessa mumbled something to herself.
"What did you say?" Zenya asked.
"Like the helping hands."
"The helping hands. You're right. I'm sure they will help, won't they, Sheriff?" Zenya turned to Jackson. "A helpless woman."
"What helping hands?" Jim asked, feeling like someone who had suddenly found himself dropped into the middle on a on-going conversation of a on-going party.
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Momma, I'm so sorry. I really really am. I know now its useless to say anything, to make excuses, to try to atone for the things, for the mistakes that I had done.
I never thought that I will see you again. After so long. You never tell me anything. You never tell me why. Why we had to pack up one day and left that day, in that bright summer day, when Papa was not around.
Oh, you thought I don't know. You thought that I never know all those behind-the-scenes between you and Papa. All those time when he hit you when it was late in the night when he thought that everyone in the neighbourhood and no one was listening. All those time when your eyes would suddenly be clouded with fear when you looked at the calendar and realised that today was the day when Papa returned from one of his long trips, and that all those beatings will start again.
Oh, Momma. You thought that by hiding everything, by showing all the neighbours that everything is fine, that you are happy with a travelling salesman husband who shouted at you and beats you, you can lied to yourself too. Maybe you did, for a while, but its not a long term solution. Lying never is.
There is always a limit to everything, and I guess you went over that limit of keeping quiet that day, when you finally realised that he would do it again after he came back again after yet another long trip. I never told you, Momma, but I hated him too, hated the way he come back and assumed power within the household as if it was his right. Before I sleep, I always prayed to god that Papa would die somewhere, in one of those states which he travelled to, in a car incident, a bar-fight, a robbery. Anything but come back to us.
If there is anyone who first taught me about power, it would be Papa.
I never tell you this, Momma, but Papa did it to me too. Not beating me and shouting at me. Oh, he'll never do that to me. He loved me. That was what he claimed, that he loved me. He would say that when he touched me. Touched me after you cried yourself to sleep, your face against the pillow so that the nieghbours won't hear, and so that he won't get angry and hit you again, always hitting you at those places which the neighbours can't see.
He touched me, where I don't want him to. Saying that he loved me. He loved his pretty little Becca. 'Do you loved mommy too?' I asked him once. And then he got angry and slapped me cross my face. I never asked him that question again. I knew the answer already.
Sometimes I wonder that if I told you what he did to me, you would packed up and left him earlier. Instead of letting things went on for years, until he overstepped his right to 'love me' into something else. I never knew what was it called. Until years later.
I know that it is difficult to earn a living in a strange place in a strange city, and that you are trying your very very best. But does that mean that when the going gets tough, the tough abandon her daughter?
I thought that I will never forgive you after leaving me, but I did. I forgive you the moment you I saw you at the doorstep of that place which we called the office of Helping Hands. You looked so much older, so very different, that even a hint of that previous Denver beauty is gone. But I saw you, and I recognised. Dear Momma. My dear Momma. Why did you left me in Las Vagas? I asked. But you just smiled at me. Oh, my dear Momma. You forget everything, didn't you. You forget about your name, your life, even your daughter. Hey, I am Becca. Don't you remember me? And did you ever know that you are the reason why I decided to stay in Santa Fe long term and to help out permenantly in the Helping Hands. So that I can be near you, Momma. So that I can take care of you, the same way you tried to take care of me once.
Oh, Momma, I know losing bad memories is good, forgetting them is bad, but why must you forget about me too?
I never what did you really see, or did not. But it was enough. I knew that even if you went and tell people (not that you didn't) they would not believe. Who would believe a lazy person like you? Oh yes, they called you crazy. Can you believe that? I know that you forget things, and act abit weird sometimes, but crazy? I had to know how 'crazy' you are, Momma. I love you, but that does not mean that I will let you stop what I was doing, what I think was right.
I will never forget that day, Momma, going to look for you without Ted at your usual place. He said that I am crazy. He said that you don't know anything. BUt I had to find out.
I see you as always, unkempt and messy. BUt to me, you are always that sad housewife, that lovely mother. And as always, you grinned at me, say something unintelligent, and tried to ran off. 'What did you see Momma?' I asked. 'You talking about the murders? I see _everything_!' Oh, Momma, why don't you lie to me, saying that you didn;t see anything, know anything. That sentence really hurts me. MY momma knowing about waht I did.
'What did you know, Momma?' I asked. 'What did you know? Tell me Momma.' I only dare to call you Momma when we are alone. I love you Momma, but not at the expense of letting anyone know that we are related.
You started to get afraid, I don't know why. Started to try to run away. Trying to run away from me, as I tried to stop you from doing that. 'What did you see?'
'I didn't see anything!' you said, but I know you are lying. Why Momma? I will never hurt you, so why must you lie? Why can't you tell taht you know, but you will keep it a secret cos you love me? Why?
Oh Momma, I guess I will never know if all those forcing makes you panicked. I never ever wanted to kill you this way. YOur eyes staring at me, as you suddenly stopped running, as you suddenly looked at me, your hands suddenly clutching at your heart.
'Becca.' Your hands reached out to me, and then you fell.
Oh Momma, I don't know if you died because of me. BUt if its true, I'm really really sorry. I really don't mean to. Please forgive me, Momma. EVeryone got a job to do in this job. I will never let you stop me. Please forgive me, Momma. I hope you understand.
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regards,
Lee Sau Woon aka SA Vanessa Lee