The Elegant Corpse

"The dental records are out," Marianne said, throwing the file on Roger's desk.

"Match found from 1983 missing persons records as 'Gary Williams' alias 'Gabriella Williams'. 24, West Covina. Victim His parents, who were living with him at the time, were the ones who reported their son missing."

Roger tidied up the desk that was momentarily messed up by Marianne. "Have the victim's parents been notified?"

"According to the records, they have moved out." She shrugged. "Williams? Jesus, Corso. It's all over the place now."

There are currently four pending cases on Roger's desk.He and Marianne brought files home every night, and neither of them had taken a vacation for weeks.But the case was clearly personal, and there was no way someone could dump a body at a detective's house and expect him to handle the case as usual.

"Come and find out," he said, "and give me the report."

***

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

Roger tirelessly followed the clues bit by bit, and finally found the brother of the deceased who now lives in West Hollywood.

"Can we identify you as an immediate family member of Gary Williams of West Covina?"

"Gary's my brother," the man said on the phone. "Fuck, I can't believe it."

When he had finished his endless expletives and made no other comments, Roger said, "We need someone to claim the body."

"Claim..." There was silence over there, and then came a sentence, "Fuck."

Roger waited patiently, then said, "I can give you the number of our medical examiner's office. You can call her at your convenience."

"No," the man said, "don't wait until it's convenient. Mom and Dad were fucking waiting for Gary to come home before Mom and Dad died, so at least I can watch him get buried next to them. I'll be there this afternoon."

"Thank you."

"Then, how did he die?"

That's the problem, isn't it? "We don't know yet, sir."

"Got it," said the man. "Listen, Inspector... what did you say your name was?"

Roger said it again.

"Inspector Corso, I really want to talk to you about this. Where are your offices?"

They agreed to meet in the afternoon.

***

That afternoon, another batch of medical reports was sent to Roger and Marianne's mailboxes.

"As far as they know, he has no disease," said Marianne, with a quick glance at the form, before handing it to Roger. "It looks like an 'unnatural death', as we guessed before. Also regarding your previous question, God Stick man, you're right, the victim was mummified but had severe bruises on his back and thighs. Broken ribs, but it can't be concluded that he died from internal injuries as there were no internal organs For examination. There is no sign of a blow to the head. The unfortunate man may have been conscious before his death."

Roger nodded, carefully marking the edges of the report.

"It's really hard to say because the brain is gone, but the skull is intact. It's like a magic trick. I really wonder how the criminals did it."

"Use a hook to poke it in through the nostrils, smash the brain, and then pull it out through the nostrils." Roger said, pointing to the text boxes on the report sheet to check bit by bit.

Marianne glanced at him. "Do I need to know why you know this?"

"I once had a friend who liked to study Egyptian culture in his spare time," Roger said.

Marianne was amused. "I knew it." She opened another page of the report card. "They took a soil sample, and our clever field survey technician guessed it right, from the Sahara Desert."

Roger raised his eyebrows when he heard the word "ghost and clever", but he continued: "I think the investigation report of the on-site investigation department on my family will have more clues. The missing persons report lists several related people. , I will pay a visit if I can find them."

"The first two were found. One died of AIDS in 1984," Marianne said. "The other one appears to be alive, but we haven't found him yet."

"And that brother," said Roger, "perhaps he remembers something about it."

"Excuse me," a voice sounded at this moment, "Are you Corso?"

About 30 years old, natural red hair.Creamy white skin and freckled arms that were slightly tanned, with dark blue eyes beneath a head of blond reddish hair that rose up in knots.The black eyebrows hung a little abruptly on the fair face.

"I'm."

The man holds out his hand. "I'm Sean Williams, Gary's younger brother." He sat down on the wooden chair beside Roger's desk, and said, "So, what do you say about Gary's murderer?"

***

"I was seven years old when Gary disappeared and I didn't know much about him. He was a much older, rebellious brother who always had trouble with his parents."

Roger nodded without changing his expression, writing neatly in the blank space of the report.

"This thing killed my parents." Sean said sadly, Roger stopped writing and looked up at the man sitting slumped in front of him: sad and intelligent dark blue eyes, embedded in a worried face.He has the habit of biting his nails.Sean could see the jagged fingertips as he tapped on Roger's desk.

"They must still have memorabilia," he gestured. "Photographs, medals...that might help. Or his friends, still in touch with your parents?"

Sean frowned, knitting together in confusion above those restless eyes. "I don't think they liked Gary's friends, but they did keep some stuff. After my dad passed away, I put everything in storage, and there were a few boxes with Gary's name on it." He shrugged, staring at his gnawed nails. "After he disappeared, there was nothing angry in the family. But the interesting thing is that my parents never talked about him."

Roger thought maybe Sean was less interested in the murder of his brother twenty-five years earlier than in his own childhood, consumed by silence, disaster, and grief.

"I need to see those boxes," said Roger.

"Okay." Sean looked around, his fingers began to tap the table again, and one leg moved uncomfortably.Roger tried to stop those anxious little movements, but he held back.

"Mr. Williams, your brother was buried in women's clothing. Has anyone ever said anything to you..."

Sean stared up at Roger in horror.

"We have no reason to believe your brother is a transvestite," Roger continued, "we're also just curious if he's been involved with BDSM groups in the past..."

"Wait, let me digest these situations." Sean's flickering eyes were like "mood ring①".He runs his pitted nails through his hair several times, looking bewildered. "You say Gary is... what? A transvestite?"

①An inexpensive ornament that changes color with temperature.

"I didn't say anything. I just told you we were looking at the possibility."

His dark eyebrows furrowed thoughtfully. "I think this can explain why he and his parents are at odds."

"I don't like hypotheses," said Roger, "but I'm very interested in what you put in those boxes."

"Inside the warehouse, north of Sima District," Sean said, "I'm fine this afternoon, do you want to go and have a look?"

Roger checked with Marianne, who was busy identifying the last relative of the deceased, so she waved impatiently.Marianne is the one, give her a database and a phone, and her life will be complete from now on.She doesn't want to be disturbed right now.

"Use my car," said Roger.

***

"Please don't fiddle with the trim," Roger said quietly as they turned onto the freeway.

Sean's hands froze instantly. "Sorry. It's been two years since I quit smoking, but I'm always looking for an alternative."

Roger always believed that self-control should not depend on anything outside, but he said nothing.

"When my dad died, I moved everything into storage and sold the house," Sean said, starting to run his fingers back and forth on one side of his temple, "and I never looked back. "

"Do you remember when your brother disappeared, the police came to investigate with your parents?" Roger asked.

"Remember." Sean said looking at the scenery outside the car window. "It was in the papers. Back in the day, you know, when a guy went missing, people didn't immediately think of, you know, a sex crime. They thought he might have committed something. But I I remember some of the questions they asked that made my mum really hard. They asked her about some 'weird man' or something, and she just started crying."

"Did you hear the conversation between the police and your parents?" Roger seemed inappropriate to say that.

"I eavesdropped on the stairs," Sean said. "No one paid any attention to my movements in those days."

The last sentence sounded extremely lonely, probably much more lonely than Sean himself felt. "They asked my parents if they noticed any strange men around, and my mother said, 'You think so?' and started crying. So naturally I wondered what they meant. Years later, I guess, I get the feeling they think it's the Topanga Canyon killer who got Gary." He turned his head. "Is that so? Was he one of those serial killers?"

②In the 60s, a series of horrific murders committed by a criminal group headed by the cult leader Charles Manson, several of which occurred in the Topanga Canyon near Los Angeles.

"We don't think your brother was buried in Topanga Canyon," Roger said.

"Don't think so? Why? Where did you find him?"

"Someone put the body where it could be found," Roger said.When they reached the warehouse district, Roger stopped the car.

"Who would do that?"

"That's a good question, Mr. Williams. Do you have the warehouse key? Or do we have to register at the office to get in?"

***

Sean has the key.He rummaged through his wallet and pulled out a mess.The plastic card holder he used to hold his driver's license had a little rainbow sticker on it, which Roger had noticed long ago.It was the equivalent of a big-ticket publicity of one's sexuality, and the cops and bartenders would surely see that Roger was wondering if Marianne had taken the time to search their systems for Sean's name.

"Come on." Sean pushed open the heavy door.Spiders, dust, and filth covered his face, and he coughed desperately, waving his arms.Roger pulled him aside.

"Jesus," Sean said, "it's fucking dirty."

The whole place was crammed from top to bottom and left to right, full of old furniture and boxes, leaving a trail to get down, thanks to the moving company.On the outermost box was a tattered and dusty list, dangling from a piece of yellowing tape.

"When was the last time you were here?" Roger asked.

"I, uh, came here once a few months ago. I wanted to get something out, but then I didn't think it was necessary..." Sean stood there with his arms folded, looking defensive, frowning Looking at the storage room, as if he was offended.

Roger put on forensic gloves and took off the sheet.There were several numbered boxes on site, but only two were packed by the moving company. "Please stay here and don't move," he said to Sean, and he went in.The ground underfoot was dusty, but there was a clear trace extending to the center.Roger looked around, frowning, then backed away. "You are the only one who has the key here?"

"As far as I know yes. Did you find the box?"

While dialing the police station, Roger said to Sean, "Maybe. We'll have a clue after the people from the Crime Scene Investigation Section come over and check carefully."

"What? What's the matter?"

"Someone else has been here."

***

From the way out of the police station, the startled Sean has been stimulating Roger's nerves, and now he is finally going back to work in the bar. "I can't believe you're taking my stuff." He went on and on.

"Once our technicians have taken the fingerprints, everything will be returned to you."

Sean bit his nails and muttered dissatisfiedly.He was paralyzed on the passenger seat of Roger's car, the seat belt was loosely stretched across his body, and it would not be able to protect him at all in the event of an accident.

"Mr. Williams, I am responsible for your safety when you sit in my car," Roger said when it became clear that Sean could not correct the mistake himself. Belt fastened?"

Sean rolled his eyes and looked at Roger like a dangerous psycho. "Okay," he said, and did. "How do you know someone went in?"

"The dust on the ground has obviously been wiped off recently," Roger said.

Sean's fingers began tapping the door handle in an annoying rhythm. "There's nothing of value in there. I'm keeping it because..." He said gruffly, frowning. "Once it's gone, they're just..."

When Sean said this casually, it added some poignancy.He stared out the window, his teeth clenched, his tapping fingers clenched into fists.

Roger will not pity anyone, he only shows sympathy when facing the victim and the victim's relatives out of humanity and respect.

But he felt that Sean was very pitiful and wanted to do something for him.For example, hold his shoulder tightly, or buy him a drink.

It wasn't until Sean finally disappeared in the temporary parking lot that he let go of his heart.

***

"Are you coming to my office tonight?" Marianne asked.Roger turned off the computer, leaned back in the chair and rubbed his eyelids.

"Go ahead. My house is still a mess."

"Let the sheriff issue a note and ask someone to clean it up for you."

Roger shook his head. He couldn't imagine a crowd of people crowded into his house. It felt like finding a nest of ants in a cupboard.

"Well, if you bring wine, I'll bring back pasta from Vitelli's."

"Thank you," said Roger, "and give me some minestrone soup."

"Ok."

He drove to Marianne's house, thinking about 1983 and what a young man in cross-dressing who might be involved in BDSM was doing in the Sahara in that year.