In the Woods

Deep, dark, but not impenetrable...

That’s where he was, dead in the woods. It had been a while. Hiker found him. So Sid was here with Earl and the big question.

Not how he died, that was pretty clear. There was a big hole on the left side of his desiccated skull. This was visible because his dead and decomposed body had flopped over on his right side. Sid suspected there would be a small entry wound there on the right side. And maybe a handgun that would put this all to rest. But here he was crumpled over, on his right side. Kinda odd if he shot himself from that side. The gun usually shoots out to the right with the recoil and the body crumples to the left with the impact.

Nobody had moved him. Or had they? Sides matter in this business.

Not even the bears? Sid asked Earl.

He chuckled in his down-home way. They want huckleberries this time of year. I seen they’re thick coming up. No sign of bears here.

It was way out in the east county. Sid had asked the directions from dispatch. Up this road, then up that one. No service out here, so Sid had just looked for the tracks in the soft late spring dirt and followed.

So where is his rig?

Earl got serious, like this was a good question. We’re looking.

Who the hell is he?

Here Earl looked back at Sid squarely and smiled. You’re gonna help us figure that out. They always wait for the coroner before they move the body. Sid figured this must be part of their training, though he didn’t really know.

So you got no ID, no missing persons?

No ID, we haven’t moved him. We waited for you. We got tons of missing persons. We called you for this help.

You got your pictures?

Yeah.

Then let’s roll him.

Fresh dead bodies roll and the rigor tells you something about the time of death. Sid and Earl both knew this would be a flop, not a roll. This guy was long gone. Sid figured months. Probably back in the fall. This dead body had wintered over.

Sid held the shoulders and Earl moved the knees, but their timing was off and the guy flopped poorly. Sid could hear vertebra crunching.

They both stood up and admired their effort. You were late. You didn’t call the time.

This side of him just showed Sid what he expected, the small right temporal wound opposite the big left sided gaping exit wound. Sid scanned the ground as he expected Earl did. No handgun, no method for a gunshot suicide. So somebody took him up here to shoot him? This would be a new one for Sid. Rural Paradise had its mysteries. Maybe this would be one.

They could now access his hip pockets. The clothes clung around the dried out and decomposed body. Maybe the clothes held him together now.

Earl went for it. He had the blue rubber gloves on. He dove down the back pants pockets where us old guys always keep our wallets. He got nothing.

He dropped to his knees and searched the front pants pockets. He rooted into the shirt pockets.

There’s nothing here Doc.

So, he shot himself, or somebody shot him.

Yeah.

No gun.

Yeah.

And he doesn’t have any ID. And no car close we can trace.

Earl nodded. Not looking good.

And we can’t do a facial because he’s long dead, no face left. Jesus. Sid looked at Earl. How the hell am I supposed to help you on this?

Earl grinned. We got him turned over.

Sid decided to walk away. Sid liked Earl, but this was just shit. Walk away.

For no reason Sid headed off to the east. The duff and branches on the ground were still soft from the spring rain. Ther were even some small piles of snow in the deep shade. Sid just went out there a bit. Look down. Take a breath. What is this job he was supposed to do?

The county paid him $500 a month. He was a goddam physician. He was supposed to make $500 an hour. Jesus.

Sid stopped because it dropped off. Don’t go down what you don’t want to go back up. He looked down there. It was dark. Like maybe elk or deer or wolves hid down there. It was a deep dark hole between the ridges of this eastern timbered remote county.

He could not hear water. Maybe there was a stream, but he couldn’t hear it. He didn’t want to go down there.

So he sat down on the duff.

What to fucking do? A dead guy, shot in the head, no gun, no car, no ID. And Sid getting $500 a month to be a smart guy and figure this out? Fuck them.

He laid back, about to scream that previous silent fuck you, but he didn’t. He just laid back.

He’d done this a lot firefighting. Laid down on the duff to take a break. But then it was the work, the chopping, the digging, the walking, climbing that tired you out. Sid had fought fires in the summer to earn money for going to medical school. His colleagues borrowed. Sid did too. But maybe less. But the $500 a month from the county to do this coroner work just didn’t seem to be enough. Like when he felt drained, exhausted on a fire, he laid back on the duff and looked up at the underside of the trees. Back then he thought about the time and three quarters of overtime and hazard pay and felt like he was getting rich. Sid didn’t think he was getting rich on this slope. He just let it go. The money shit can be such a burden.

It’s just what you do. Sid felt tired.

The trunks stretched up.

The lower branches were gone; the trees sought the sun. It was an empty space down below the canopy. These were second growth trees, now maybe fifty years old, logged back in the day. They looked to be doing fine, growing well.

And he was down on the ground, the duff, below. He thought how the fire would come up this slope, where it would burn, connect, but this wet country didn’t often burn. These images just faded. Sid was tired.

It must have been a minute or two of laying back when Sid saw the bungee cord. Black and dangling. Don’t see that every day. He walked over to where it hung, up beyond his reach, hooked on a branch.

Sid looked back to the dead guy, back where Earl was, doing what detectives do. Sid walked the line. There, laying on the duff, very out of place, was a wadded-up mess of surgical tubing.

Sid went back up to Earl. This guy shot himself and the gun he used is down there somewhere. Sid pointed along the line from the dead body to the bungee cord. He tied the gun to surgical tubing so it would shoot off and not be found. That’s why he was on his right side. The cord pulled the gun away and rolled him toward it. This is a suicide. You need to sort through those missing person files.

Sid showed Earl the stuff, the bungee and the surgical tubing, then he went home.

Sid was happy this call had been on a weekend. He couldn’t have afforded to miss his time in the clinic, but he had missed the time with his family. As he drove west in his rusty Hilux the sun was lowering and he had to put his hand up to see the road. He knew, he would be home soon.

A week or two later Earl showed up in the clinic. Sid went out to talk with him. We found the guy. From California. Missing person report. Had some debt issues. His wife wasn’t surprised. His car was over in Moose Creek. Hell, he walked 15 miles to do this.

Sid looked down at the industrial carpet of the waiting room. This poor guy shed his ID, his car keys, walked fifteen miles and tried to hide his suicide. What was he thinking?

They sat there quietly for a while.

Was there some insurance? Life insurance don’t pay on suicide.

I guess we’ll never know, Doc. Could have been just the shame. We’ll never know. He’s gone.

Sid thought about that; being gone. Then he came back.

Thanks Earl. Did you guys find the gun?

Yeah, right where you pointed. Down about twenty yards from the bungee. 9mm Glock. Registered to him.

Sid sat down next to Earl. Jesus.

Yeah.

You got guys out looking for his wallet and ID in the barrow pits?

Earl gave a half laugh.

Earl looked at Sid. We figured it out. That’s our job.

Sid smiled. Thanks Earl.

Cause of Death: Gun Shot to the Head

Manner of Death: Suicide