Goats from Lambs

Chapter 3

Jerry Taber burst into Rashida and Travis's office with the energy of a teenage boy who had just found his first chest hair. Slamming the door behind him, he exclaimed, "You guys better be into Sci-Fi, cause this is some mind-blowing shit!"

Jerry was a young, but accomplished Scientist who had quickly found a home in forensics. He had graduated not only top of his class, but three years ahead of what was intended as an eight-year program, walking away with degrees in biochemistry, criminal psychology, forensic pathology, biophysics and, just for fun, a minor in film studies.

While Jerry's work showed maturity beyond his years, his casual nature offered a perfect contrast. To say he was vibrantly eccentric would be as much of an understatement as the lab coat he wore over his faded jeans and 'Suspiria' t-shirt.

As Jerry remained standing in the middle of the room as he held up a folder containing the post-mortem analysis on Terrance Michaels, "I have tried every single kind of test I'm allowed to get my hands on and, nothing. I've even tried a couple of tests that I'm not necessarily supposed to 'know about' or have 'clearance' on and still, nothing. We have literally tried everything and I still have no discernable cause of death for this guy."

Rashida looked up from her desk, "What are you talking about? He didn't have a head."

Jerry tilted his head to the side as he explained, "Sure, a lot of shit happened that could have killed him, but fuck me if I can figure out the sequence of events. This dude- sorry- 'Mr. Michaels', seemingly died in a simultaneous multitude of ways that forensic science has never even considered as a possibility. When it comes to root cause of death," Jerry leaned on Rashida's desk as he handed her the file, "this guy's a fucking Rock Star."

Travis interjected from across the room, "What about the post-mortem analysis? Any kind of poison or chemical used?"

Jerry shrugged as he shook his head, "Nothing."

Travis let out a frustrated sigh, "This guy looked like he was made of plaster! How is that normal?"

Jerry put a finger up in the air to stop Travis, "I never said 'normal'. I said 'nothing'. As in, I can't give you the post-mortem analysis because I can barely even test the victim's remains."

Rashida and Travis exchanged an increasingly frustrated look in silence.

Jerry smiled as he got up from the chair and moved towards the office windows that looked into the bullpen of the precinct, "See, I thought you guys might have trouble wrapping your head around it, so I've prepared a little demonstration."

Jerry then quickly closed the blinds to the office before producing a petri dish from his pocket and placing it on Travis' desk.

Travis leaned back in his chair, "That better not be what I think it is."

Flicking his hand dismissively at Travis, Jerry responded, "I know, I know. I shouldn't take samples out of the lab, but trust me... you going to want to see this."

Rashida got up from her desk and came over to watch Jerry's demonstration. Slowly, Jerry removed the lid from the petri dish, placing it to the side. He then grabbed the mug of coffee out of Travis' hand before Travis could even consider protesting it.

Jerry's excited eyes danced back and forth between Rashida and Travis, as he explained, "When preforming a post-mortem analysis, we usually test things like the blood, fluid from the eyes, bile, basically whatever fluids remain in the body. This victim, however, had no fluids left whatsoever."

Rashida turned towards Jerry, "So someone bled him dry?"

Jerry nodded in half-agreement, "Bled him, sweat him, tapped his spinal fluid, even drained his joints, they got everything. This guy had literally nothing left in him that resembled fluid of any kind. Hence..." Jerry mimed his head blowing up before adding, "...just to clarify, that meant 'mind-blown', not that his head blew up from the pressure of his brain fluid vaporizing... that's just a theory some of the guys had."