There you go, that discoloration tells it all. You see how it’s all along his back? He was in a supine position meaning, he was prone before. This man didn’t die facing the ground otherwise his front would look like his back. He was placed here, in other words he was moved.” He didn’t know that because he was a policía, he was familiar with bodies. Disposing of them wasn’t limited to this job.
“You go to school for corpses or something?”
“No, Investigadora Garcia, joined straight out of la prepa.” She could hear a hint of irritability; like many young men before him, they were bothered to report and take commands from a woman.
“Kid, go back to the Municipal we can take it from here.”
“We got any ID?” Sol wouldn’t let him become a no one too.
Maru shrugged. “Fuck if I know. Come here, give me a hand.” He landed with a slushed thud on the ground, any sort of humanity absent from the folds of his pudgy skin. Sol came to a crouch, bending forward to get a good look—where the man’s eyes should have been sat two scooped out holes, darkness sinking into Sol’s fuzzy vision. No matter how many dead bodies she encountered, every single one was different. Death had a habit of surprising.
“I need to get better at stomaching the fucking smells.” Maru ripped off her glove and tossed it aside, reeling away from the corpse. The policía raised his eyebrows and let his eyes wander to Sol before he shuffled off. She saw his rage wrapped around his ankles and wrists, shackling him to an irreversible past. His vulnerable memories became hers, and she replayed the death of his brother in a ViewMaster, the reels looping quicker than time, her body as dizzy as it was when she first rode a tilt-a-whirl.
“Why would someone dump him here, outside of a pharmacy?” Yelled Maru, raising her voice above the honking cars, careful to keep her distance.
“Revenge. Anger. They wanted to humiliate him.” Sol wondered what could have lead the killer to take the eyes this time. There was a string of murders tracing back to March, each body appearing at a different hour, day, and location. Bodies showed up as much as three weeks apart from one another but never without eyes. Doña Julia’s voice pulled her back to a time she was nine and stole a mazapan (how she loved that nut, sugar infused, powdery candy) from the paleteria she owned. Sol, afraid to admit as quickly as she had stolen wolfed it down, couldn’t help but to cry. The tears stained her cheeks, getting caught on her curly lashes. Doña Julia, in the calmest of tones had already forgiven her for the childish crime. Los ojos son las ventana del alma, she said sweetly. His family would never look into his eyes for comfort.
Maru’s voice slurped her back into the now. “Just me or was that policía too young?”
“You know how it is Maru.”
“Claro, tienes razon.”
“You should ask your Dad to fix that.” Sol teased, half-serious.
“Solly you know that old man’s just waiting to croak,” Maru stifled a laugh. “but you know what I should do? Walk my ass over to the office of el Primer Superintendente and give him a mamada so he stops hiring tweens.”
“Maru!”
“Just cus’ you don’t like it doesn’t mean I don’t.”
“Eres tan vulgar Marusita,” Sol’s laughter bubbled to the top of her throat, swimming out in a howl. “what would your Father say?”
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