Tuesday Tales: From the word BROWN

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. We have another word prompt this week. There aren’t too many different ways to use the word BROWN. It can be a surname, it can describe the way one sears meat,but most often it’s used as a color, which is how I used it.

I’m continuing with The White Dahlia, Book Four of the Harvester Files.

Beth Reynolds indicated the body and the woman beside it.

“This is Dr. Michele Smith, one of the city’s new coroners who’s been getting more business from this side of town than anyone likes. Show him what we have, Mitch.”

The coroner stood, shoved her brown hair off her face, and moved out of the way, giving him his first clear look at the body.

“Mother of God, what the hell happened to her?”

No wonder Reynolds and the rookie had lost it. He was just about ready to join them. He’d seen floaters pulled out of the Hudson in better shape and less pungent than this one.

Naked, the white girl, an anomaly in this primarily black neighborhood, lay on her back, her eye sockets empty. Beneath the blistering corpse was a pale blue sheet like those he’d seen used in hospitals. No doubt she’d been wrapped in it. Her long blond hair was matted with blood, but given the gaping hole where her internal organs should’ve been and the relatively small amount of blood present, he doubted she’d been killed here.

“She’s been gutted like a fish and then frozen. I can’t tell you for how long yet,” Mitch began. “Whoever did this meant to toss the poor thing into the dumpster now that he no longer needed her, but something stopped him from doing so. The accelerated decomposition is thanks to Mother Nature’s quick thaw method. We’re losing evidence by the second. The sooner I get her back to the morgue, the better.”

Shit!

Without evidence, they would never catch the bastard who’d done this. Al swallowed. Thank God he wasn’t the one looking for it. Why anyone would choose to be a coroner was beyond him. This wasn’t going to be an easy autopsy, not with her insides missing.

Al turned back to the sergeant. She’d resumed her earlier position against the wall. The sooner they both got this wrapped up, the better. Heat or no heat, people living around here wouldn’t be opening their windows for days. There wasn’t enough air freshener in the world to cover this up. Sweat slipped down his back, adding to his discomfort as his own funky odor mixed with the fetid air. He would need a dozen showers to feel clean again.

“What makes you think she’s one of mine?”

That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.