Abacus

if the smell was a result of the decomposition of the head, or the smell from the mud as they churned it up. Either way it was putrid. He took another deep breath to consider the source. It wasn’t the usual smell of perishing human flesh, it was more earthy and pungent. As they sank deeper in the mud the smell got progressively worse. He was now sure the agitated mud was the source. “Jeez, Brian, you gotta watch what you eat,” he joked.
    Bria n laughed. “Not me, mate. I’m good, but I am not that good.” At a point about two metres from the bag, they could clearly see the drag marks from the water’s edge to where the bag lay in the mud.
    A set of human footprints which accompanied the paw prints, were very, very small. “It sure does look like someone found the bag before our witnesses did,” he said, pointing to the impressions.
    Brian popped his head up from behind the camera to take a look. “Looks that way , Rando,” he said, removing a tape measure from his pocket.
    Randall watched him take measurements of the impressions with the tape. His hand trembled. Looks like he’s still hitting the bottle a fair bit, he thought. Randall knew he was a heavy drinker. Over time, the constant exposure to gruesome crime scenes had taken their toll. His shaky hands proved that things had not changed. “How’s your health, mate? You been keeping well?” he asked, trying not to pry.
    “Yeah good , mate, all good, but we’re all getting older, you get the odd niggle here and there, but why complain.”
    Randall patted his mate on the shoulder, he wanted to say more, but it wasn’t what blokes did. Instead he opted for a joke. “You’re not looking too bad for an old bloke.”
    “I wish I could say the same,” Brian said, retracting the tape measure and stuffing it into his pocket.
    A loud car horn blared from the road bridge. Randall looked up to see that a number of press photographers taking photographs from the bridge, interfering with the traffic flow. “Bloody cowboys.”
    T he black backpack was half opened with a corner of the sheet on top as the sergeant had earlier described. Randall took a set of gloves from his overalls’ pocket and squeezed his hands inside as Brian photographed.
    “I’ll pull the sheet back for you,” he offered, uncovering the top section of a pale human head. The head had reddish-brown hair with a very short number three shaved haircut. It had pale white skin and brown eyes, which were wide open. The skin appeared to be in the early stages of decomposition with the fragile flesh starting to separate from the skull. Above the right eye was a neat hole, consistent with a bullet wound. There was light pinkish fluid draining from the hole, which trickled down the bridge of its nose via the eyebrow.
    “I’m pretty happy with what we have go t here, are you?” Brian asked.
    “Yeah, we’ll get this bag up and hav e a better look.” Randall heaved up the deceivingly heavy bag, which was stuck in the mud. “My word, this thing is heavy,” he said, struggling to balance. As they worked their way back to the bank, Randall could feel the sodden bag and contents had made him sink deeper into the bog. Eventually, the extra weight caused the mud to spill over his boots, and into his socks. “Fuck me!” he yelled, forgetting about the large press contingent.
    “What happened , Rando?”
    “Nothing , keep going, it’s too late now.” Reaching the grass bank, Randall dropped the bag, sat on the grass and kicked the muddied boots off. “Will you look at this,” he said, angrily pulling his socks off and throwing them on the bank. “I’ve got that smelly crap between my toes now.” Leanne and Brian looked at each other and did not hide their amusement. “Jeez, this bloke must have been an A grade uni student, cause there’s some weight in that head, I tell you,” he said, using a rubber glove to clean between his toes. He looked at the car park and bridge, and saw there was now a huge media contingency on the move with many scattered all around the perimeter of the river, trying to get the best vantage point for a photo opportunity. That would be right . I wear my best shirt and tie and they film me sitting down cleaning shit from between my toes with a rubber glove . “Brian, we are going to have to look at this more closely in private back at the morgue,” he said, pulling his shoes on without socks. “Leanne, could you arrange the funeral contractors with an