Abacus

thirty years old with a three-day growth.
    Randall looked to the neck area. It appeared that the head had been hacked off, there didn’t appear to be consistent neat cuts. The flesh in the neck area was jagged and minced with veins and sinews hanging out at varying lengths.
    “Definitely not the nice clean cuts you would expect from a sharp blade or knife,” Leanne commented.
    Randall could see the skin on the face was starting to rapidly decompose since being taken from the water, with pieces of the flesh loosening around the cheekbones and forehead. “Jeez, he is starting to fall apart pretty quick.”
    Leanne gently held both sides of the head and rolled it back and forth as she studied it for other injury. “No other wound, that’s puzzling. I would have expected an exit wound at the back here at t he very least,” she said, examining the rear of the skull.
    She rolled the head back to its former position; the wide-opened eyes once again looked skyward. “Probably a small calibre weapon. I’d say the slug is still rattling around inside. Just give it a little shake, Leanne, we might hear it,” Brian joked.
    After the preliminary study of the head was finished, they directed their attention to the wrapping and the b ackpack itself. Brian put his camera down on its case, returned, and picked up the sheet. Unravelling it, he looked carefully for clues. Perhaps a strand of hair that was different to that on the head, any printing in the corner of the sheet to identify its origin, anything. “I can’t see the sheet will be much help. I very much doubt any trace DNA from the offender would still be on the sheet after it was submerged. I’ll take a few swabs of the blood and random spots anyway and see how we go. I might also take a few small pieces of the bloodied material.”
    Brian gathered up the sh eet and put it next to the head as Randall picked up the backpack and placed it in front of Leanne. “I hope we find something,” she said, fidgeting with the zippers.
    Pulling the backpack open and with the assistance of the strong down lighting she peered inside. “Nothing,” she said, unable to hide her disappointment. She turned the backpack inside out to allow Brian to check the inside surfaces of the bag and take some photos. After his examination, she turned it back out. “Now the front pocket,” she said, unzipping the only pocket on the backpack. “Nothing in here either,” she said, still studying it. “Hang on, maybe in that corner there might be something.”
    Leanne held the pocket open , allowing Randall to look inside with a torch. He looked at the seam at the base of the pocket and saw what appeared to be a small ball of soggy paper pushed into a corner. Using her fingers, Leanne carefully pushed the seam to one side and coaxed the ball of paper out, still intact. Once out of the pocket and under the bright light, Randall could see there was ink running through it. “I think there may be writing on this. Brian, can you grab a shot before I unfold it?” she asked.
    Brian took a number of photos of the small ball of paper and the pocket from which it came. Leanne put the waterlogged ball on the stainless table. As she unravelled it, numbers written in blue ink could be seen. They had run to a point where they were almost indecipherable. “Oh four one four,” she whispered as Randall scribbled. Unravelling the paper further, she squinted. “Five, three, maybe another three… nine. It’s obviously a mobile phone with that prefix, but we don’t have the last two. Did you get them down, boss?”
    “I got them ,” he said, pushing his pen back into his shirt pocket.
    “ I’ll take it back to the lab see if there are any impressions in the paper for the last two digits. Don’t hold your breath, though, the water pretty much ruins everything.” Brian meticulously lifted the small piece of paper with tweezers and dropped it into a resealable plastic jar. “I’ll have a good look at this when I get back to the lab and let you know if I get anywhere.”
    Moments later , the trio were joined by the doctor assigned to conduct the post mortem, Doctor Fulcher. “Good afternoon, Doctor,” Brian greeted. The very serious doctor pulled on his long rubber gloves and flicked them sealed.
    “ Hi, all. Should be relatively straightforward, not much to work with here,” he said deadpan. The Doctor looked at the head and began recording his findings on a hand-held recorder. After looking