To his credit, Slidell asked no questions.
I locked Birdie in the bedroom then returned to the kitchen. Slidell was at the door in less than twenty minutes. He looked anxious, concerned.
I let him in and showed him what I’d placed on the counter.
“It was on my doorstep this morning.” Sounding much calmer than I felt. “I may have caught a glimpse of an intruder around two thirty A.M.”
“Did you open it?”
I nodded. Raised my gloved hands.
“What is it?”
Without answering, I removed the lid and stepped aside.
Slidell bellied up to the counter and peered into the box.
“What the fuck?”
Slidell looked away, then quickly back. After a few seconds his brows drew together. “That what I think it is?”
“A tongue.”
“Human?” His tone told me he knew the answer.
“Yes. Note the papillae.”
“The little bumps that look like nipples.”
“Yes.”
Slidell ran a hand over his jaw. “Cut looks pretty clean.”
“Yes. Though there are abrasions and lacerations probably caused by scraping against the dentition.”
“Marks tell you anything?”
“I see curvature. Multiple arcs, so multiple attempts to cut through the flesh. I’m guessing small handheld pruning sheers with curved blades.”
Slidell straightened and took a deep breath.
“Vic alive when this happened?”
“Staining on the box suggests significant hemorrhage.”
Slidell raised both brows.
“Once the heart stops pumping blood to the vessels, bleeding stops.” Greatly oversimplified, but sufficient for Slidell.
“You piss anyone off lately? I mean, more than usual.” Slidell was coming back into character.
I shrugged. Who knows? “Do you think it’s a threat? A warning?”
Slidell pulled out his mobile and punched some keys.
“Get CSS over here.” He provided my address, then frowned at the information he was given. “As quick as you can, then.”
Jamming the phone on his belt, he looked at me glumly. “What makes you think this is a threat and not just a windup?”
“Come into the study.”
He did, head swiveling left and right.
I booted my laptop and opened the e-mail from
[email protected].
“When did this land?”
“A few days ago.”
“And you didn’t mention it because . . . ?” There it was. That annoying paternalistic edge.
“I didn’t see it until yesterday.”
I told him what had happened in the wee hours of the morning. Maybe happened.
“It might have been nothing.”
“Or it might have been the asshole delivering your door prize. I’m putting eyes on this place.”
“Is surveillance really necessary?”
“Yeah,” Slidell snapped. “It’s really necessary. In the meantime, don’t touch the box. Or the door. Or the mat. Or the stoop.”
“I know how CSS works.” Snippy. But Slidell’s attitude was tripping that switch.
“Whoever did this was either angry or nuts. Which door you want, doc?”
“How about we go talk to Creach?”
Skinny gave me one of his Dirty Harry looks.
“Look, I have to submit a statement.” I gestured at the box. “I might as well do it at headquarters.”
Slidell pooched out his lips, then sighed.
“I talk to Creach.” Jabbing at his phone. “You listen.”
WHEN I FIRST STARTED WORKING for the MCME, the Charlotte Police Department had not yet merged with its Mecklenburg County counterpart. CPD headquarters was an unremarkable beige building at the corner of Fourth and McDowell.
Today the CMPD is located in a four-story Dixie neoclassic at the intersection of East Trade and Davidson. Ten minutes after leaving my town house, Slidell and I were walking through the doors. After presenting ID, we rode an elevator to the second floor. He led me past a row of interrogation rooms to one marked A.
“Creach is in C.” Slidell popped the door. “You watch from here.”
The small cubicle held the usual table and chairs, AV setup, and wall phone. As I sat, the small screen came to life in grainy black-and-white. Metallic sounds sputtered through the speakers.
CC Creach sat on a metal and gray plastic chair similar to the one I occupied, elbows on the table, chin resting on his fists. His long dark hair was pulled into a braid bound by elastic bands spaced inches apart.
I heard a door open. Creach’s head jerked up and spun toward the sound.
Footsteps, then Slidell came into view. Creach followed his progress, lower arms upright like long skinny poles, eyes wide and skittish.
Slidell tossed a file onto the table. It landed with a sharp click.