The Fury - Jason Pinter [9]
can I put this simply... paraphernalia. Pipes, needles.
You name the drug, it looked like Gaines was on it."
I took a deep breath, said, "How old is...was he?"
"Turned thirty a month ago," Makhoulian said. Four
years older than me, I thought. Still a young man.
"He's cleaned up the best we could, but..." Binks
said, his voice trailing off. He knew from the look on
my face that this was best done quickly, with minimal
cushioning. "Anyway, here he is."
Binks leaned over the body, took two folds of cloth
between his hands and gently pulled the cover back until
it stopped just below the corpse's neck. From there I
could see the victim's head. Or at least what was left of
it.
Stephen Gaines was lying on the table faceup. A half
dollar-size hole was blown out of his forehead. I could
see the man's skull and brain, both shredded from the
bullet's impact. His eyes were closed, thankfully.
When that cover came down, I felt like everything
in my body dried up. My insides felt like a black hole,
my heart, lungs, my blood, all of it drained away.
"That's him," I said. "The man I saw on the street."
"This is your brother?" Binks said, eyes raised,
curious more than sympathetic.
"According to the detective here," I said.
Binks nodded, his mouth still open, as though ex
pecting me to relate just how this felt. The truth was I
wasn't sure yet. I'd seen enough corpses, visited enough
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Jason Pinter
morgues to have been able to distance myself for the
most part from the realities of death. A reporter could
go crazy letting each individual horror pile up upon
their psyche. Like a doctor, you couldn't think of blood
as blood, but more a by-product of your work.
"Where'd you say he was found?" I asked.
"Apartment near Tompkins Square Park," the detec
tive said. "Odd place for someone with your brother's
seemingly...limited means to be these days. Twenty
years ago, maybe. But now? That's the heart of Stuy
Town. All young families and old folks."
I nodded, trying unsuccessfully to process this while
staring at the body.
"That's the exit wound we're looking at," Binks said.
"The bullet entered just below the back of the right
parietal bone and exited through the forehead with a
slightly upward trajectory."
Makhoulian took over. "The first entrance wound,
combined with what we know about Mr. Gaines,
suggests that his killer was right-handed and slightly
shorter than him."
I listened to this. "Wait," I said, looking at Makhou
lian. "You said 'first' entrance wound."
Makhoulian eyed Binks. Then he turned back to me.
Binks said, "There was a second entrance wound. It
went right through the occipital bone in the back of
Gaines's skull. That bullet was still lodged in his head
when Gaines was brought here."
"I thought you said he was shot point-blank," I said.
"How can you shoot someone in the head twice from
point-blank range?"
"Only the first wound was delivered from close
The Fury
33
range," Binks said, his voice growing softer. His fingers
traced the path of a bullet as he showed where the first
bullet entered Gaines's skull. "The second was delivered
from about four feet away. From a downward trajec
tory."
Binks raised his arm with his forefinger and thumb
cocked like a gun. He pointed it at the floor to demon
strate the likely scenario. He continued, "There were no
muzzle burn or gases expelled from the second shot.
Despite the brain matter, the wound itself is oddly
clean."
"What does that mean?" I said.
"Well," Binks said, scratching his nose with a gloved
hand. "The impact and the trauma suggest the initial
shot was fired from very close range. The brain matter
and impact site..."
"Impact what?" I said.
"It's where the bullet impacts after exiting the body,"
Makhoulian said. "In this case, ballistics found the first
bullet in the wall about six feet off the ground. But they
didn't find the bullet itself."
"So the killer took it," I said.
Makhoulian nodded.
Binks continued. "The entry wound is nearly devoid
of gases or burn marks. Considering