Random Victim by Michael A. Black

of death as a broken neck?”
    “Yes,” Sprinklien said, his voice trailing along absently.
    “Compression fracture of the third cervical vertebra…collapsed trachea…no water in the lungs…postmortem
     fractures to both legs…apparently to fit her into the specific container, what did you say it was? A trunk?”
    “Right.”
    Sprinklien grunted. He was a short man, and moved with a sidle, like some old-time comedian. “No sign of any other bruises,
     impossible to tell if she’d been sexually molested, and no semen was found.” He pursed his lips and gave the file back to
     Leal. “Now, unless you have some specific questions, we are a little behind today, and I do have plans for dinner tonight.”
    Dinner? Leal thought. Great appetizers around here. He shot a quick look at Hart, who was still silent.
    “Is there anything specific you could tell me about the way Miriam Walker died, Doctor?” Leal said. “We’re trying to play
     catch-up on this one and we’re under a lot of pressure.”
    Sprinklien went over to the body of the baby. Leroy had already split the torso open down the front, and was using a saw to
     open the skull. The doctor murmured an approval and stepped back over to the black man’s corpse. Then his face wrinkled and
     he stepped over to another body, that of an older white female.
    “This one’s not as heavy to move,” he said, wrapping his gloved fingers around the skull and lifting the head upward. “A compression
     fracture of the C-three, that’s right here.” His fingers touched an area just below the hairline. “I would venture to say
     that the damage most probably occurred as a result of the head being forced forward at the same time as the front of the neck
     was being compressed. That would account for the trauma to the trachea.”
    “Sort of like a sleeper hold in wrestling?” Leal asked.
    Sprinklien waddled over to the table with the baby on it. Leroy had the top of the skull off now and had started a gentle
     flow of water over the steel surface to wash away residual fluids and tissues.
    “Hulk Hogan once demonstrated a sleeper hold on a talk-show host,” Sprinklien said. “This was in the old glory days of professional
     wrestling, before Goldberg, the Rock, and McMahon. I would say that type of hold may very well have been used to break the
     victim’s neck.”
    “I didn’t know you were a WWE fan, Doc,” Leroy said.
    “Oh, yes,” Sprinklien said. “Never miss it, if I can help it. Great athletes, especially the women.” He grabbed the mask and
     began to pull it up over his face, but stopped. “Officer, I would very much like to continue our conversation, but I doubt
     that I could add anything more than what is already in the file. Unless you have specifics you wish me to speculate on?”
    “Just one, Doctor,” Leal said. “How difficult is it to break someone’s neck like that?”
    Sprinklien canted his head slightly and frowned. The tip of his tongue rolled over his lips, and he said, “I suspect it would
     take a fairly powerful individual. A masculine assailant, most likely.” He paused and smiled at Hart. “Unless, of course it
     was a female with remarkable physique, like your partner’s here. Young lady, have you ever thought of donating your body to
     science?”
    Leal cracked a smile, and glanced at Hart in time to see her blush. She compressed her lips, but said nothing.
    Sprinklien laughed as he pulled his mask up all the way. Leroy stepped away from the baby on the cart, the front of his scrubs
     wet with water and blood.
    “Don’t mind us, ma’am,” he said. “We got our own way of dealing with things here.”
    Hart looked away.
    Welcome to the morgue, Leal thought as he thanked the doctor and began heading for the door.
    The putrid smell seemed to linger on them even after they got outside into the sunshine. Leal unlocked his door, reached in
     and hit the unlocking button, and slipped off his sports jacket. Hart leaned over