“You quit Banks? The biggest case of your career. You throw in the towel?” Claiborne, Detective Banks’ new partner asked. He was new to homicide transferred in from narcotics to help on the case.
Detective Banks didn’t answer, just grunted and continued loading personal items into the cardboard box. Reclined in his seat and propping his feet up on the desk. Claiborne scowled at Banks. Claiborne continued.
“I guess they don’t make em like they used to. My old man used to go on and on about you guys in the Homicide Unit. Said you walked on water, chewed lead, and shit bullets…. yeah some real tough shits he said you were.”
Detective Banks eyed the young cocky detective thought to respond but kept quiet. Possessions clutched underneath his arm. He looked around the room for the last time. He headed towards the door.
“Got a delivery for you, Banks.” A patrolman said holding a midsized box wrapped in a brown paper bag and duct tape.
“Give it to the kid. I’m done with this whole stinking mess.” Banks replied walking passed the patrolman holding the box making his way to the exit. The patrolman shrugged his shoulders placing the box on Claiborne’s desk. Feet back on the floor and removing a switch blade from his belt, opened the knife, and cut the box.
“You sure you don’t want in on this Banks?” Claiborne asked lifting the flaps from the top of the box. Banks paused without looking back then grabbed the handle to the door.
“Banks!” Claiborne yelled.
“I told you kid I am done.”
“Get over here Banks!” Claiborne stated staring into the box mouth agape. Several other officers stood around staring in shock into the box. Banks swallowed hard, turning and walking back to Claiborne’s desk. Banks dropped his box on the floor, looked to Claiborne. Seeing the shock in the young man’s face Banks hesitated before looking into the box. Banks took a step back as flies, gnats, and the foul stench escaped the box.
“What is it?” The patrolman who delivered the box asked.
“Not sure.” Claiborne said reaching into his desk drawer to remove a pair of plastic gloves. After putting on the gloves, he then removed a blood-stained note taped to the inside of the box and read the chicken scratch writing aloud.
“IT IS A POVERTY THAT TO DECIDE THAT A CHILD MUST DIE SO THAT YOU MAY LIVE AS YOU WISH.”
“It’s not a head this time. This message is deeper than what he usually sends.” Claiborne stated still trying to figure out what was inside the box. “What the hell is it Banks?”
“You are correct it is not a head. And these are not his words.”
“How you figure?”
“I’ve heard them before at an anti-abortion rally. It’s a quote from Mother Theresa of Calcutta.”
“Holy shit!” Claiborne stepped back holding his mouth. “Is that what I think it is?”
Banks picked up the box and peered into it. “I would need the Medical Examiner to verify it but I’m pretty sure it’s a woman’s uterus.” Banks’ stomach became queasy. Not at the sight of the female organ he’d seen worst. Banks’ was sick to his stomach knowing deep down inside he was the one responsible for the uterus in the box.