Flight of a Boat Tail

When a child pricks its finger, then places the finger in its mouth and sucks, it learns early on in life that blood has a distinctive taste. Not long ago I learned another lesson concerning blood; if there’s enough of it splashed around, and if the weather is hot, it also gives off a smell, a sugary sweetness that clings to the inside of the nostrils and imprints the memory with its scent. It never was my ambition to become a cop. Of all the occupations available at the time for me to choose from, law enforcement was not even a consideration. But like most things in life, well-laid plans, and unforeseen circumstances can often clash. I did become a cop, a role I was never comfortable with, a role that made me feel as though I were playacting every time I put on my uniform. From day one I lived with the constant fear of something serious happening and finding myself in over my head. That fear was realized early on the morning of July 8, 2009. Staggered by the spectacle lying there at my feet, unprepared for the scope of the tragedy I had stepped into, I just stood there, paralyzed by the message my eyes were attempting to pass on to my brain. But it was the smell of the blood more than the sight of it that unhinged me, that nauseating aroma rising up from the congealing pool that had formed around her remains. Such a contradiction it was to the surroundings where it all took place; on the shore of a beautiful lake, its surface flat and shimmering like a mirror in the morning sun, seagulls floating effortless overhead, tall trees bordering the shoreline like sentries guarding a treasure. The sights and sounds of everyday life filling the air. Off in the distance I could hear the laughter and shrieks of children at play, the hum of a lawnmower, the tap, tap, tap of someone hammering on God-only-knows-what. Odd, I thought, that this level of wickedness could take place in the midst of such a vast backdrop of tranquility. I never really knew the woman, only to say hello, but I was very familiar with the reputation she had earned for herself. Her indiscretions were open for the world to examine. Everyone knew of her self-destructive lifestyle, so what had changed? What invisible line had she crossed that led to such a brutal ending?