Sabato, 22 Maggio, 2004 | Posted by Detective Stevens at 13:21

I often look at a dead body and try to figure out the life that it lived. In my line of work, teh dead bodies I mainly look at have been murdered. I look at a body like that, one who has had life taken away, suddenly stopped and I wonder what could have been.

Does any one really care?

Will anyone care when they see me on the slab? I look at the Coroner's assistants delving into parts of the body, looking for reasons, looking for anomalies in a life that has led the body to this place. For anyone who has never stepped foot into a mortuary the first thing you notice is the cleanliness. The next thing is the smell which attacks your nostrils with a verve that demands attention.

The assistants go about their work like butchers. To them the body is nothing more than a piece of meat held together by a structure of bones. Life has long left the scene by the time they start their work. A life has disappeared. In my case, I often look on a life that will be remembered by very few.

There will be some tears shed, but they will soon dry up and memories will soon fade.

The ones that frighten me are the ones that often leave scars behind. They still exist in that shadowy time between sleep and wakefulness. They inhabit our memories with a frightening reality that resonates day after day after day. I often see it in the eyes of the ones left behind. You can feel it in their hands as they shake yours. If I have the chance to see them years later, I can still see that scar. It's now ingrained. It has developed into a physical representation. You see it in a twitch or a mannerism. It just never leaves you.

I see it now.