"His name was George Morales, 35, no criminal record, worked as an accountant at a small law firm in Bloomington." When he finished reading from the file, Officer Steig placed the manila envelope into Father Tony Bionel's steady hands, "It's a shame, actually. Guy had two kids." Somewhere behind them, the steaming pile of flesh that had once been George Morales shifted as the snow beneath his body melted. The slight movement of the body created an audible crunch and Tony watched a shiver run up Steig's spine. He sometimes forgot that not everyone was as jaded as he was.
"He's dead, Mike," Tony chuckled as he pulled on his rubber gloves, "He won't bite you." Perching himself on a small rock near Morales' right foot, Tony began a preliminary examination of the body's resting place. He let his eyes roam across melted flesh, the rotting meat and frozen white bones sticking up from a oozing red pile. It was an ugly mess but hardly the worst mess he'd ever seen. There were thousands of ways for a man to die and many of them were still uglier then this.