It was a hick town, and the morgue was rarely used, excepting the occasional old timer passing away. Today was the first time in months that she actually had to break out the autopsy table and her tools of the trade.

Sara pulled the sheet back and stared down at the corpse. A hiker had found him in a wooded area a few miles south that morning, wearing nothing but a pair of briefs and the plastic zipties keeping his hands and feet pinned behind his back.

No ID card was found, no reports of missing boys in the local area. A complete John Doe. She gently brushed a loose lock of dirty blonde hair out of his empty blue eyes.
Scissors in hand, Sara cut the zipties and carefully unfolded the limbs out. Wrists and ankles were heavily bruised, the poor lad probably struggled for hours in them.

His skin was pale, almost blueish grey under the pale light of the morgue. It was immediately obvious how the kid had died. Two neat little holes in his bare chest, ringed by gunpowder residue. She measured the wounds. A 9mm or .38, with both shots placed on the left upper quadrant, below his breast.

Sara photographed every inch of his body. Her keen eyes noting each little scratch, bruise, and stain on the boy's skin. Someone had taken the time to carve a pair of numbers into his back with a knife, the cuts still crusted with dried blood.

His face stared up at the ceiling, eyes wide open, lips parched and parted. Sara felt a pang of pity. His face was round, innocent looking. A look of fear frozen on such a young face, never again to smile or frown or laugh.

She put those feelings away and resumed her work.

With a tug, she pulled the briefs down. Her eyes widened.

The penis and testicles had been excised, very precisely. She quickly took more photos, focusing in on the cut marks. Very steady hand at work. Perhaps with past experience.
Sara shuddered and hoped for the boy's sake it had been done post mortem. Perhaps a form of trophy taking?

Sara rolled the body over on its side.

The gunshot wounds were a little larger, a result of being the exit vectors for the bullets. An acrid scent. A smear of feces crusted around the anus. The boy had voided himself, maybe right after death. Relaxing of sphincter muscles, etc.

She put the camera down, and reached for her scalpel.