The moment I heard this revelation, and given my naive vulnerabilities, utter fear clutched my
throat, and my mouth went dry instantly. I turned on the faucet, cupped my hands, and sipped
water. When I doubled back, I had not stopped grappling to make sense of everything.

“Why does a dead body need a medical examiner when it’s already dead?”

“What are you implying?”

I substantiated, “Isn’t that why a doctor is there, to examine a patient that is still alive?”

“True, in the United States, a medical examiner is also a doctor whose expertise involves
interpreting what the dead tell him. For example, if they died naturally or under unusual or
suspicious circumstances.”

“The dead cannot speak,” I protested firmly.

“Yes, they communicate to the examiner, especially when there wasn’t an eyewitness around at
their time of death.”

I shook my head in total disagreement. “Tell me, did you forget to take your medication? Please
believe me; I won’t tell anyone.”

He just rolled his eyes for my benefit and went on, “The dead body can tell him how it died, by
suffocation, bleeding, poison, fall, a blow to the head, heart attack, natural causes, or
approximate time it passed away because each hour, the body temperature falls about 1.5
degrees Fahrenheit until it reaches room temperature.”

He carried on after a pregnant pause meant to confirm I didn’t raise doubts or have any
follow-up questions.

“If the victim is a female, it can tell him if she got raped before or after her death on the same
day or the day after. If the cuts or stab wounds to the body did not bleed, the corpse reveals
they were inflicted after the person died. By the way, it’s not just the body that can
speak—when he visits the crime scene, it can have telltale signs. For example, the pattern of the
blood spatter can indicate if the killer was angry, vindictive, or purely sadistic.”

“No way. How can he tell the emotional state of a killer just by looking around?”

“It’s because a spiteful ex-lover or jilted spouse is likely to continue stabbing or hitting the
corpse even when it is dead. A killer who came for revenge or was hired will likely kill with one
fatal shot and disappear. A sadistic or serial killer will likely make an art of his cuts and even
use the victim’s blood to make drawings.”

In jest, I chewed him out again. “It’s now official; you should either get your medication or get
your prescription adjusted to a stronger one because you are hallucinating.”

He gawked at me with a hard-edged stare. “No, I’m not. The dead can even tell him whether
they died sitting, standing, lying down, or were stabbed with the left or right hand when they
were still alive or already dead.”

I bobbed my head to humor him. “Yeah, right. I was born at night, but it wasn’t last night.”

He tuned out my sarcasm and carried on unperturbed, “From the distribution of blood, the
corpse can even tell him if it was moved after death. Since an adult’s body averages 4.5 to 5.5
liters of blood, its absence or presence can give him cues about where, how, and when it
happened. Depending on many factors such as the discoloration of the skin, surrounding
temperature, humidity, age, and gender of the body, the body can tell him how long it took for
rigor mortis, which begins in the face at 5-7 hours and then is established throughout the body,
extending to arms and legs at 8-12 hours. From there, once he dissects the body at the morgue,
he can also pinpoint the estimated time the victim was last alive by the contents in their
stomach.”

I cut him short. “In Africa, we don’t dare tinker or disturb the dead when they are finally
resting, completely freed from any concerns, pains, struggles, and anxieties they endured in this
cruel world. If anyone tinkers with the body, their disturbed spirit will haunt them till they die
and follow them to answer why.”

He countered curtly, “True, but you are not in Africa.”

Before I could contest that my African beliefs went with me anywhere in the world, he paid me
no attention and focused on what he had started to say before my interruption.

“Usually, the stomach empties its contents four to six hours after a meal. If the autopsy finds it
filled with food, and digestion is not complete, it is reasonable to assume death followed shortly
after the meal. If the stomach is empty, and the food has moved toward being turned into pulp
for excrement, the medical examiner can conclude that the death probably took place at least
four to six hours after the last meal. My dad used to say he could be blindfolded and taken into
a room with a rotting dead body, and he could close his eyes and examine all scents in the air,
and just from its smell, he could guesstimate how long it had been since it died.”

When I heard Lucas say that, there was a rising feeling of nausea in my stomach, but I remained
calm and played it off by asking, “How could he tell?”

“From reading some of his books, I learned that a dead body has six decomposition odors.
When I started to question just like you are doing, he said it is difficult for regular people to
understand because they don’t work with various dead bodies.”

It finally hit me. “Wait a minute, are you talking about a pathologist?”

“Yes, a Medical Examiner or Coroner. Sometimes, the calculating psycho will try to throw them
off by leaving misleading clues at the crime scene or even be daring enough to provide his
calling card.”

This perplexing revelation led me to contest speedily, “Why should he provide his calling card if
he is trying to do all he can to elude his capture?”

He disclosed, “A calling card in this episode refers to the precise manner in which he kills,
slashes, arranges, inscribes, stains, or disposes of his victims, also known as his signature.”
“What? He signs the body?”

“No, he may leave a specific item behind like a drawing or slash off a specific body part from the
victim, like a slice off the pinkie finger at the ankle, besmear, dress up, or undress the corpse,
folds the arms of his dead victim in a restful pose, put the deceased’s shoes on the wrong foot,
left shoe on the right and right shoe on left foot, leave a bite mark on a specific part of the body
or cover the body in a certain specific manner that the psycho is known for from other bodies he
had massacred just to taunt the frightened public, homicide investigator, and medical examiner.
He can even decide to give everyone more heebie-jeebies by inscribing the number 666 using
the victim’s blood as ink or paint on a brush. This number in America signifies the devil, the
antichrist, evil in general and is purportedly used to invoke Satan.”

“Really?” I questioned.

“Yes, really. If truth be told, the slayer could also be so cunning that he can mix up the tools of
his trade, weapons, methods, venues, and schemes to throw everyone off so that he can keep the
police guessing and the larger public on edge.”

“How come you say he is so cunning, and yet he is so dumb that he leaves behind physical
evidence that can lead the police straight to him?”

“That is the point. The hyperbolized maniac thinks he can taunt and outsmart anyone, even
when hiding in plain sight.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but he motioned me to hold my thoughts and carried on.
“That is why I can assure you any seemingly harmless gentleman you saw helping an old lady
cross the street may, in reality, be the one that preys on trusting new people like you.”

“What you have just said is so bizarre,” I finally countered.
“Why?”

“Because you have just contradicted yourself.”

“Where did I do that?”

“You just said this evil killer prays. Let’s be real. What kind of God will answer his prayers to
commit such a devilish rampage?”

“No, I mean prey like stalking you.”

Utter curiosity overwhelmed me, “How can he do that?”

He snapped his thumb and middle finger for emphasis, “Very easy. As you go by your usual
business, he will follow you to understand your daily patterns because most of us have our top
four spots we frequent. It can be the local library, restaurant, work, church, school, bar, gym,
gas station, corner store, public park, post office, friend’s house, or grocery store. At the end of
the surveillance, he shall have understood your daily patterns more than you.”

When I finally connected the dots, my shoulders sagged; I started to exhale slowly and heavily
to reign in my nerves, but he continued.

“From all the time the slayer had devoted to trailing you, he shall have visually measured you to
see if you can fit in his freezer in the basement or a grave he had already dug deep into the
woods. Factually speaking, you will be the perfect candidate.”

I got nervous real quick. “Why do you say that?”

“You are not fat that he might be forced to expend extra energy to load your corpse up for
transport. You are also a short man.”

This sensitive part of my physical makeup caused me to snap at him, “What has my height got
to do with anything?”

As if he expected my tense reaction, he drove his point home, “

“He doesn’t need to cut your limbs to fit you in a suitcase for transport. It also means he can fold
you up so easily and pack your body into a smaller freezer or bury you in a shallow grave that
he doesn’t have to spend too much time digging.”

My mouth fell agape, and no words could come out. Instead, I shook my head wordlessly as he
revealed what I couldn’t have considered.

“You are also an immigrant that is likely not to have relatives in America who will quickly
notice you are missing. The probability anyone will report your disappearance right away,
follow up with police progress reports, media mentions, post photos of your missing face all
over town and organize search groups is very low.”

For the first time, I felt so helpless in America, but that did not stop him from revealing more
bad news.

“Furthermore, being an African makes you an exotic breed from the mysterious jungle that he
will never have a second chance to encounter in his lifetime of fantasies. The prospect of your
capture will be like an African trophy hunting safari that will excite every nerve and vein in
him. He will probably start rubbing his tingling palms together as he comes for you.”

Although this revelation swiftly sipped deep into my inmost cognizance, Mama’s persistent
drilling resounded in my head.

Son, no one gets a second chance to make a first impression, no one!
Her counsel quickly emboldened me. “No way, just by looking at an individual for the first
minute, I can tell an evil person from a good person.”

His expression hardened. “When and if that day comes, just remember what you have just said
when he seals your mouth shut so that no one nearby can hear you screaming.”

I laid down my final stand, “I will scratch his eyes out.”

He rolled his eyes at my apparent cluelessness. “If you do that and he ends up killing you, he
will clip all your fingernails and scrap your fingers squeaky clean or dip them in corrosive acid.”
“Why do that?”

“It guarantees none of his DNA material underneath your nails could be extracted and
examined for traces of skin cells or a specific blood group that will point directly at him.”
“Point at him?”

“I mean, the evidence the crime scene analysts could find from the tiniest specimens is not
visible to the eye. They are the not-so-obvious substances left behind that got the killer caught
and convicted.”

I could not be rendered speechless, so I countered, “He can’t go that far because I would have
already read his body language and made a dash for it.”

He gave a mirthless cackle. “You don’t have the slightest clue, my friend. Psychopaths are social
chameleons, if not some of the charming and greatest deceivers. They can be smooth as butter.”
I frowned, looking dubious, and asked, “A social chameleon? I have never heard of that
reference.”

“I mean the loony who does not know what emotion is apart from the horror-struck face his
strapped victims make before he slices them. He can easily disguise himself as a shaggy
homeless person, a priest with a clerical collar, a doctor with a white coat, a cook in a chef’s
uniform, or a mechanic in oily coveralls. He can wear a fake grey beard and walk like a
non-threatening, limping old man in a secluded area or path. I’m simply putting to you that it
could be anyone you could ever think of or not even expect or suspect, including a police
vehicle with flashing lights stopping you at night in a deserted area.”

After taking a quick breather to let the revelation sink in, he advised, “That is why if you are
caught up in such a traffic stop, you are advised you turn on your emergency double flashers to
respond to the situation and drive to a place that is better lit or has many people around. If that
is impossible, call 911, inform the dispatcher of the situation, and wait for them to confirm it’s a
real police officer before you stop.” I was shaking my head speechlessly when he went on, “Be
aware, when the sicko stops to help or trick you, he doesn’t say, ‘Hello, I’m a serial killer. Let’s
go to the bush so that I can talk shit and slice you piece by piece as you plead and bleed slowly
to your death and then get my rocks off.”

He lost me, and I asked, “You mean he has already piled rocks on top of his victim?”
My informer giggled at a thought in his head and refuted, “Not that kind. I mean, the kind the
maniac shoots off after the sound of you gurgling on your own blood in a death rattle turns him
on.”

Given that in the village, when any of us lost a fistfight, and as a final stand, we were likely to
start picking and hurling rocks at the conqueror from a safe distance, I sought to understand
clearly.

“So, he shoots you with rocks when you are just about to die?”

He blurted frustratingly, “Jesus Christ, who brought you to America? That is not what I mean!”
“I understand English clearly, but I cannot decipher any meaning from your ceaseless and
unnecessary application of American colloquialism.”

He realized he had gone off the rails and tapped my shoulder softly. “Sorry, what I mean to say
is that some psychopaths are known to synchronize their come to coincide right at the exact
time your heart stops beating.”

My eyes flickered bluntly, “Come from where? I thought he was already there with his victim.”
Lucas detected I was struggling to derive a conclusion with this critical information I needed to
know. This hunch induced him to take his time to explain all the gory and X-rated details of
coming and getting rocks off. By the time he gauged my understanding, the devilish reality had
left me in a state of shock I hadn’t anticipated.