Four years earlier
In 2011, four hundred and thirty six people died in the United States that were unable to be identified. Most of these John or Jane Does just need time in order to be identified through various means. Sometimes months or years pass before a name can be put to the remains. But, still there are cases left unsolved on file with the National Unidentified Persons System. In the rare event that one of these unidentified souls has valuable personal property with them at the time of their death. The belongings are documented and held by the local law enforcement for a minimum of seven years, or until the closest next of kin can be found and take possession of the property. Should the remains ever fail to be identified after this period, the case becomes inactive and the property is sold at auction.
This would have been the case with a particular bronze coin, had not a series of seemingly random events kept it out of the hands of the proper authorities.
Grass Valley's coroner was out on another call the morning that John Doe was hit and killed at the intersection of Mill Street and McCourtney Road. The highway patrolman did a cursory search of the body, finding nothing to assist in the identification of the transient. His shopping cart, full of camping equipment and recyclables, also yielded nothing for his report. Figuring that the county coroner would take at least two hours to clear his current call and return to town, Carter followed one of the unofficial policies of the rural communities he worked. Calling to dispatch, he requested the local funeral home send a removal van over so as to get the body, a victim of a hit-and-run, off the street so that he could finish his paperwork and begin the search for the white sedan that was described by his three young witnesses.
What a rough thing for them to see, the stone-faced Carter thought as he finished photographing the scene. He had two young boys himself, and hoped they would never see something similar to what was described to him by the witnesses.
The body was under a yellow sheet and the children had left on their bikes when the dull gold cargo van arrived from Fellowship of Saints Funeral Home. Jasper Grant, one of the morticians at the home, got the call and brought the van over, very familiar with the procedure.
"How you doing, Sir?" Jasper said to the tan uniformed patrolman who was scribbling on a clipboard next to the body.
Jasper was of average height; dark skinned with dark freckles across his cheeks, and wore a cheap light-brown suit. He had a closet full of cheap, well-worn suits he wore for work.
Jasper had gotten past the point of pulling on a jumpsuit for every removal. Instead, he removed his jacket and pulled on a pair of lime green medical gloves before going to work. He opened the back of the van and took the thin metal gurney out, walking it over to curb next to the body.
"Not too bad," the highway patrolman answered the friendly greeting. "You have any body bags? I don't have any in my trunk," he said without giving an excuse for the lack of the item.
"Oh, I don't have any with me," Jasper said, "its okay though, I'll just belt him down onto the stretcher and they can put him in one at the morgue. What happened to this fella anyways?"
Jasper uncovered the body without hesitation or apprehension. He had been doing the job long enough that nothing made his stomach turn. He dropped the black cushioned gurney next to the departed man and undid the straps, ready to receive the cargo.
"Sounds like someone was not paying attention, hit this guy, and took off. What's worse, it was right in front of three kids on their bikes. Apparently, when they came over, he wasn't quite gone."
"Oh, that's just terrible!" Jasper said sincerely. "Hey, give me a hand moving him, would'ya?"
The cop nodded, and assisted the mortician, visibly not happy about having to be in close contact with the foul smelling bum. Once the unidentified man was placed on the gurney, he was belted in and raised to rolling height.
Jasper worked the contraption into the compartment in the back of his van and slapped the doors closed.
"Straight over to the corner's office?" Jasper said, letting the officer know he was ready to leave.
"That would be ideal," the patrolman said. He tore off a piece of carbon copy paper and handed it to Jasper. "I appreciate you helping me out on this one."
"Oh, not a problem, Sir." Jasper replied, then added, "But should you ever pull me over for going a tad too fast, I'll be sure to remind you!" He chuckled at his joke as he got into the van for the short ride over to the county coroners office.
The subdued van with red cursive letters pulled away from the scene of the accident and drove up McCourtney, taking a sweeping onramp to return to the highway. Jasper didn't hear the soft clunk of an item falling out of the deceased man's rags over the wind rushing through the open windows of the van on that warm summer morning.
The van pulled back into the chip-and-sealed parking spot behind the funeral home an hour later. Jasper got out, put his suit coat back on and started to walk inside when he remembered the body bag. "You ought to throw a couple extras in the back incase ya need them like last time," he muttered aloud.
The delivery to the morgue went as usual. He had been in and out of the building countless times in the twelve years he had been in the business. A few times he had even stood in on a full autopsy, which would be happening with his last client. He knew the coroner would be running several sets of prints, and possible even taking a DNA sample since the homeless man had no identification on him. He retrieved two spare black bags, wrapped in plastic packaging, from the storage closet in the back of the parlor. Jasper carried them out to his work van.
The call from the Highway Patrol for assistance was not a typical event of the day, but it did happen on occasion. The owner of the Fellowship of Saints had a policy to be of assistance with all the law enforcement entities in the area. The owner thought this extra service was good publicity. Jasper didn't mind; as long as his checks cleared each week, he could care less what kind of community work his boss had him do.
Jasper moved unceremoniously, opening the back of his van to place the spare bags inside. He spotted something out of place in the back compartment that bodies were placed for transport, a medallion on a chain lay on the floor.
The aging mortician set the spare bags on the gurney pad and squinted as he reached in, scooping up the loose item. Bringing it out into the light and holding the piece by the thin chain. Jasper held the coin away and examined it. The coin was like no other he had seen before, and he had seen plenty in his time going through other people’s pockets and houses while on removals. But this time, he had neglected to search the man he has just brought to the morgue, under the assumption it had already been done.
"Must' a fallen out on the ride over," he muttered to himself. It was a pretty item: A large coin with a woman's profile on the front and an hourglass on the back. The coin was kept totally intact. No holes, but rather a golden hoop encircling its edge and attached to the long chain. An interesting piece of jewelry, he thought. But not quite something a man would wear.
It was more of a pendant a woman would show off, an old way of keeping a family heirloom, maybe. Jasper could just picture an elderly lady wearing such a thing... An old lady, or a young girl.
Returning such an item was the next question. As a rule, he didn't rob the dead. That being said, he had taken a pair of shoes from a dead guy once. The shoes were in good shape, his size, and were just going to be thrown out by the family after the funeral. No one missed them, so it was the same as saving them from the trash. With the case of this medallion, Jasper Grant's judgment fell on the line.
The departed was unidentified, and clearly not deeply cared for. Who was to say he didn't steal such a thing. No one would miss it and no one would even know it was gone. He didn't think there would be much value to the piece, as the coin was clearly not made of a precious metal. In fact, returning it to the coroner to disappear into the depths of some police property room for years and years would be a shame when he knew just who would get a kick out of such a
thing.
He had a young niece who lived in San Francisco that would love a gift from her uncle. Jasper's sister was a single mother working three jobs and often struggled to raise her daughter. Several times the girl had come up to the mountains to spend a week with her bachelor uncle, always impressed with how rich she thought he was. The coin would be just the thing to brighten her day.
Jasper dropped the trinket into his pocket. His mind was made up. No one would even miss the thing!