They were twisted all right… twisted and gnarled, like an old tree trunk and in repose he saw a kind of beauty. Those had been the hands of a child trustingly ensconced in the workman’s hand of her father, and over the years of her life they had tenderly wiped away the tears of others, her parents, husband and children. They had been clenched in anger, fear, anticipation and they had waved to friends and family in happy times and sad. In all her life they had served her well but now in death they would point, he hoped to her attacker. He closed the drawer then the door of the mortuary with sadness. Why had those hands been severed?