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10
THE AUTOPSY ROOM WAS
much like Sylvia’s office minus all warmth and feminine touches. Everything was stainless steel and neatly arranged. Two personal workstations with built-in desks were situated on one side of the room, and two stainless-steel examination tables with drainage holes, water tubs with hoses, a small dissection table, organ scale and trays of surgical instruments were situated on the other. The four had stopped at the locker room and donned scrubs, gloves and masks before entering. They looked like extras in a low-budget bioterrorism flick.
Michelle whispered to King as Sylvia walked ahead to speak with Kyle.
“I can see why you two dated. You both have the super mutant neatness gene. Don’t worry; I hear they’re working on a cure.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” King whispered back through his mask. “I’m never going over to the dark side.”
“I’ll show you Jane Doe first,” said Sylvia, coming back to them.
A large stainless-steel door opened, and as Kyle emerged pushing a gurney with a sheet covering the dead woman, threads of chilly air escaped from the refrigerated room.
Michelle started shivering uncontrollably.
“You okay?” King asked.
“Of course I am,” she shot back through chattering teeth. “You?”
“I was a premed student briefly before I went into law. And I worked at the morgue in Richmond over a summer. I’ve seen lots of bodies.”
“Premed?”
“I thought it would help me pick up girls. I know, I know, but I was young and stupid.”
Kyle left. Before Sylvia pulled back the sheet, she looked at Williams, and her expression was now more kindly. “Chief, just do what I told you the first time, and you’ll be fine. You’ve already seen the worst of it. No more surprises, I promise.”
He nodded, hitched up his pants and appeared to be holding his breath and praying for a natural disaster so he could get the hell out of there.
She pulled back the sheet and they all looked down.
The Y-incision running from chest to pubis made the body appear to have been unzipped. Jane Doe’s organs had been removed, weighed and analyzed, and then the block of organs, muscle and tissue had been unceremoniously bagged and dumped back in the body cavity. The incision that had opened the skull was not readily apparent from their viewing angle, though the face drooped, like a doll whose supporting stitches had given way.
“The intermastoid incision is always an eye-opener,” commented King dryly.
“I’m impressed, Sean,” said Sylvia, staring at him.
Williams looked like he wanted to strangle King if he could only find the strength.
The smell of the body was very intense in the small room. Michelle started to cover her mouth and nose even though they were masked. Sylvia quickly stopped her.
“This room is very dirty, Michelle; germs everywhere, so don’t touch your face with your hands. And trying to stop the smell that way only makes it worse. With malodors like this your senses will go dead in about two minutes. Just keep breathing.” She glanced at Williams, who, to his credit, was taking large, rapid breaths and had one hand pushed against his belly as though trying to keep the contents in there right where they were. “At the crime scene your deputies kept running away to get fresh air and then coming back. The only thing they were doing was giving their sense of smell an opportunity to return.”
“I know,” said Williams between wheezes. “Puked all over their damn uniforms. We blew our whole laundry budget for the month.” The police chief turned slightly green yet bravely stood his ground.
Michelle felt herself taking quick, jerky breaths. As Sylvia had said, her sense of smell was beginning to vanish. She looked down at the body once more.
“I don’t see any obvious wounds. Was it strangulation?” she asked.
Sylvia shook her head. “I checked that first. I used a laser on the neck to look for ligature marks after none appeared evident under normal light. I thought there might be some hemorrhage into the muscles of the neck, but I didn’t find any. And the hyoid bone and the thyroid and cricoid cartilages weren’t fractured. They sometimes are in strangulation cases.” She looked down at Jane Doe. “We did the sexual assault workup. It came back negative. Whoever killed her didn’t rape or sexually violate her. Because of the usual order of an autopsy, I didn’t discover the cause of death until near the end; up to that point it was a puzzler.” She glanced sharply at Williams. “Todd, you’d already left by then.”
Williams stared helplessly back at her. “Damn it, Doc, I’m trying here, okay? Cut me some slack.”
“Don’t keep us in suspense, Sylvia. How did she die?” exclaimed King. “And in stupid-people language if you can manage it.”
Sylvia picked up a long metal rod and levered open Jane Doe’s mouth.
