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I consider that and nod. “Alright. Anything else?”
“Yes. I’d like a pay raise on your one-month anniversary. That’s long enough for you to settle in and see me work, and it just so happens to be when this cute new pair of boots will be going on sale. I’ve had my eye on them for ages.” She smirks and crunches on her candy. “I’ve been here a few years already, but Chant didn’t like spending money on her staff.” She points a finger to the ceiling. “She preferred glitters. So I left it alone, since I don’t need a lot of money and I like my job.”
“But you also like the boots?” I ask. “Are you below industry standard on pay?”
I could switch my computer on and do my own research, seeing as I run this team, but I don’t have to, as Aubree’s head bobbles on her neck.
“Way below. In fact, most of your team is being underpaid. So if you want a happy life, maybe you could consider rectifying that.”
I open my mouth to speak, but Aubree cuts in first.
“I know about budget restrictions, Doctor Mayet, and I know you can’t pull cash out of your ass. But when you get down to the nitty-gritty of the job and start thinking about how to spend your budget, I thought it best you know where your team stands.”
“Well…” I nod. “Noted. Can you tell me where the bathrooms are yet?”
“Nuh uh.” She shakes her head. “Way too soon. Can I call you Minka yet?”
“Way too soon.”
Her chest and shoulders bounce with soft laughter. “Coolio. Let’s go for a walk so I can show you around.”
“Swing by each case so I can get a feel for what we have in the building?”
“Of course.”
As I push up to stand and move around my desk, Aubree leans back over it and snags another sucker from the packet I left behind. Straightening, she presents the plastic-wrapped candy and lifts both brows until I take it between my fingers. “Join me and get high on sugar, Doctor Mayet. Life is better when we have this kind of white powder.”
“Not at all appropriate for work. But alright.”
I ditch my outside coat and hang it on the rack by the door, then I swap it out for my new white lab coat with the George Stanley insignia sewn above my heart. Shrugging it on, I slide my hands and my sucker into the pockets. “Let’s go.”
“Rock and roll.”
She leaves her mutilated sucker stick between her lips and drops her hands as we make our way through a labyrinth of shiny white floors and glass walls.
There’s no privacy in this building. No secrets to be had—a good thing, really. It keeps everyone accountable and everything clean and tidy.
“Staff kitchen is over this way.” Aubree’s tone takes on a drone that says she’s given this tour more than once. “Get your coffee here. Toss your lunch into the communal fridge, if you’re so inclined to share that space with the tuna-obsessed Catlin. Doctor Jennifer Catlin,” she adds when I look her way. “She’s getting on in age. Sixty-three years old and married. Though I’m not sure she and her husband have spent more than a minute in the same room for a few decades.” She lowers her voice. “It’s merely habit now.”
“You make a habit of gossiping, Doctor Emeri?”
“Only giving you a lay of the land,” she counters with a twitching smile. “Beyond that, I do my work and drool over boots and bags displayed in fancy windows. Also, Doctor Catlin microwaves her tuna, so I’m telling you now…” She scrunches her nose and pushes forward until we leave the kitchen and move into another hall. “Don’t open that microwave unless you’re a freak and get off on disgusting smells. Our autopsy rooms are numbered,” she stops in front of one labeledAutopsy Room Seven. “Each has a plaque on the door so you know where you’re going. We also include the number on the files we write up for each case that comes through. Staff tend to pick a favorite and stick to it, but you can assign any tech to any body in any room. That’s your superpower, since you’re the boss.”
“Yay for superpowers.” I nod toward the man bent over the table inside Autopsy Room Seven. “Who’s that?”
“James Kirk.” She smiles around her sucker stick. “Not related to theStar Trekfandom. This is his second year on staff. Pretty solid guy, smart, but he keeps his textbooks close for reference. He’s latched onto Doctor Kernicke for mentorship.”
“And Kernicke?”
“Decent enough. Works his hours and not a moment more. Takes his breaks, uses his vacation time, and is one of the higher-paid techs you have in house. Kernicke brown-nosed his way into Chant’s good books a few years back, so whenever she was feeling generous and had nothing new to buy herself, he was usually first in line for a little extra cash.” She turns and leads me away from Seven as she assures me, “He’s not overpaid or anything.”
“But he’s not underpaid either?” I guess.
“Right. He’s a solid union man, does the work and goes home. In theory, that sounds good and all, but in my experience, the dead need a little more commitment from us when the going gets tough. Not to be tucked away in a fridge for the night because the clock ticked over to five.”
She leads me past an empty lab labeledSix. “I respect a healthy work/life balance, Doctor Mayet. And overworked techs lead to mistakes. I get that. But we also have a duty to our patients, and if you’re only an hour away from solving your mystery, but you go home, putting your body on ice and evidence at risk, then that’s not doing the job. That’s phoning it in and doing the bare minimum. Here.” She stops at Autopsy Room Three and nods toward a slightly overweight woman. “Doctor Flynn and our supposed suicide.”
“Looks like she’s closing the girl up.”
