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“Still?”
“Did your investigators find fresh water on the boat?”
“I’ll have to ask them. Why?”
I hesitated. Reluctant. Recalling a similar case from Montreal years back.
“My impression is that these people died from lack of nourishment.”
“They starved to death?”
“Or died of dehydration.”
Musgrove curled her fingers in a “give me more” gesture.
“A person can survive weeks without access to food.”
“Seriously? Weeks?”
“The body breaks down tissue and stored fat, releasing fuel that allows the organs to continue to function. But there’s no way to replace fluids.”
“Meaning?”
“Water is critical. Most people can survive only two to four days without drinking.”
“Didn’t Gandhi go three weeks without food?”
“Perfect example. Gandhi stopped eating but allowed himself sips of water.”
Musgrove studied the final body lying on its gurney.
“Do you recall the case of Nancy Cruzan?” I asked.
Musgrove shook her head without raising her eyes to me.
“She was at the center of a famous Supreme Court decision. Long story short, Cruzan was in a persistent vegetative state for many years until she died twelve days after sustenance was discontinued. Since that time, there have been many other reports on terminated feeding in PVS patients. Death typically occurs after ten to fourteen days.”
“You think that’s what happened here?”
“I’m only speculating. Lindstrom will determine cause of death when he does the autopsies.”
Musgrove’s mobile buzzed. Sliding the device from under her gown, she glanced at the screen. Clicked on.
“Musgrove.”
A buzzy voice sounded. I could make out no words.
“Hold on.” Musgrove was also having difficulty hearing. “You’re breaking up.”
Tipping her head to indicate that she’d take the call in the hall, she elbowed open the door, phone to one ear, free finger pressed to the other.
I looked at Bernadin. He gave me a smile, toothy and yellow as a New York taxi.
“I be wit’ you again shortly,” he said.
“Thanks. I’m fine by myself.”
Bernadin withdrew, grinning the whole way out.
