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“Dr. Lindstrom,” I said when he didn’t turn around.
No response.
Noticing an Air Pod in each of Lindstrom’s ears, I circled to enter his field of vision.
My sudden appearance seemed to startle him. Laying down his scalpel, he pulled two tissues from a box and used them to remove the earbuds. An unidentifiable tune sputtered from each.
“Yes?”
“I’m Dr. Temperance Brennan,” I said, in a not particularly friendly voice. “I’ve been calling about the scope?”
Lindstrom looked as confused as he was wide. Though roughly my height, an adult hippo had nothing on him in weight.
“Scope?” Lindstrom’s brows, blond and wiry, arced high above the upper border of his surgical mask.
“The microscope. I’m working cold case homicides and have specimens I need to examine under magnification.”
Placing his earbuds on the counter, Lindstrom unhooked a loop and let the mask drop below his mouth. Which was smiling broadly.
“There’s a scope right here.” Jabbing a chubby thumb at the item in question. “What’s the problem?”
I explained the problem.
“Well of course you can use the microscope. I usually take case samples with me and prepare slides in my lab in Miami. Who did you speak with?”
“Della Pratt.”
“Oh, my. I’m afraid Ms. Pratt tends to be overly protective of my interests.” Lindstrom’s cheeks flamed pink. “Truth is, the woman is a bit sweet on me.”
Hardly the hostile reception for which I’d prepared.
“Thank you,” I said, not sheepish, but markedly less bristly.
“Of course. I apologize for the misunderstanding.” Another sunny grin. The man excelled at it. “This has turned out to be an extremelyhectic rotation for me. These boaters.” Extending an arm toward the man lying open on the table. “Ms. Musgrove. A lady driving into the sea near Cockburn Town.”
“A suicide?” Having no real interest but wanting to compensate for my initial hostility.
“Tough one. The deceased left no note and had no history of depression. But I’m told there may have been trouble on the home front. It’s one for the cops to sort out.” Then a not-so-subtle hint. “I’m hoping to complete this last autopsy today so I can fly north tomorrow.”
“I won’t take up any more of your time. I’ve brought bones I’d like X-rayed. Perhaps you can direct me to radiology?”
He did. Then, “May I ask? Are your cold cases the ones that troubled Ms. Musgrove?”
“Yes.”
“Dear, dear Ms. Musgrove. Such a terrible loss. And these poor souls.” Again indicating the poor soul he was about to eviscerate.
“Are you finding anything to explain what happened on that boat?”
“Not a thing.”
To get those X-rays taken, a phone call had to be made to the Grace Bay station. An explanation provided. Authorization given.
Once my request was granted, paperwork had to be filled out. Then, my “patients” being dead and therefore low priority, I had to wait.
All in all, the process took more than two hours. A delay that did nothing to improve my disposition.
Though I had the copies of the films on a thumb drive, I wanted to view them in a larger format, on a hospital system monitor. Not feeling the love in radiology, I returned to the autopsy room.
