The Dying Breath (6 page)
Authors: Alane Ferguson
“Well, I see you’ve got your fan club ready to defend you, Miss Mahoney.” Dr. Moore drew in woolly brows. “But I still have a few things to say.”
Everyone in the room seemed to draw a collective breath. Moore, seemingly unaware, carefully set down a scalpel so that it lined up perfectly along the edge of the counter. “Here’s my problem: I do not want to unzip a body bag to find the remains of the assistant to the coroner tucked inside. Since I am, in essence, mentoring you, I expect you to show a modicum of intellect. O’Neil is a psychopath with a fixation on you. What you did was foolish in the extreme.”
“That’s enough, Doctor.” Patrick Mahoney peeled the tape back and tugged off his mask. He was tall, with white hair as thick as a pelt and skin seamed by a lifetime in the mountains. Ever since she’d been small, Cameryn had learned how to read him. When upset he seemed to swell with emotion, and by the current size of him Cameryn could tell he didn’t like Moore dressing her down. “I appreciate what you’re saying, but Cameryn is
my
daughter. Mine, not yours. And we’ve handled it between us.”
my
daughter. Mine, not yours. And we’ve handled it between us.”
Moore’s eyes snapped from Patrick to Cameryn. The conversation was unspoken now, just between the two of them. “Are we clear, Miss Mahoney?”
“Yes,” she answered softly.
“Good. Now come closer. You see this man?” Obedient, Cameryn walked toward the hollowed body. She could almost taste the blood, yet there was no smell of decay. Even though her fingers weren’t gloved she touched his skin. It was cool. From the softness of the arm she guessed he hadn’t been dead long. Once again her mind began to whir as she took in the details of what remained—the puzzle pieces were there, just waiting to be assembled.
“Whatever killed him most likely took his friend there as well.” Moore jerked his head toward a second autopsy table. Cameryn glanced at the other body. Wrapped in a sheet, the body was shaped like a man’s. His feet made steeples beneath the thin cotton.
“The two vics died just minutes apart,” Moore said, redirecting Cameryn to the body that had been opened. “Look there, Miss Mahoney. Tell me what you see.”
As she leaned closer, the daughter-girlfriend part of her personality melted away, and in its place rose a scientific passion that drove her to understand the intricacies of the body splayed open beneath her.
Beginning at his feet, Cameryn studied the corpse. The decedent was a slender white man with muscled arms and a tattoo of a dragon snaking up one calf, its fangs bright yellow with eyes the color of garnets. A cloth had been placed discreetly over his groin. Because his scalp had been pulled free and folded beneath his chin, the features of his face had been rendered blank; his skull had been opened and emptied. Cameryn briefly wondered if this man had been famous in life. If he had been, it no longer mattered. There was nothing left to suggest either fame or ignominy. All humans, she knew, were reduced by death to their parts. She stared into the empty space and saw the white knots of his spine gleaming like pearls.
“Well?”
“I’d like to take a look at the organs.”
“Very good,” Moore said, looking pleased. “That is where the real question lies. To be specific, I’d like you to examine this man’s lungs. Here,” he said. From a bloodstained towel Dr. Moore plucked a piece of tissue, sliced opened like the pages of a book. “What do you see?”
Whatever disappointment he’d felt toward her for breaking into Leather Ed’s had seemingly vanished. In its place was an eagerness, as though the two of them were playing a game where only they understood the rules. “You see what I see? I found it in every lobe.”
Fascinated, Cameryn bent so that she was only inches away. The tissue glistened with a coating of clear gel that shimmered like ice. Dr. Moore scraped the viscous matter and rubbed it between his gloved fingers.
“Is this a dry drowning?” she asked.
Again, the smile. “You’re on the right track, Miss Mahoney, but no. Dry drowning is caused by the body’s delayed reaction to inhaling too much water. But this”—he rubbed his fingers together again—“is not mucus. What you are looking at is a foreign material of unknown origin. The man drowned, yes, but whatever
this
is”—he pulled his fingers apart, the gel forming a thin, tenuous thread—“caused him to drown while sitting in a Durango restaurant. I’ve never seen anything like it and we have only a short window of time to figure this out before the vultures, and by that I mean the media, swoop in.”
this
is”—he pulled his fingers apart, the gel forming a thin, tenuous thread—“caused him to drown while sitting in a Durango restaurant. I’ve never seen anything like it and we have only a short window of time to figure this out before the vultures, and by that I mean the media, swoop in.”
“The media?” Cameryn echoed.
“Yes. They’re going to accuse me of being a hick pathologist out of my league. I want to be prepared with answers before they do.”
Cameryn’s heart skipped a beat as she once again looked at the dragon tattoo snaking up the decedent’s leg. A memory flashed through her, followed by a sick understanding. “Dr. Moore, who is this man?”
“The lung tissue you’re examining belongs to Brent Safer.” He gave a cursery nod. “Yes,
the
Brent Safer. The other man is Joseph Stein, world-renowned producer. One of the biggest stars of our time just died in our little town. And when that story breaks . . .” Dr. Moore shut his eyes. He paused, but when he opened them, he looked only at Cameryn. “God help us all.”
the
Brent Safer. The other man is Joseph Stein, world-renowned producer. One of the biggest stars of our time just died in our little town. And when that story breaks . . .” Dr. Moore shut his eyes. He paused, but when he opened them, he looked only at Cameryn. “God help us all.”
Chapter Five
“YOU’VE GOT TO
be kidding,” Justin exclaimed, looking awed. “
This
is Brent Safer? The famous Brent Safer? The Brent Safer who starred in
Raw Fever
and
Blaze
?”
be kidding,” Justin exclaimed, looking awed. “
This
is Brent Safer? The famous Brent Safer? The Brent Safer who starred in
Raw Fever
and
Blaze
?”
“The very one,” Moore replied. “Although I believe action pictures of that caliber to be the lowest kind of tripe. That said, I would like to find some answers before this story breaks. Suit up, Miss Mahoney. I’m counting on your keen eye when we open decedent number two. Ben, my nerves are shot. I need some music.”
“Anything in particular, Doctor?” Ben asked genially as he moved to the counter where the boom box was kept. Thickly muscled, Ben moved with a lithe grace Cameryn envied, his shoulders stretching his scrubs thin, his dark skin shining like liquid chocolate. Everyone knew that Moore was particular about his music. But the doctor surprised her by saying, “Make it anything you like, Ben. Diener’s choice.”
Ben smiled, flashing teeth. “I don’t suppose I could push you far enough for some vintage Tupac Shakur?” Even while asking, Ben shook his head. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” He ran his finger along the edge of the CD cases lined up on a shelf. “I’d like to try something a little bit lighter than opera. Hmmm.” He plucked a square case from a bottom rack. “This one’s got a cover with a ship about to sail off the edge of the world.
Falling Star
by some band called . . . The Seers.” He flipped the case from the front to the back, narrowing his lids. “Man, how old is this thing? That’s some seriously funky hair.”
Falling Star
by some band called . . . The Seers.” He flipped the case from the front to the back, narrowing his lids. “Man, how old is this thing? That’s some seriously funky hair.”
“They’re from the seventies,” said Moore. “An inspired choice. Now hustle, Miss Mahoney. I’m expecting an onslaught of the media at any moment.”
“Right.” Cameryn hurried to the metal storage cabinet, pulling out her gear so that she could quickly suit up: pale green doctor’s scrubs were folded beneath a plastic apron with long ties made of twill. From the highest shelf she took down her least favorite piece of gear, a disposable cloth cap to tuck her hair in so that it protruded like a bell. From another shelf she plucked a mask and a pair of latex gloves. In the adjoining locker she found her morgue shoes, and next to them a stack of paper booties. Suiting up, she watched Ben put in the CD, and listened to acoustical instruments float around them, light as summer rain.
“Are you ready?” Moore asked.
“Ready,” she answered. She could feel excitement in the air as she moved toward the body of Joseph Stein. A partially filled-out chart on a clipboard lay next to him. On the top she saw a pen fastened by a string.
“They must have been here for the television festival,” Cameryn said. “But why wasn’t Brent Safer recognized? He’s famous.”
Her father, jotting down items for the personal inventory, paused long enough to say, “Safer had on a wig and sunglasses, which have already been bagged as evidence. I guess the man wanted to be left alone.”
“Wow,” Cameryn said. “So no one recognized him?”
“Nope,” Ben interjected. “We had no idea who he was until I found his ID. That’s when we decided to call you-all—Dr. Moore said he wanted the help.”
“That’s enough, Ben,” Moore grumbled.
“I’m just sayin’ that if Stein’s got that Jell-O stuff in his lungs then things’ll really go crazy.”
“Do you want me to unwrap Stein?” Cameryn asked Dr. Moore, but the doctor shook his head vigorously. “There is still an open body that needs to be addressed. Remember, Miss Mahoney, we have procedures and protocols.” Once again, although the room was filled with people, the doctor addressed his comments only to her. Just her. It was as if an invisible bubble encased Cameryn, Ben, and Dr. Moore, shutting out everyone else. The others seemed to sense it, too. She watched as Sheriff Jacobs tilted his head and scratched it, shaking it slowly from side to side while he and Justin exchanged glances. Her father, on the other hand, looked pleased, because he understood this was what she’d always wanted. As coroner, Patrick was limited to the collection and identification of bodies—the basic paperwork of death. Cameryn, though, dreamed of becoming a medical examiner like Dr. Moore. It was the medical examiner who opened up the body. Through autopsies, the ME determined the cause and manner of a victim’s death, disassembling and reassembling the decedent’s pieces until the picture of what happened became clear. And now, surprisingly, Dr. Moore seemed ready to share his secrets with her. Sensing this, Patrick shot her a knowing smile before jotting another item on the clipboard.
“I can help, sir,” Justin said. He took a step toward Cameryn but Dr. Moore waved him away.
“I want to teach my protégée, Deputy, so stand down until you are called.” The doctor crossed his arms over his once-ample belly. “We never begin a second autopsy without completing the first. Why, Miss Mahoney?”
Cameryn looked from one disemboweled body to the next, wrapped in a cotton sheet as neatly as a gift. “I don’t know.”
Tapping his forehead with a gloved finger, Moore said, “Think. Part of your job is to examine the evidence and draw conclusions.”
Cameryn bit the edge of her lip, straining for the right answer. Why
would
it make any difference? Mentally, she flipped through the pages of her forensic books, searching for an answer. “Well . . . maybe you’d have to be really careful of any kind of cross-contamination. With two bodies opened up at the same time I suppose there would be a chance that fluid from body A could get into body B, which could screw up the results. Especially if it’s a homicide.”
would
it make any difference? Mentally, she flipped through the pages of her forensic books, searching for an answer. “Well . . . maybe you’d have to be really careful of any kind of cross-contamination. With two bodies opened up at the same time I suppose there would be a chance that fluid from body A could get into body B, which could screw up the results. Especially if it’s a homicide.”
Dr. Moore’s face lit up, his eyes morning bright as he peered at her over his half-moon glasses. “
Precisely
. When there’s any kind of a doubt as to the cause or manner of death, we go by the book. A tight ship means a controlled ship. We go one body at a time. Tools are washed, gloves changed before we begin the dance again.
Constant vigilance
, Miss Mahoney. Constant vigilance, every case, every time.”
Precisely
. When there’s any kind of a doubt as to the cause or manner of death, we go by the book. A tight ship means a controlled ship. We go one body at a time. Tools are washed, gloves changed before we begin the dance again.
Constant vigilance
, Miss Mahoney. Constant vigilance, every case, every time.”
“You sound like Mad-Eye Moody,” Cameryn said.
“Excuse me. Are you trying to be funny?” Dr. Moore lowered his chin, staring at her with eyes that had suddenly lost their warmth. Sheriff Jacobs snorted and leaned against a cabinet, whispering something to her father.
“You know, Mad-Eye? The guy from the Harry Potter books? Never mind.”
Stupid, stupid, stupid,
she chided herself.
Dr. Moore’s trying to treat you like a professional and you say something like that.
In an effort to redirect the doctor, she said, “Um, why do you have to wash the tools—don’t you have more than one set? I mean, that would seem to make more sense, you know, so you wouldn’t have to wait in between bodies.”
Stupid, stupid, stupid,
she chided herself.
Dr. Moore’s trying to treat you like a professional and you say something like that.
In an effort to redirect the doctor, she said, “Um, why do you have to wash the tools—don’t you have more than one set? I mean, that would seem to make more sense, you know, so you wouldn’t have to wait in between bodies.”
The skin on the top of Dr. Moore’s bald head rippled as the doctor raised his shaggy brows. “I’ve told you on more than one occasion that we who choose to work on the dark side of medicine suffer from ever-tightening budgets. Saws and scissors are expensive.” He held up his index finger and punched the air. “I have
one
diener and
one
set of instruments. Between autopsies everything is washed by hand. Time-consuming, yes, but the dead will be dead for a long time. They don’t seem to mind the wait.”
one
diener and
one
set of instruments. Between autopsies everything is washed by hand. Time-consuming, yes, but the dead will be dead for a long time. They don’t seem to mind the wait.”
By now Ben had come to Cameryn’s side, his feet moving in perfect rhythm to the music, trying, Cameryn thought, to lighten to mood. “Hey, Doc, for being an oldie, I have to say I’m down with this Seer thing. The music’s got a beat.”
Dr. Moore acknowledged Ben by making a sound of approval deep in his throat.
“And Cammie, groovin’ to music is the best way to get through the never-ending cleaning of the tools. That’s the diener’s job, and I’ll tell you what, I’ve had to scrub some nasty things in my time. I go through a boatload of bleach. You want me to show her how it’s done, Doc?” he asked, bobbing his head. “I’ll wash ’em now if you’d like.”
But Dr. Moore surprised them both by saying no. “I will sterilize the equipment myself, Ben,” he said. “I’d like Miss Mahoney to watch you sew up our movie star. If she wants to go into this profession she should see every aspect of the procedure, from start to grisly finish.” Spinning on his heel, he nodded to Justin. “Deputy Crowley, you seem anxious to get in the game. Why don’t you assist me by gathering up the tools. You’ll find gloves in the cabinet directly to your left. You’ll want an apron.”
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