Zero-G (16 page)

Alderman laughed. “Not at all. I gave up expecting that the first year I opened up shop.”

The ME wore a white lab coat with the words Dr.Kenneth Short, ME, stitched over his left breast pocket. Life was ironic. “Your card says you're based in San Francisco. I did my med school up there. Where do you live? In the city?”

Alderman was glad he developed backstory for his “professional personas.”

“No. Too ritzy for my tastes, not to mention my wallet. I live in Daly City and have an office on Market Street. The rent is killing me.”

“And here I thought all you PIs were rich.”

“The broke PIs made famous in dime novels and old movies might be cliché, but it is also accurate. I do all right, and so far I haven't had to resort to following wayward spouses.”

“Good for you. Too bad I'm not going to be able to help you. The autopsies are still pending.”

“I'm not looking for an autopsy report, just a few answers to some simple questions.”

“Who are you working for, Mr. Scofield?”

“Call me Julian, Doctor. I'm working on a class-action suit for a well-known San Fran attorney. Of course, I can't give you his name just yet or the details of the case. The guy would skin me alive and hang my carcass in the sun to dry. You know lawyers.”

“Believe me, I know lawyers. So what can you tell me about the case?”

“Only that a half-dozen people are suing a pharmaceutical firm for wrongful death. One of the men who died in last night's auto accident appears on the list of prescription recipients. Ronald Mason is his name. His sudden death may be related to the other wrongful deaths. If so, there might be substantial money due his widow — not that that will lessen her sorrow.”

“But the money would be good for her. It's hard to lose someone.” Kenneth Short looked sad.

“I guess seeing death every day doesn't make you immune to personal tragedy.” Alderman hesitated. “I'm assuming you've lost someone dear?”

He nodded. “A son. Motorcycle accident sixteen months ago. He was being stupid. Speeding in and out of freeway traffic. A car merged into him.”

“I'm sorry. I can't begin to imagine what it's like.”

“I hope you never find out.”

Alderman said nothing. He had been a loner all his life. No family. Few friends. He liked it that way. A man couldn't grieve the loss of something he never had.

“How's your stomach?”

The question caught Alderman off guard.

“Your stomach. You're not queasy, are you? Some people find this place unsettling.”

Just because there are stacks of dead people around
here?
“I'm pretty stable.”

“Follow me, please.”

Short led Alderman from the lobby into a pale hall that smelled like an ill-kept hospital. Metal tables pop ulated the room, each one butted to a sink. Alderman tried not to think about what swirled down those drains every day. At three of the tables stood an ME, each hard at work on various body parts.

Short moved to the nearest table. The body of a naked male lay before them, unblinking eyes staring at the bright lights overhead. He looked to be in his midforties; the battle with middle-age belly bulge was well under way, and he had been losing. The side of his head was concave, and blood matted his hair.

“This is Mr. Mason. I was getting ready to crack him open before you arrived.”

Alderman studied the dead man then looked at the tools of Short's trade: scalpels, scissors of various types, and a host of items that looked like they belonged in the garden section of Home Depot.

“I won't stand in your way then. All I need to know is if he showed any symptoms before dying.”

Short picked up a clipboard. “Ronald Mason, forty-four, six-foot-one, two-hundred-twenty-five pounds, average musculature for a man his age; no signs of recent wounds; described by family and friends as being in decent health; last medical examination was four months ago. His last exam revealed his blood pressure was slightly elevated, but his blood chemistry came back normal.”

“So he hadn't complained of recent illness?”

“I asked his wife when she came by earlier and she said he seemed fine. I asked about medications and she said he took vitamins and the occasional aspirin. Come to think of it, she didn't mention any special meds like you suggest.”

“Not unusual. I'm sure if you visit the house, you'll find a bottle in the medicine cabinet.”

“You know everything we discuss here is off the record. You'll have to petition for an official report.”

“I understand. I just want to see if I'm on the right track here. I appreciate your cooperation. You may be saving more lives or at the very least helping families get some recompense for their losses.”

“What do you want to know? I can't let you observe the autopsy.”

“No problem there. I'd just as soon skip that.” He paused. “The news said he might have been driving drunk.”

Short shrugged. “I doubt it. He owned a bar, but his wife said he had been sober for several years. Of course, I drew blood for chemistry and that will tell us if he had been sipping on the sly.”

“But you doubt he was drunk?”

“I've cut open a lot of dead drunk drivers. They usually reek of the stuff when they arrive. My best guess is — and it's an educated guess — that Mr. Mason was sober. His friend, on the other hand, smelled like the inside of a whiskey barrel. I'm pretty sure his blood test will show significant alcohol content.”

Short read from the clipboard again. “Paramedics pronounced both men DOA. The fire department removed the bodies after the cops documented the scene.”

“This is going to come out of the blue, Doctor, but I heard on the news that one of your staff died last night.”

“Early this morning. About five o'clock. We're not certain because she was working alone.”

“Doing what?”

“She's one of our techs. Part of her job is prepping bodies for autopsy.”

“She would be the one logging in personal effects?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Was she working on Mason's body?”

Short didn't answer. He didn't need to. Alderman saw the answer in the man's face. “Are you implying there's a connection?”

“So you still have whatever he had on him at the time of the accident?”

“Yes. After the autopsy we release personal effects to the family unless it's been tagged as evidence.”

Alderman shifted his weight and thought. He had worked himself into a bind. Short was no dummy. If given more information, the ME would begin to put pieces together. Alderman didn't want that. On the other hand, he didn't want others to become ill, maybe die because Quain had somehow contaminated the driver's possessions.

“I think you had better talk to me.” Short narrowed his eyes. “This has to do with more than medication-induced wrongful death, doesn't it?”

“Not to me. So far there's been no one death connected to another, just to the medication.”

Short frowned. “And what medication did you say this was?”

“I didn't and I'm not allowed to disclose it, the manufacturer, or the names of other victims. I'm afraid I need this job.”

“If a contagion is involved — ”

“I know of no contagion. I just find it interesting that Ronald Mason and your tech died the same day. If there is some connection, then it's news to me. Only your autopsy can make a link if there is one.”

“How am I supposed to check for the presence of a new drug if I don't know what it is?”

“Well, you got me there. I tell you what. I'll call my client and see what I can do, but before I do, where does your tech prep the bodies?”

“In here. The bodies come into a receiving room. We tag them and place them in the cooler. Before we do, we remove their clothing and bag it. We inventory all personal items including money, jewelry, and the like. Then the deceased is put in the rotation for examination unless there is some pressing reason to move them to the front of the line.”

Alderman knew he was going to have to be careful. Short was acting like a man with newfound suspicions. “One of the things I have to do is verify the identity of Mason.”

“I can affirm that the man on this table is Ronald Mason.”

“Thank you, but . . . Look, the attorney I work for is a real bear. His firm makes millions of dollars because he sues and sues big, if you know what I mean. That means he has to face off against a whole squad of lawyers bought by the pharmaceutical companies. He likes to have every
t
crossed and every
i
dotted.”

“I deal with lawyers all the time. Your man can't be any more aggressive than some I've dealt with.”

Alderman shook his head. “I imagine you handle them very well, Dr. Short, but I'm telling you, my guy asks nicely but only once, then he bulldozes his way through until he gets exactly what he wants. I've seen him go after county supervisors, city council members, coroners, police chiefs, anyone. If he had to, he'd drop a case of law books on a little old lady who had the misfortune of walking her dog past the front door of this building.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No, sir, I am not, nor would I consider it. I'm trying to do a professional courtesy. I'm trying to keep him off your back. He'll make a media thing out of it if he has to.”

“But that would reveal information you're telling me he wants to keep secret.”

Again, Alderman shook his head. “He's keeping things under wraps for now, but it's all going to hit the media soon.”

“So what do you need to confirm the identity? Fingerprints? You want me to drag his wife down here again and have her identify the body once more?”

“No. Definitely not. My client may be a bull in a china shop, but he does care for his clients. Most likely, Mrs. Mason will join the class-action suit. He wants to help her, not hurt her.”

He frowned. “So how do I get rid of you?”

“Just let me take a quick look at his personal effects. You know: his wallet and ID. Then I can tell my client that I double-checked the identity. My client will be happy, and I'll be back on the road to San Francisco.”

For a moment, Alderman thought Short would call his bluff. He didn't.

“This way.”

Moments later, Alderman stood in a room with a wide table. A young woman stood at the battered surface neatly folding clothing Alderman assumed belonged to a new arrival: jeans, a T-shirt with a pink heart over the right breast, white sport shoes, blue panties, a bra, and a white smock. She wore latex gloves. The woman wiped away a tear with her sleeve as he and Dr. Short entered. She seemed embarrassed.

“Kelli, I thought you'd be done by now,” Short said softly.

“I'm sorry. I should be. It's just taking me longer to . . . I mean . . .”

Short stepped to her and put an arm around her shoulders. “I understand. It's different when it's a friend.”

“She was so kind and always upbeat. I couldn't stay depressed around Cindy. She was such a light to everyone.”

“We're all going to miss her greatly.” Short gave her a quick squeeze. “Take a few minutes to yourself. I'll package the rest of this. You've done more than you should have to.”

“I can finish — ”

“I insist. I have to look for something and I'll only be in your way. You have everything organized. It'll only take me a few minutes to finish up.”

“You're the best.” Kelli slipped from the room.

“Putting away the belongings of the deceased is work for the strong of heart. When it's a friend or family, no one is strong enough.”

“They must have been close.”

“Kelli is a little shy. Cindy brought her out of her shell, even played matchmaker for her.”

“It was kind of you to give her some space.” Alderman paused and watched Short stare at the clothing and other items on the table, clearly moved. “Your son was about the same age?”

“Yeah.” Short moved the items to the end of the table, then turned his attention to a large metal locker. Labels with dates were visible on the front of the doors. Before opening anything, Short stepped to a cardboard container that reminded Alderman of a facial tissue box and removed a pair of latex gloves. He tossed them on the table. “Put those on, Mr. Scofield.”

Alderman did and watched as Short did the same. He didn't bother to tell Short that he had a pair of gloves in his pocket. The ME then opened one of the lockers and removed a small plastic package and set it on the uncluttered end of the table.

Alderman had slipped into the gloves but knew better than to reach for the package.
Patience.
“You said the police don't consider this evidence.”

“They don't. You're wearing gloves to protect you from any latent bio material — any overlooked blood and guts or bodily fluids.”

“I appreciate it.”
And for more reasons than you
know.

“Everyone is supposed to wear these. Unfortunately, not everyone does. Some people have allergies to the latex powder. I was always on Cindy about it.”

Alderman said nothing. Short was offering information. The fact that no latex gloves were with Cindy Sellers's belongings indicated she might have been avoiding the gloves. Certainly she would have worn them while working with the body, but to record and package personal effects she may have skipped the protection.

Short proved a meticulous man. He removed each item in the bag one at a time and set them on the table as if setting them in a grid only he could see. Keys, a penknife, and a wallet.

“I assume you want to see the wallet.” Short clipped his words.

“Yes. If I could just look at it for a moment, I need to take a photo of any identification and medical cards. My cell phone has a camera. So part of Ms. Sellers's work was to file all this away?”