to the morgue from the information desk. The man who met her, Dr. Brett, brought her into his office. He was a handsome man in his fifties with a short, red beard. Commander LeJeune had already faxed the Mayfair autopsy. “Looks like we screwed up, Detective,” he said.
“Do you even know what a wasp sting looks like?”
Brett opened a file folder that was sitting at the edge of his desk. “Yes. It looks exactly like a hard, swollen, raised welt, white in the middle where the venom has been injected and ringed with red.” He slipped out a couple of 8 × 10 photos and slid one of them across to her. He laid the tip of a pen on the image of Henry Wiest’s cheek, where there was an angry red dot. “Here’s an excellent representation of one.”
Wiest’s body had lost its lividity by the time Deacon had seen it on his slab, and it had looked completely different than what she was seeing in Brett’s picture. Here, Wiest had been dead for less than ninety minutes. He still had colour; his flesh still looked alive. She realized, perhaps with some disappointment, that there had been no cover-up here. Any doctor, even a particularly talented and discerning one, probably would have concluded Wiest had died of anaphylaxis due to an insect sting. Probably a bee or a wasp. Any hope that this Dr. Brett was involved, somehow, was already vapour. “Fine,” she said now. “I’m gathering that, knowing what you know now, you’re not ofthe opinion that there was any way to arrive at Dr. Deacon’s interpretation when you looked at the body?”
“Likely not.”
“Then tell me this. Do you agree with Dr. Deacon’s report?”
“Well,” he said, “I’ve already made the mistake once of not seeing everything in front of me, Detective. I’d better not make it again. It certainly
sounds
reasonable, but I’d have to do my own autopsy over.”
“And say you did, then. Keeping a completely open mind, what other possibilities would you be considering?”
“I wouldn’t consider any other possibilities unless new evidence presented itself.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that I would confirm Dr. Deacon’s autopsy, with the understanding that if I made any other findings, they could have an effect on my interpretation.”
“Is it likely that after a third autopsy, meaningful new discoveries could be made?”
“Anything is possible.”
“But is it likely?”
Brett’s tongue worked the space behind his upper lip. “You are trying to get me to say I agree with Dr. Deacon’s findings without redoing my own autopsy, Detective Inspector. That’s not cricket.”
“But it
sounds
like Henry Wiest was electrocuted, yes?”
She saw a faint look of irritation cross the doctor’s face.“Look, I was trained at the University of Toronto. I did my rotations at Mount Sinai Hospital and Sick Kids. I have a subspecialty in infectious diseases. I’m not a country bumpkin and I’m not even a native, but I’ll tell you something: if you’ve come up here to catch us out, you’ll be sorely disappointed. This is a
working
community, with experts, mostly Indian, at every level of the municipality. I didn’t do further tests because I didn’t think it was necessary, and almost every pathologist faced with a body that presented as Wiest’s did would have stopped where I did, too.”
“But. Given everything you know now, being a trained doctor and everything, it really does look like he was electrocuted. Wouldn’t you say?”
“
Yes
.”
“Thank you, Dr. Brett.”
] 8 [
The same night
Outside of the hospital, the August night was finally falling, and Hazel realized she’d been working for almost twelve hours.
She retraced her steps toward the casino and walked down the long driveway lined with bright flowers up to the front doors. RC Bellecourt was waiting for her. The constable offered her hand – everyone was so bloody proper here – and the two of them went inside. Instantly the remaining daylight was annulled.
“Do you even know what a wasp sting looks like?”
Brett opened a file folder that was sitting at the edge of his desk. “Yes. It looks exactly like a hard, swollen, raised welt, white in the middle where the venom has been injected and ringed with red.” He slipped out a couple of 8 × 10 photos and slid one of them across to her. He laid the tip of a pen on the image of Henry Wiest’s cheek, where there was an angry red dot. “Here’s an excellent representation of one.”
Wiest’s body had lost its lividity by the time Deacon had seen it on his slab, and it had looked completely different than what she was seeing in Brett’s picture. Here, Wiest had been dead for less than ninety minutes. He still had colour; his flesh still looked alive. She realized, perhaps with some disappointment, that there had been no cover-up here. Any doctor, even a particularly talented and discerning one, probably would have concluded Wiest had died of anaphylaxis due to an insect sting. Probably a bee or a wasp. Any hope that this Dr. Brett was involved, somehow, was already vapour. “Fine,” she said now. “I’m gathering that, knowing what you know now, you’re not ofthe opinion that there was any way to arrive at Dr. Deacon’s interpretation when you looked at the body?”
“Likely not.”
“Then tell me this. Do you agree with Dr. Deacon’s report?”
“Well,” he said, “I’ve already made the mistake once of not seeing everything in front of me, Detective. I’d better not make it again. It certainly
sounds
reasonable, but I’d have to do my own autopsy over.”
“And say you did, then. Keeping a completely open mind, what other possibilities would you be considering?”
“I wouldn’t consider any other possibilities unless new evidence presented itself.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that I would confirm Dr. Deacon’s autopsy, with the understanding that if I made any other findings, they could have an effect on my interpretation.”
“Is it likely that after a third autopsy, meaningful new discoveries could be made?”
“Anything is possible.”
“But is it likely?”
Brett’s tongue worked the space behind his upper lip. “You are trying to get me to say I agree with Dr. Deacon’s findings without redoing my own autopsy, Detective Inspector. That’s not cricket.”
“But it
sounds
like Henry Wiest was electrocuted, yes?”
She saw a faint look of irritation cross the doctor’s face.“Look, I was trained at the University of Toronto. I did my rotations at Mount Sinai Hospital and Sick Kids. I have a subspecialty in infectious diseases. I’m not a country bumpkin and I’m not even a native, but I’ll tell you something: if you’ve come up here to catch us out, you’ll be sorely disappointed. This is a
working
community, with experts, mostly Indian, at every level of the municipality. I didn’t do further tests because I didn’t think it was necessary, and almost every pathologist faced with a body that presented as Wiest’s did would have stopped where I did, too.”
“But. Given everything you know now, being a trained doctor and everything, it really does look like he was electrocuted. Wouldn’t you say?”
“
Yes
.”
“Thank you, Dr. Brett.”
] 8 [
The same night
Outside of the hospital, the August night was finally falling, and Hazel realized she’d been working for almost twelve hours.
She retraced her steps toward the casino and walked down the long driveway lined with bright flowers up to the front doors. RC Bellecourt was waiting for her. The constable offered her hand – everyone was so bloody proper here – and the two of them went inside. Instantly the remaining daylight was annulled.
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