Hell, you even scratched him, you wildcat you.”
I stare at Izzy, blinking hard for a moment, before I realize what he’s inferring. “No, no, no,” I say, holding my hands out to ward off his evil thoughts. “You have it all wrong. William is allergic to cats, so his hair was all messed up because he sneezed a bazillion times. The scratches were from when Rubbish attacked his comb-over. The lip print—well, that was legit, but I only kissed him the one time on the cheek because he looked so miserable and I felt sorry for him.”
I decide not to admit to the reason why my lipstick was so fresh.
“The evening wasn’t a total loss, though,” I continue. “I’m going to fix William up with my mother. I think they’ll be perfect together.”
“Well, if your intent was to make Hurley jealous, it worked. You should have seen the look on his face when he saw William leaving. He was fuming.”
I smile, recalling Hurley’s thunderous expression and imagining the thoughts that might have been going through his mind. “What was he doing there anyway?”
“He said he wanted to fill me in on some case facts but I’m pretty sure he was using that as an excuse to come by and check on you. He could have just called or waited until this morning.”
As if on cue, I hear the door open behind me and see Izzy’s gaze shift over my head. “Good morning, Detective,” he says.
I turn around and smile at Hurley. “Good morning, Detective,” I echo in the cheeriest voice I can muster.
He scowls at me, mutters, “Morning,” and then shifts his attention to Izzy, effectively dismissing me. “Are we still on for noon?”
“Ready anytime,” Izzy says, draining his coffee mug. “Let’s get to it.”
That’s my cue so I scarf down my cruller, take one more swallow of my coffee, and head to the morgue.
Arnie, who functions as our primary lab tech, sometime autopsy assistant, general gofer, and resident conspiracy theorist, had tucked Shannon’s body in the cold storage room last evening. It’s the only body in the room so it isn’t hard to find.
I grab the clipboard at the end of the stretcher and examine the checklist of items on the top page—all the things that have to be done before the actual cutting part of the autopsy begins.
A weight is obtained on each body, something that is relatively simple since the stretcher weights are known. Once a body arrives in our office and gets loaded onto a stretcher, the whole thing is wheeled onto a scale built into the floor. The scale automatically deducts the stretcher’s weight and flashes the remainder, which is the body’s weight, on a digital screen.
We also obtain vitreous samples—a needle aspiration of the fluid inside the eyeballs. Whereas blood and other bodily fluids deteriorate rapidly once death occurs, a process that can affect certain lab values or the presence of residual drugs, the vitreous fluid remains more stable. It can also help narrow down the time of death as there is a somewhat predictable rise in the potassium level in the vitreous fluid after death. Each body is also X-rayed soon after arrival, before it is removed from its body bag.
According to the checklist, Arnie did all of these things last night when the body arrived. I’m glad, not only because it makes my job that much easier this morning, but because I hate having to obtain the vitreous fluid. The process of pushing a needle into someone’s eyeball, even knowing they are dead, gives me the willies.
I wheel the stretcher into the main autopsy room where Izzy and Hurley are already waiting. Izzy and I move Shannon’s body from the stretcher onto the autopsy table, then Izzy, who is already suited and gloved, opens the body bag and starts taking photos while I don my own protective gear. Thirty minutes later we have photographed and examined her body and clothing for trace evidence, undressed her, scraped for evidence beneath her nails, and hosed her down. Izzy is posed over
I stare at Izzy, blinking hard for a moment, before I realize what he’s inferring. “No, no, no,” I say, holding my hands out to ward off his evil thoughts. “You have it all wrong. William is allergic to cats, so his hair was all messed up because he sneezed a bazillion times. The scratches were from when Rubbish attacked his comb-over. The lip print—well, that was legit, but I only kissed him the one time on the cheek because he looked so miserable and I felt sorry for him.”
I decide not to admit to the reason why my lipstick was so fresh.
“The evening wasn’t a total loss, though,” I continue. “I’m going to fix William up with my mother. I think they’ll be perfect together.”
“Well, if your intent was to make Hurley jealous, it worked. You should have seen the look on his face when he saw William leaving. He was fuming.”
I smile, recalling Hurley’s thunderous expression and imagining the thoughts that might have been going through his mind. “What was he doing there anyway?”
“He said he wanted to fill me in on some case facts but I’m pretty sure he was using that as an excuse to come by and check on you. He could have just called or waited until this morning.”
As if on cue, I hear the door open behind me and see Izzy’s gaze shift over my head. “Good morning, Detective,” he says.
I turn around and smile at Hurley. “Good morning, Detective,” I echo in the cheeriest voice I can muster.
He scowls at me, mutters, “Morning,” and then shifts his attention to Izzy, effectively dismissing me. “Are we still on for noon?”
“Ready anytime,” Izzy says, draining his coffee mug. “Let’s get to it.”
That’s my cue so I scarf down my cruller, take one more swallow of my coffee, and head to the morgue.
Arnie, who functions as our primary lab tech, sometime autopsy assistant, general gofer, and resident conspiracy theorist, had tucked Shannon’s body in the cold storage room last evening. It’s the only body in the room so it isn’t hard to find.
I grab the clipboard at the end of the stretcher and examine the checklist of items on the top page—all the things that have to be done before the actual cutting part of the autopsy begins.
A weight is obtained on each body, something that is relatively simple since the stretcher weights are known. Once a body arrives in our office and gets loaded onto a stretcher, the whole thing is wheeled onto a scale built into the floor. The scale automatically deducts the stretcher’s weight and flashes the remainder, which is the body’s weight, on a digital screen.
We also obtain vitreous samples—a needle aspiration of the fluid inside the eyeballs. Whereas blood and other bodily fluids deteriorate rapidly once death occurs, a process that can affect certain lab values or the presence of residual drugs, the vitreous fluid remains more stable. It can also help narrow down the time of death as there is a somewhat predictable rise in the potassium level in the vitreous fluid after death. Each body is also X-rayed soon after arrival, before it is removed from its body bag.
According to the checklist, Arnie did all of these things last night when the body arrived. I’m glad, not only because it makes my job that much easier this morning, but because I hate having to obtain the vitreous fluid. The process of pushing a needle into someone’s eyeball, even knowing they are dead, gives me the willies.
I wheel the stretcher into the main autopsy room where Izzy and Hurley are already waiting. Izzy and I move Shannon’s body from the stretcher onto the autopsy table, then Izzy, who is already suited and gloved, opens the body bag and starts taking photos while I don my own protective gear. Thirty minutes later we have photographed and examined her body and clothing for trace evidence, undressed her, scraped for evidence beneath her nails, and hosed her down. Izzy is posed over
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