11: THE AUTOPSY

CEDAR CREEK, MICHIGAN

Hank leaned against his cruiser, finishing a smoke; Barney Deters sat on the fender. Both men seemed unruffled in the heat of August, while Steve was sweating like a pig. He approached their blind side, hoping to scare the sweat out of them.

“HEY!” he was right behind Hank. The seasoned cop cuffed him on the head.

“What an asshat,” he chided. “You sneak up on a guy and you’re going to get hurt, little fella.”

Barney snorted. Hank flicked a quarter toward Barney; the old man shoved it deep into his pocket.

“You’re on,” Barney said as he slapped Hank’s hand in a high five to seal the deal.

“I know,” Steve frowned, “you both think I’ll puke.”

“Aye-yah.” Hank took a long drag on his cigarette; he blew smoke out of his nose like a dragon. “Ready for your first carving party?”

“You’re sick, Bradford.”

“Maybe Shirley wishes he’d signed up for stewardess instead of entering law enforcement,” Hank’s sarcasm dripped like honey. “Let me guess, you watch every rerun of Hill Street Blues. As a child, you had a toy gun and holster, a badge you fished out of your Barley Flakes, and a set of toy handcuffs. Right, Bucko?”

“You missed the uniform my Ma made from Dad’s old Sunday suit.”

“Leave the kid alone,” Barney wheezed. “I recall your first autopsy–had to have my damned shoes hosed off.”

Hank puffed up like a blowfish and spat a piece of tobacco toward Barney’s leg. The juice left a dark brown stain that splattered like a scene from a forensic case.

“There, Barn. Why don’t you get an analysis on that?” It was a kind of surrender.

Barney grumbled and dabbed at the stain, knowing his wife would give him a hard time for the mess.

“Now let me educate you, young fella. The Chief Ghoul, also known as the medical examiner, makes the call,” Barney explained. “Let’s say you find an old lady dead in her bed. If there aren’t signs of foul play, and you have a medical history consistent with death by natural causes, then Doc won’t order an autopsy or an inquest. He could just weigh the facts and make an educated guess as to what killed the deceased.”

“Right. However, if grandma happens to have a shiv in her stomach, the M.E. will need to consider other possible causes of death.” Hank had a coughing fit, then continued. “Like maybe she fell on it while baking cookies.”

“And Doc Golden makes the call? Poor bastard. I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes with that little tyke’s body,” Steve said. The memory of her lifeless eyes haunted him even in the bright daylight.

“It’s a desecration, that’s a fact. But Doc Golden won’t be doing this one,” Barney reflected. “Too high profile for someone like a retired family practice doctor. It’s St. Cecelia’s territory. When we catch the perp, and we will, we don’t want to look like OJ Simpson’s nemesis, Marcia Clark. That was one sorrowful prosecutor who had Simpson try on that bloody glove. Old OJ got away with that one; wet blood is bound to shrink up good leather.”

“Doc doesn’t even have a laptop. Poor guy probably couldn’t find the on switch even if he tried,” Steve said. “He’s trying to survive in an age of new technology and forensic magicians. He probably thinks Windows are just those holes in the side of his house.”

“He may not be high-tech, Stevie boy, but the man can sense a case like a bloodhound,” Barney sputtered. “Matter of fact, he’s seen things that’d turn you off your feed for a good while.”

“Tell you what, old iron gut. I’ve got twenty in my pocket that says I won’t blow lunch.” Steve patted his pocket. “This will be a cake walk.”

“You’re on, Shirley,” Barney laughed. “Now let’s move it before those remains are fossilized.”

The entire Cedar Creek police force piled into the police car that rolled along the highway just a bit lower to the ground, the rumble of an aging muffler serenading them. The ride to St. Cecilia’s took them on a scenic tour through the lush countryside of Washtenaw County, leaving them plenty of time to bounce around theories about why a little Jane Doe ended up in O’Bryan’s field.

“It’s a kidnapping,” Barney thought out loud. “Went bad on them. They gagged her, and the poor kid was smothered in her own vomit.”

“It’s a dad who took that spanking a bit too far and then tried to bury the evidence,” Steve pronounced with conviction.

“Okay, hotshot.” Hank eyed the rookie skeptically. “Where are the injuries? You saw her. No cuts or scrapes. No rope burns, cuts, or indentations.”

“Suffocation!”

“Her eyes would look bloodshot if that was it. I didn’t see that at all.” Hank flicked the remnants of his cigarette out the cruiser’s window.

“We’ll need to get a list of all known sex offenders from a computer,” Barney advised. “Children’s Protective Services maintains lists of suspected child abusers. We’ll track down each of the bastards and collect their shoes. We got a madman on the loose wearing one shoe.”

“The only problem with that list is it’s full of people who might or might not have committed an offense.” Hank scratched his crotch, emphasizing his point. “You get mad at your neighbor and make a call. Wham, your neighbor makes the list. Half the time, addresses are wrong even on our convicted sex offender list.”

“No kidding,” Barney agreed. “Last year I executed a search warrant on a Liberty Road address looking for a flasher and ended up sharing pie with Hank’s Aunt Tillie. She gave me a tongue lashing I won’t forget anytime soon.”

Hank nodded, “The old bag hasn’t let me live that one down yet.”

I know I’m a rookie, but I think we should review the scene again. Then we need to bring Fly and O’Bryan into the office.” Steve waited for Hank’s reaction—it didn’t take long to come.

“What’s this we shit, bucko?” Hank craned to see what was at the side of the road ahead. “Barney, look. We can interrogate Fly right now. We could do a search and rescue of the pink panties Mrs. VanderLaan reported stolen from her clothesline last week. They’re about the size of Kansas.”

Barney pulled over to the shoulder where Fly Carrington sat by the roadside, messing with his flat bicycle tire.

“Get in,” Barney barked.

“Hi Fly?” Fly replied.

“Jesus, Steve, get the poor bastard in the car before I change my mind,” Barney whispered far too loudly.

Steve loaded Fly’s bicycle into the trunk.

Fly climbed into the back seat, still muttering. Steve scooted against the door, trying to keep as much distance as possible between them.

They soon forgot about the dimwitted man in the back seat and resumed their discussion, thinking of Fly as a mute and harmless witness to their thoughts. Fly reached into his dirty trench coat and pulled out a crumpled package of Bite’Ems. He popped two into his mouth and then shot a glare at Steve.

Upon their arrival at the hospital, Barney, Hank, and Steve got out, leaving Fly alone in the back seat. Hank had rolled the windows down so Fly wouldn’t suffocate. Fly smiled inanely, as if not a single synapse in his brain was firing.

“Fly,” Barney spoke slowly, enunciating his words. “Don’t go ANYWHERE.”

“Hi, Fly,” was his reply.

Once inside the building, they made their way to the Pathology Department, where an obese receptionist sat like a toad on a rock. On her name tag was FLO in block letters. She looked like a Flo.

“Hello.” Barney smiled graciously; that always worked. “Chief Deters, Cedar Creek Police. We’re here for the autopsy.”

“Just a moment, please.” Flo rummaged through her desk for a pen, revealing a stash of chocolate cream drops as her top office supply. She pressed the intercom button firmly.

“Those policemen are here for the postmortem, Dr. Walker.”

“Flo,” the voice came from the box, “Are you eating candy this early in the morning?”

“Wow. Are you psychic or something?” Flo shot back into the intercom.

“Turn that damn speaker off,” Dr. Walker snapped at her. She obeyed and stuck a candy in her cheek.

Dr. Walker’s assistant appeared as if summoned from the underworld and led the officers to the morgue. The doors swung open easily with a gentle touch from the short, round assistant.

“Barney, Hank, come on in!” Gene Walker slapped Barney on the back and shook hands with Hank.

“This is our new man,” Barney said, “Steve Brooks.”

“Ah, a virgin,” Walker chuckled. “It’s just like riding a roller coaster for the first time, son. You think you’ve made it over the hill, and then that big dip comes.” Gene moved to the autopsy table.

Dr. Eugene Walker was a slender, middle-aged man with dark hair. He had an impressive Hercule Poirot mustache and calm gray eyes. A white coat masked his gruesome profession. Like all pathologists, he was somewhat eccentric.

A metal table with a drainage gutter around its edge occupied a large part of the room. Its cold metal surface overshadowed the swollen body of the child lying on it. Walker adjusted the microphone over the table. His observations would be recorded on the hospital’s dictation system. He checked the instrument tray, put on latex gloves, and began.

Gently, he lifted each eyelid. Once beautiful green eyes were now speckled with clusters of fly eggs, staring back at the men with a blank, opaque gaze.

Steve remained standing, focusing on his leg muscles. The smell of ammonia rose from the lifeless child. He took shallow breaths, trying to filter the foul air through his teeth. A muted gurgle rose in his throat as saliva filled his mouth. His nasal passages burned; a pattern of dots danced before his watering eyes. Just before darkness took over, Hank pushed him into a folded position. In the distance, Steve could hear faint voices.

“For Christ’s sake, will someone get down to 101 with a stretcher?” Dr. Walker changed gloves, annoyed with the interruption.

The sound of doors opening brought a refreshing breeze—real, breathable air. Steve inhaled deeply, the freshness contrasting with the sharp scent of formaldehyde. A pair of strong yet very feminine hands guided him into the hallway, where he immediately sat on his heels. She giggled.

Smitten by his classic good looks, she blushed. Steve had a deeply tanned, handsome face with bright hazel eyes. His hair was a deep, rich auburn, cropped very short.

Embarrassed by his autopsy performance, he stayed silent.

“I suspect you are the new guy.” She was beautiful, enchanting.

“Bathroom,” was his clever reply. As he stood up, she supported his well-muscled arm at the elbow, noticing there was no ring on the third finger of his left hand.

Inside the autopsy room, the nameless child’s dissection continued. After inspecting the body’s surface for marks and discolorations, Gene Walker took her weight and measurements. Then, the autopsy truly got underway.

“This child appears to be malnourished. She has notable bruising on her lower extremities. The skin is in the early stages of decomposition. X-ray evidence reveals an old spiral fracture of the radius. She is a white female, approximately six years old.”

Raising her arm, he examined the incision made by the mysterious Dr. Firdaus.

Walker continued, “There is a gaping incision in the right axillary area, approximately 0.5 centimeters long. It is superficial, with no signs of bleeding. This aligns with it occurring after death.”

Looking up at the men, he explained, “The wound in the armpit occurred after death.” Turning back to the microphone, he added, “There are superficial scratches, but no open wounds on the upper extremities.”

“The scalp shows a somewhat sparse hair distribution consistent with the typical female pattern. The hair appears coarser than expected for a child of apparent Northern European heritage.”

“External genitalia are those of an unremarkable prepubescent female.” Before proceeding further, he carefully examined the body for fiber or foreign hairs.

“The vulva shows signs of chronic inflammatory response. The hymen has a healed 5.0-millimeter tear. There is no external bruising. Examination of the vaginal tissue reveals some recent abrasion of the mucous membranes and chronic inflammation with a thin exudate.”

“Examination of the rectal area reveals no external tears. Digital examination reveals no foreign objects in the rectal cavity or vaginal vault. Smears are taken from both cavities for cytologic examination and prostatic enzyme evaluation.” Aside to the officers, “That’s the microscopic exam for semen.”

Walker made the standard, large “Y” incision from the shoulders to the pubes. He removed the child’s internal organs, making detailed notes on their weight and any potential pathological significance.

Methodically, he handed specimens from each organ to his assistant, explaining, “These sections will be mounted in paraffin, shaved into tissue-paper-thin sections, and placed on slides for microscopic tissue evaluation.”

Exposing the brain, he explained, “The meninges show signs of focal inflammation consistent with mid-grade to acute meningitis.” His voice carried a hint of surprise. He looked at Hank and Barney. “I’m taking tissue samples and cultures from each area of inflammation.”

After the autopsy, Dr. Walker had his assistant repair the “Y” incision with coarse twine using a ‘baseball stitch.’ He removed his gloves, hesitating before speaking to Hank and Barney.

“I can’t determine the exact cause of death right now. My initial assessment indicates meningitis. We’re awaiting lab results to identify the unknown pathogen. There is clear evidence of sexual and physical abuse. Additionally, she has a congenital anomaly in her throat that is not related to her death.”

He examined what was left of his young patient and was not pleased.

“We need to review the slides, get the drug screening results, and analyze the stomach contents. There may be some other contributing factors here. I’ll get back to you as soon as I have a more definitive finding.”

“We can’t do much until we know for certain the cause of death,” Barney said. “We can, however, pursue the abuse angle.”

“You can take that to the bank. It happened more than once, there’s no doubt. She wasn’t strangled or suffocated. I don’t see the signs that would be present in such cases. This seems like a death by natural causes, but I don’t want to steer you in the wrong direction.”

Gene glanced at the clock. “Sorry, guys, I have to go—there’s a frozen section due in ten minutes. I’ll get back to you as soon as I know anything.”

“That’s okay, doc. We’ll stay in touch.” Barney waved him on as Walker turned and strode through the double doors.

“This one’s going to be ugly.” Hank watched Walker’s assistant patch the small girl’s deep cuts with thick, black stitches. The man pulled her scalp back over her skull, causing Hank to cringe. Unable to endure the ongoing violation of the lifeless girl, the men left, emotionally drained.

They located Steve in the cafeteria. He was crammed into a booth with his nurse savior and gesturing wildly.

“So, I chased them. Took that cruiser up to ninety. I was about to shoot out a tire, so I aimed…”

Steve was lost in his imaginary gunfight. The nurse listened with rapt attention, admiration evident on her face. Barney tapped his shoulder. Steve sheepishly looked at Hank and Barney, who were grinning from ear to ear like two Cheshire cats.

“Let’s go, Rambo.” Hank led the parade to the car.

Outside, Fly sat cross-legged on top of the cruiser, making siren noises. A small group of passersby watched him warily.

“Hi, Fly, get in the car,” Barney commanded.

“Hi, Fly.” Fly jumped down and sprang into the seat next to Steve. The young woman had accompanied Steve out of the building and now laughed heartily as Fly reached across Steve and offered her a Bite’Ems.

“No thanks,” she smiled and winked at Steve. “Call me. I’m in the book.”

“Yeah,” Steve blushed. “Tonight.”

As they pulled out of the parking lot, he said, “Hank, this guy’s a moron. I don’t think he could be involved in this dead kid thing.”

“Tried to tell you that,” Hank noted. “Fly is harmless. But he might know something, and we need to find a way to get it out of him.”

“Without scaring him,” Barney added.

The police cruiser turned onto the Interstate as Fly wondered what color the nurse’s panties were. He popped a dirty, oval Bite’Ems into his mouth. Its tang brought tears to his eyes. He bounced on the seat, twirled his scarf in a circle, and chanted, “Whup, whup, whup, whup…”

“Shut up, Fly!” echoed loudly from the boys in blue.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..End

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