A Simple Lie Read online

  She felt a sense of loyalty towards Julia. Even though Candace had said she was telling this story so that Val wouldn’t be subjected to office gossip, she couldn’t help but notice that’s exactly what was going on.

  Candace stopped and turned to Val. “You know, it’s funny. I used to talk to Oliver all the time and he mentioned several of his colleagues that would be good for the job, someone named Gwen Carmondy being his first choice. But now that I think of it, he never mentioned you.”

  “I guess we’re even because he never mentioned you to me either,” Val said without hesitation. She held her breath, waiting for a response. Candace’s smile was immediately retracted and Val couldn’t read the expression that replaced it. After a second or two, the smile returned. Candace continued as if nothing had happened.

  She led Val to an office the size of a large closet. It wasn’t much more than two Formica counters lining each wall. Both were strewn with folders.

  “I know it doesn’t look like much. Why don’t you put your things down in here and get into a pair of scrubs. You’ll find them on the shelves in the hallway. Howie should be here shortly. He’ll take over from here.”

  Eager to be rid of Candace, Val didn’t bother to ask who Howie was and as soon as Candace was gone Val breathed a sigh of relief. She knew to trust her first instincts. Candace was trouble. Trouble, as it turned out, she could handle. Hell, I’ve handled worse before, she thought. Val quickly changed her clothes and waited. She was busy thumbing through the folders on the countertop when she heard a knock on the open door and glanced up.

  “Dr. Knight, nice to meet you. I’m Howie Watts. Your fellow death scene investigator. Dr. DeHaviland asked me to show you the ropes. Some of this can be confusing at the beginning, so feel free to ask me anything you need to.”

  He was a big man, over six feet tall and easily 250 pounds, but had a clean-cut, boyish appearance that didn’t fit with his size. “There are no death scenes to go to right now so we’ll be working in the morgue instead. Are you ready to get to work?” he asked.

  “Nice to meet you too, Howie. I couldn’t be more ready,” Val said eagerly, relieved that Julia was the one who had sent Howie. He seemed to have an understanding of what her experience level was, and that she needed to be trained.

  “Well, then come with me. I’m going to show you the autopsy room. Dr. Blythe’s about to do roll call. That’s where he goes through the bodies that came in last night and decides which ones need a post-mortem exam. He’s ready to start.”

  Val had never been inside a morgue before. After seeing depictions on TV shows, she had her own idea of what one should look like and expected there to be one body per room, kind of like an operating room. Instead, she was surprised to see eight stainless steel tables placed one after the other in this big open space.

  In the center of the morgue, five dead people were on gurneys. Two of them were in white body bags, the zippers open, lifeless faces exposed. The other three were not in bags, but were wearing hospital gowns, obviously patients of the hospital who had died during the night. One still had EKG tabs on his chest. At the far end, a sixth body lay on its own, separated from the rest, the white bag completely closed. Beyond this person was a steel door with a sign that read Autopsy Isolation Room.

  In the corner of the room, a female photographer was standing almost on the top rung of a stepladder, taking pictures of clothing laid out on the floor. The clothing consisted of a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Both were blood-soaked.

  A man walked in with clipboard in hand. He wore scrubs and had surgical booties over his sneakers. His dark hair was cropped short. With a square jaw, taut muscles and intense blue eyes, Val couldn’t tell if he was intimidating or attractive. Or both. He appeared to be in his mid-forties. Without question he had a commanding appearance. The staff snapped to attention. Howie explained that this was Dr. Blythe. Val watched him as he went over to each of the three bodies from the hospital and for two of them, stated the names and causes of death. “No post-mortem needed. These can go.”

  “They don’t need an autopsy?” Val asked Howie.

  “It’s not required in all circumstances. Just because someone ends up here doesn’t mean they need to be opened up, especially if we already know their cause of death.”

  Val continued to watch Dr. Blythe as he inspected each corpse. The person with the EKG tabs as well as those in the body bags would need an autopsy and he cleared those to begin.

  “The one at the end of the hall is yours,” Howie said, pointing to the one on its own. “Our job is just to take X-rays of the decedent’s teeth.”

  “What’s she doing over there?” Val asked, pointing to the photographer on the stepladder.

  “She’s documenting the clothing worn by that victim.” Howie motioned towards the gurney closest to them. A dead teenager lay on top. “From that height she gets all of the items in the proper orientation for the photograph.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He was killed in a gang fight. Poor boy was only sixteen.” Howie shook his head in regret then grabbed the gurney and wheeled it over to a steel table, finally transferring the teenager’s body onto it. “This kid’s one of my cases. I picked him up off the pavement last evening as he lay dead outside the house where he lived with his grandmother. She was inconsolable when I took him away.”

  Two doctors were standing around the table, waiting to get to work. Howie introduced them as medical residents, Dr. Chen and Dr. Phelps. They said polite hellos. “Val, I have to get a couple of signatures before we start. Why don’t you hang out here until I come back.”

  Val nodded without looking in Howie’s direction. She couldn’t keep her gaze off the face of the victim. She thought of his grandmother and the pain of loss, of family that now only existed as memories. Jesus, he was just a kid. What a waste of such a young life. In his chest was a small hole. Dr. Chen began to describe this as the entrance wound.

  The victim was rolled to expose his back. There was no exit wound.

  Dr. Chen picked up a scalpel. In one motion and without any hesitation, he cut from just below the shoulder on the right side to mid chest. The skin immediately gaped open. In another sweeping motion he repeated the cut on the left side, continuing down the middle to just above the belly button.

  Val watched intently, speechless as Dr. Chen picked up a pair of long-handled garden loppers, wondering what on earth he was doing with those. He placed the blades under the bottom rib, starting on the right side and cut upwards towards the top. Val stared, shocked, as each rib snapped easily, like Dr. Chen was pruning small branches from a tree. He did the same thing on the left side. Then lifted the entire ribcage off the body.

  “I know it looks crude but the loppers are quick and, most importantly, leave little mess,” Dr. Chen said.

  Val smiled nervously, aware that he saw her expression. “Of course,” she said, as if she was well versed in rib removal. Oliver recommended her for this job. Why the hell the morgue used garden instruments should be commonplace knowledge for her. Jesus, there is a lot to learn here.

  Dr. Phelps picked up a long, thin, straight instrument and she inserted it into a hole in the boy’s heart. “The bullet entered the left atrium, crossed through to the right ventricle and then both lungs to the lower right quadrant. The trajectory is left to right and downward. He probably died within minutes of being shot.” She worked for a few minutes to free the bullet, finally reaching in with her fingers to grab it, then placed it in a plastic container. “The cops will want this,” she said, handing the container to Val.

  She took the container slowly, carefully, as if Dr. Phelps was passing over evidence that solved the crime of the century. “The cops should be happy. The bullet will be able to tell which gun fired the shot,” Val said. She’d watched a few episodes of Law & Order. She knew what this kind of evidence meant.

  Dr. Phelps ignored her and continued with the autopsy, removing organs, taking tissue samples.
Val looked around. There was no sign of Howie yet, but she did notice the table where the man with the EKG tabs was being dismantled. The doctor there was dissecting the heart. Intrigued, Val moved in closer. She was still holding the plastic container with the bullet and had no idea what to do with it.

  “I’m Dr. Jim Stedman. Nice to meet you,” he said. “I’d shake your hand but I’m a little messy right now.” He set down the heart and held up his bloodstained gloved hands.

  Val smiled. “That’s okay, I’ll catch up with you later, after you wash up.”

  “I clean up pretty good,” he said.

  “No amount of cleaning could make you look good,” Howie said, laughing. Val hadn’t even seen him come back into the room.

  Val held out the plastic container for him. “This is from the boy who was shot.”

  “Thanks. I’ll get this to the cops for ballistic testing.” He took the container, and placed it on the morgue counter, next to paperwork that appeared to be his. “We have our okay to get started on the next case. Your case. I need you to put one of these on.” He held up a white disposable jumpsuit. It had a zipper up the middle and looked like the kind of thing people wore for biohazards. This one was complete with a hood. “We’re going to start you off easy with something that should be second nature for you. It’s a dental ID.”

  “Why do I have to wear this?” She looked around the room. No one else had on anything like it. They were all in hospital scrubs.

  “That’s because we have to work in the decomp room.”

  “Decomp room?”

  “I mean, the autopsy isolation room.” Howie continued with instructions for dress. Shoe covers for her sneakers were next. Once those were in place he gave her a surgical cap for her hair and a thick mask to cover her nose and mouth. She was grateful for the mask. There was a stench in the air, like raw sewage mixed with rotten eggs, and it helped to block it out.

  “Let’s get your gloves on now. Make sure to pull them up over the arms of the suit.”

  Val did as Howie instructed.

  “You only need to see how this is done once. You’ll be able to do it yourself next time.” Howie dressed himself in the same manner, then took the gurney and wheeled it into the autopsy suite.

  The room was bigger than Val thought it would be, and quite cold, much more so than the main morgue area. “Why is it freezing in here?”

  “They keep it colder in here for a couple of reasons. The big reason is it gets hot as you work. With all you’re wearing, you’ll realize as soon as we start how quickly you’ll sweat.”

  While he moved the gurney into place, she inspected the room, wondering what the other reason was. High on the wall was a small window. On the sill were many dead flies. She immediately began to feel itchy.

  Howie picked up the file and started to read the report. “John Doe # 457987. Found washed ashore on the banks of the Niagara River by a couple of kids fishing. That will give them nightmares for the rest of their lives.”

  Val eyed the body bag, eager to see what was inside. This was her own case and she couldn’t wait to get started. “Can I open the bag?”

  “Yeah, but when you unzip it, make sure to stand back.”

  Though it seemed like an odd thing to do, Val again did as she was told. As soon as she slid the zipper down, she was immediately overcome by a repulsive smell. The odor was so fetid that her knees became wobbly and she broke out in a clammy sweat. Her stomach turned but she managed to control the nausea, only because the condition of the body distracted her. But there was something else. Something was on it.

  The body was a foul greenish-gray color and severely bloated. Patches of skin were missing. What remained was slimy. The body was dotted sparsely with white spots, but the eye sockets and nasal cavity were filled with opaque blobs. The blobs and spots appeared to be moving. Val got closer and realized that they were moving. They were moving and then jumping. It took a few seconds to realize that these were maggots and they were jumping onto her. She began to scream and then started swatting at herself to get rid of them. As she fiercely batted her arms at her head, Val pulled her mask and surgical cap off.

  She inhaled the putrid odor of decomposition again. It was much more powerful this time without the protection of her mask and her knees buckled. Howie leaned over and grabbed her around the waist, trying to steady her. As soon as he put pressure on her stomach, she threw up all down the front of herself and him.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she managed to get out before the next wave hit her and she vomited again.

  Val attempted to run out of the room, but Howie had a firm hold on her. “Dr. Blythe is out there. You don’t want him to see you like this.”

  At this point she didn’t care who saw her or not, all she wanted to do was get to the door. “I have to get out of here. Now. Please,” she whispered. This was far too embarrassing to endure. She felt the heave come to her throat, but it was dry. Noise only.

  Howie put his arms around her. “I’ll go with you.” He helped her out, getting by Dr. Blythe undetected, before leading Val down the hallway to the woman’s locker room. He instructed her to change and meet him back in the decomposition room. His tone was firm. It appeared that he would not succumb to any of her protests. “I want to see you back in ten minutes.”

  Val didn’t answer and staggered into the locker room. She reeked of puke and noticed a big gob of it in her hair. Merely changing wouldn’t be enough. She needed to shower too.

  She stood under the water, grabbed the soap and began scrubbing her face. At first, she was just trying to get rid of the smell, but the rubbing grew more forceful as she tried to wash away the last year of her life. When that didn’t work, she threw the bar of soap, and crumpled to the ground.

  Hugging her knees to her chest, she sat and wept; cursing how she ended up here, broke, alone, and crying, naked, on the bathroom floor of the county morgue. How could fate be so cruel? She begged to be her old self again, a professional, someone in charge. Her patients trusted her because she knew how to take care of them. Right now, she couldn’t even take care of herself.

  The water made a loud gurgling sound as it swirled around the drain. The throaty echo caused her to look down. She watched for a minute. As the water circled, it distracted her from the misfortune that had become her life. She had a choice. Sit here and cry about the past or suck up her pride and get up and do something about her future. Val grabbed the faucet and pulled herself up, concentrating on everything she’d achieved. She had overcome obstacles before. She certainly wasn’t a quitter. Everything she had in life, she earned, struggling to get to the top. She could do it again. And the way to do that was waiting for her back in the decomp room.

  Val got out of the shower, grabbed a fresh set of scrubs and headed back to the morgue, dressing herself without instruction this time in a white jumpsuit. When she opened the door to the decomp room, the first thing she heard was the song, “Rolling on the River”. Val saw Howie had the song playing from his cell phone.

  “Don’t you think that music is a little inappropriate?” she asked. “That poor man died in the river.” As soon as she inhaled, her stomach grew queasy again. The mask filtered most of the odor, but not all of it.

  “I play “Burning Down the House” when we have fire victims,” Howie said matter-of-factly.

  The sheer bluntness of the statement made Val laugh. She put her hand over her masked mouth, and looked at Howie, ashamed.

  “It’s okay. It’s called morgue humor. That’s how we cope with what we do. To some it might sound morbid, but it helps get us through this. There are days when it’s easy and others where there’s that one case you can’t get rid of. It’ll eat away at you if you let it. You’ll get accustomed to most of this and it’ll become routine. Now, you need to get to work.” He handed her a box of X-ray film.

  “Do you think he committed suicide?”

  “Not sure, but this isn’t the way I’d go. Drowning is painful. Plu
s, to be successful at it you have to secure weights to yourself before the plunge. Once you do that, you’re at the point of no return. It’s kind of like the person who jumps off the roof of a building. If you have a change of heart there’s nothing you can do on the ride down.”

  Val moved around the body, getting all of the X-rays. Taking dental X-rays was something she knew how to do. She was uncomfortable with the maggots at first, but by the end she realized they would stay on top of her gloves.

  “We already have a presumptive ID on this guy. His wallet was in his back pocket when he was found. That’s what we call a clue.” Howie raised one eyebrow in an exaggerated manner. “We already have X-rays from his dentist. These are called ante-mortem X-rays because they were taken before death.”

  They compared those to the victim’s post-mortem X-rays. Each filling was the same. Even a gold cap on a molar and a root canal on the front tooth were identical. “It’s a match!” Val exclaimed, proud of herself. “This is Mr. George Wolff.”

  “Congrats, Dr. Knight, you just made your first dental victim ID. It’s a good feeling isn’t it? You gave him a name and now he can be returned to his family. They can have closure.”

  At the end of her shift, Val was the happiest she’d been in a long time. On the drive home, she flipped through the radio channels, stopping at a station broadcasting the news. The toothless skull found in Chestnut Ridge Park was the top story. Why it remained in the medical examiner’s office, still unidentified, was the focus of the segment. The announcer stressed that Dr. Blythe had been unavailable for comment. That his conclusions didn’t seem to add up. Again.

  4

  It was a little before 5pm when Val swiped her ID card through the security pad at the employee entrance of the medical examiner’s office. Her second day of work was the night shift, twelve hours from 5pm to 5am. Julia wasn’t kidding when she said the shifts would be variable. With a large cup of coffee in one hand, keys and handbag in the other, Val struggled to open her office door.