“Looks like you got a booboo too,” Pitt said. He got the body temperature instrument and was about to get a reading.
“A rock bit me in the yard,” Sandra said.
“Sandra, I told you not to fib,” Mrs. Evans said. It was obvious the mother was at the limit of her patience.
“I’m not fibbing,” Sandra said indignantly.
Mrs. Evans made an expression as if to say, “What can I do?”
“Have a lot of rocks bitten you?” Pitt teased. He got a reading. The child had a temperature of 103° Fahrenheit. He wrote it and the blood pressure on the chart.
“Just one,” Sandra said. “A black one.”
“Guess we have to be careful with black rocks,” Pitt said. He then instructed the mother to watch the child carefully until the doctor came in.
Pitt headed back to the desk and slipped the chart into the rack where it would be picked up by the next available doctor. He was about to go behind the desk when the swinging doors that led to the outside burst open.
“Help me,” cried a man who was carrying a seizing woman. He staggered a few feet into the ER and threatened to collapse himself.
Pitt was the first person to reach the man’s side. Without a second’s hesitation he relieved the man of his burden by taking the woman into his own arms. It was difficult to hold her because she was still locked in the throes of a seizure.
By then Cheryl Watkins had come around from behind the desk along with several of the ER residents. Even Dr. Sheila Miller had dashed out of her office at the cries for help.
“Into the trauma bay,” Dr. Miller commanded.
Without waiting for a gurney, Pitt carried the twitching woman back into the depths of the ER. With the help of Sheila, who’d positioned herself on the other side of the examination table, Pitt put the patient down. As he did so his eyes met Sheila’s for the second time that day. No words were spoken but on this occasion a completely different message was conveyed.
Pitt backed up. Nurses and doctors jumped into the breach. Pitt stood there and watched, wishing he were at a stage in his training where he could participate.
The medical team which Sheila commanded quickly terminated the seizure. But then while they were beginning the evaluation of what caused the seizure, the patient had another, even more violent one.
“Why is she doing this?” the husband moaned. Everyone had forgotten he’d followed the group inside. One of the nurses went over to him and motioned for him to leave. “She’s got diabetes, but she’s never had a seizure. This shouldn’t be happening. I mean, all she got was a cough. She’s a young woman. Something is wrong, I know it.”
A few minutes after the husband had been led out to the waiting room, Sheila’s head snapped up so she could see the cardiac monitor. A sudden change in the sound of the beats had caught her attention.
“Uh oh,” she said. “Something’s going on here, and I don’t like it.”
The regular heartbeat had become erratic. Before anybody could react, the monitor’s alarm went off. The patient was fibrillating.
“Code red ER!” blared out of the intercom system. More ER doctors flew into the cubicle in response to the cardiac arrest call. Pitt backed up even further so as not to interfere. He found the episode both stimulating and frightening. He wondered if he could ever learn enough to participate capably in such a situation.
The team worked tirelessly but to no avail. Eventually Sheila straightened up and ran her forearm across her sweaty brow.
“OK, that’s it,” she said reluctantly. “We’ve lost her.” For the previous thirty minutes the monitor had traced a monotonous straight line.
The team hung their heads in dejection.
THE OLD SPRING-LOADED SCALE SQUEAKED AS DR. CURTIS Lapree allowed Charlie Arnold’s liver to slosh into its basin. The needle jumped up the scale.
“Well, that’s normal,” Curtis said.
“Did you expect it to be abnormal?” Jesse Kemper asked. He and Detective Vince Garbon had stopped by to observe the autopsy on the dead University Medical Center housekeeping employee. Both policemen were dressed in disposable contamination suits.
Neither Jesse nor Vince were at all intimidated or sickened by the autopsy. They’d witnessed a hundred or so over the years, especially Jesse, who was eleven years older than Vinnie.
“Nope,” Curtis said. “The liver looked normal, felt normal, so I expected it to weigh normal.”
“Getting any ideas what killed this poor chap?” Jesse asked.
“Nope,” Curtis said. “Looks like it’s going to be just another one of those mysteries.”
“Don’t tell me that,” Jesse said petulantly. “I’m counting on you to tell me if this was a homicide or accident.”
“Calm down, Lieutenant,” Curtis said with a laugh. “I’m just pulling your leg. You should know by now that the dissection part of the autopsy is just the beginning. In this case I expect the microscopic is going to be more important. I mean on gross, I don’t know what to make of the hole in the hand. Look at it!”
Curtis held up Charlie Arnold’s hand. “The damn hole is a perfect circle.”
“Could it be a bullet wound?” Jesse asked.
“You can answer your own question,” Curtis said. “With all the bullet wounds you’ve seen.”
“True, it doesn’t look like a bullet wound,” Jesse said.
“It sure as hell doesn’t,” Curtis said. “It would have had to be a bullet going the speed of light and hotter than the interior of the sun. Look at how everything got cauterized at the margins. And what happened to the missing tissue and bone? You said there was no blood or tissue at the scene.”
“Nothing,” Jesse said. “I mean no gore. There was melted glass and melted furniture, but no blood and no tissue.”
“What do you mean, melted furniture?” Curtis asked. He wiped his hands on his apron after removing the liver from the scale.
Jesse described the room, to Curtis’s utter fascination. “I’ll be damned,” Curtis said.
“Do you have any ideas?” Jesse asked.
“Sorta,” Curtis admitted. “But you’re not going to like it. I don’t like it either. It’s crazy.”
“Try me,” Jesse said.
“First let me show you something,” Curtis said. He went to a side table and brought back a pair of retractors. Putting them inside the deceased’s upper and lower lips, he exposed the teeth. The dead man assumed a horrid, grimacing expression.
“Oh, gross,” Vinnie said. “You’re going to give me nightmares.”
“Okay, Doc,” Jesse said. “What am I supposed to be looking at other than lousy dental work? Looks like the guy never brushed his teeth.”
“Look at the enamel of the front teeth,” Curtis said.
“I’m looking,” Jesse said. “Looks a little messed up.”
“That’s it,” Curtis said. He withdrew the retractors and returned them to the nearby table.
“Enough of this pussyfootin’ around,” Jesse said. “What’s on your mind?”
“The only thing I can think of that can do that to tooth enamel is acute radiation poisoning,” Curtis said.
Jesse’s face fell.
“I told you you weren’t going to like it,” Curtis said.
“Jesse’s very close to retirement,” Vince said. “It’s not nice to tease him like this.”
“I’m serious,” Curtis said. “It’s the only thing that relates all the findings, like the hole in the hand and the changes in the enamel. Even the cataracts that weren’t seen on his last yearly physical.”
“So what happened to this poor slob?” Jesse asked.
“I know it’s going to sound crazy,” Curtis warned. “But the only way I can relate all the findings so far is to hypothesize that someone dropped a red-hot pellet of plutonium in his hand that burned through and gave him an enormous dose of radiation in the process. I mean a whopping dose.”
“That’s absurd,” Jesse said.
&nb
sp; “I told you you weren’t going to like it,” Curtis admitted.
“There was no plutonium at the scene,” Jesse said. “Did you check if the body were radioactive?”
“I did, actually,” Curtis said. “For personal safety concerns.”
“And?”
“It’s not,” Curtis said. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be up to my elbows into it.”
Jesse shook his head. “This is getting worse instead of better,” he said. “Plutonium, shit! That would be some kind of national emergency. Guess I’d better get someone over to that hospital and make sure there’s no hot spots. Can I use a phone?”
“Be my guest,” Curtis said agreeably.
A sudden burst of coughing got everyone’s attention. It was Michael Schonhoff, a mortuary tech, who was over at the sink washing the entrails. The coughing went on for several minutes.
“Jeez, Mike,” Curtis said. “You’re sounding worse. And pardon my expression, but you look like death warmed over.”
“Sorry, Dr. Lapree,” Mike said. “I guess I got the flu. I’ve been trying to ignore it, but now I’m starting to get chills.”
“Clock out early,” Curtis said. “Get yourself home and in bed, take some aspirin, and drink some tea.”
“I want to finish up here,” Mike said. “Then I want to label the specimen bottles.”
“Forget it,” Curtis said. “I’ll have someone else finish up.”
“Okay,” Mike said. Despite his protestations to the contrary, he was happy to be relieved.
7
8:15 P.M.
“WHAT I KEEP ASKING MYSELF IS WHY WE NEVER COME down here,” Beau said. “This is beautiful.” He, Cassy, and Pitt were strolling along the pedestrian mall in the city center eating ice cream after a dinner of pasta and white wine.
Five years previously the downtown had looked like a ghost town, with most of the people and restaurants having fled out to suburbia. But like a lot of other American cities, there’d been a reawakening. A few tasteful renovations had started a self-fulfilling prophecy. Now the entire downtown was a feast for the eyes as well as the palate. Crowds milled about, enjoying the spectacle.
“You guys really skipped school today?” Pitt questioned. He was impressed and incredulous.
“Why not,” Beau said. “We went to the planetarium, the natural history museum, the art museum, and the zoo. We learned a lot, more than if we’d gone to class.”
“That’s an interesting rationalization,” Pitt said. “I hope you get a bunch of questions about the zoo on your next exams.”
“Ah, you’re just jealous,” Beau said, cuffing the top of Pitt’s head.
“Maybe so,” Pitt admitted. He stepped out of Beau’s reach. “I put in thirty hours in the ER since yesterday morning.”
“Thirty hours?” Cassy questioned. “Really?”
“Honest,” Pitt said. He then told them the story of the room where Beau had spent the afternoon and about spilling the coffee on Dr. Sheila Miller, the woman in charge of the entire emergency department.
Both Beau and Cassy were entranced, especially about the condition of the room and the death of the housekeeper. Beau asked the most questions, but Pitt had few answers. “They’re waiting for the autopsy results,” Pitt added. “Everybody’s hoping then there will be some answers. Right now no one has any idea of what happened.”
“Sounds horrid,” Cassy said, making an expression of disgust. “A hole burned through his hand. Gads, I could never be a doctor. No way.”
“I got a question for you, Beau,” Pitt said after they’d walked a few moments in silence. “How did Cassy manage to talk you into this day of culture?”
“Hey, wait a sec!” Cassy interrupted. “This day wasn’t my idea. It was Beau’s.”
“Get outta here,” Pitt said skeptically. “You expect me to believe that…Mr. Type A who never misses a day of school.”
“Ask him!” Cassy challenged.
Beau just laughed.
Cassy, intent on making her point that she’d not been to blame for the frivolous day and despite the crowded sidewalk, had turned and was walking backward so as to confront Pitt. “Come on, ask him,” she urged.
Suddenly Cassy collided with a pedestrian coming in the opposite direction who wasn’t paying much attention either. Both were mildly jolted but certainly unhurt.
Cassy immediately apologized as did the individual whom she’d hit. But then she did a double take. It was Mr. Partridge, the dour principal of the Anna C. Scott school.
Ed did a similar double take.
“Wait a second,” he said as a smile spread across his face. “I know you. You’re Miss Winthrope, the charming student teacher assigned to Mrs. Edelman.”
Cassy felt her face flush. Instantly she was aware that she’d possibly blundered into a minor catastrophe. But Mr. Partridge was the picture of gentility. “Such a nice surprise,” he was saying. “Here, I’d like you to meet my bride, Clara Partridge.”
Cassy dutifully shook hands with Mr. Partridge’s wife and suppressed a smile. She was well aware of what the students called the woman.
“And here is a new friend of ours,” Mr. Partridge said. He put his arm around his male companion. “I’d like you to meet Michael Schonhoff. He’s one of those dedicated civil servants who labors at our medical examiner’s office.”
Everyone shook hands through their introductions. Beau was particularly interested in Michael Schonhoff, and they fell into their own conversation while Ed Partridge directed his attention to Cassy. “I’ve certainly been getting some good feedback on your student teaching,” he said. “And I was impressed how well you were handling that class yesterday when Mrs. Edelman was delayed.”
Cassy didn’t know how to respond to these unexpected compliments. She also didn’t know how to respond to Mr. Partridge’s blatantly lewd inspection. Several times his eyes traveled up and down her body. After the first traverse she thought she could have been overreacting, but after the third time, she knew his behavior was deliberate.
Eventually the two groups said good-bye and went their separate ways.
“Who the hell is Ed Partridge?” Pitt asked as soon as they were out of earshot.
“He’s the principal of the high school where I’m student teaching,” Cassy said. She shook her head.
“He obviously is impressed with you,” Pitt said.
“Did you catch the way he was looking at me?” Cassy asked.
“How could I miss it?” Pitt said. “I was embarrassed for him, especially with his tub of a wife standing right there. What’d you think, Beau?”
“I didn’t catch it,” Beau said. “I was talking with Michael.”
“He’s never acted like that before,” Cassy said. “In fact he’s usually a conservative sourpuss.”
“Hey, guys, there’s another ice cream place across the street,” Beau said enthusiastically. “I’m going to have another. Anybody else?”
Both Cassy and Pitt shook their heads.
“I’ll be right back,” Beau said. He sprinted across the mall to wait in the ice cream concession line.
“You believe me about this day of playing hooky being Beau’s idea?” Cassy questioned.
“If you say so,” Pitt said. “But I’m sure you can understand my reaction. It is a little out of character.”
“That’s an understatement,” Cassy said.
They watched while Beau flirted with a couple of attractive co-eds. Even from where they were standing they could hear Beau’s characteristic laugh.
“He acts as loose as a goose,” Pitt commented.
“That’s one way to put it,” Cassy said. “We’ve had a ball today, there’s no doubt. But his behavior is starting to make me a little uneasy.”
“How so?” Pitt questioned.
Cassy let out a short, mirthless laugh. “He’s being too nice. I know that sounds crazy and maybe a little cynical, but he’s just not acting normal. He’s not acting like Beau normally acts. Skippin
g classes is just one thing.”
“What else?” Pitt asked.
“Well, it’s a little personal,” Cassy said.
“Hey, I’m a friend,” Pitt said encouragingly. At the same time his mouth went dry. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear anything too personal. As much as he tried to deny it, his feelings for Cassy weren’t entirely platonic.
“Sexually he’s been different,” Cassy said haltingly. “This morning he…”
Cassy stopped in midsentence.
“He what?” Pitt asked.
“I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” Cassy said. She was abashed. “Let’s just say there’s something different about him.”
“Has it just been today?” Pitt asked.
“Last night and today,” Cassy said. She considered telling about Beau dragging her out naked onto the balcony in the middle of the night to see the meteor shower but changed her mind.
“All of us have days when we just feel more alive,” Pitt said. “You know, when food tastes better and sex…seems better.” He shrugged. Now he was the embarrassed one.
“Maybe,” Cassy said without conviction. “But what I’m wondering is whether his behavior could have something to do with that fleeting flu he had. I’ve never seen him so sick even though he got over it so quickly. Maybe it scared him. You know, like he thought he was going to die or something. Does that sound reasonable?”
Pitt shook his head. “I didn’t think he was that sick.”
“Do you have any other ideas?” Cassy asked.
“To be honest I’m a little too tired to think creatively,” Pitt said.
“If you…” Cassy began, but she stopped. “Look what Beau’s doing now!”
Pitt glanced at Beau. He had met up again with Ed Partridge, Mrs. Partridge, and their friend Michael. The foursome were deep in conversation.
“What on earth could he be talking with them for?” Cassy asked.
“Well, whatever it is they all seem to be in agreement,” Pitt said. “They’re all nodding their heads.”
BEAU LOOKED AT THE CLOCK ON THE DASHBOARD OF HIS 4×4. It was two-thirty in the morning. He was with Michael Schonhoff, and they were parked in the loading dock of the medical examiner’s office next to one of the mortuary vans.