as he cut through Mariah’s breastplate. Cameryn could tell it was hard work—he squeezed the wooden handles with increasing force until the blades snapped bone. Once it had been freed, he gave the V-shaped bone to Ben, who in turn set it on the table. Reaching inside her chest, Dr. Moore removed Mariah’s heart. “Looks healthy,” he said. Cupping it between his hands, he squeezed out blood and handed it to Ben. “I’m guessing three hundred fifteen grams.”
“Close. It’s three hundred twenty,” said Ben, and Patrick dutifully wrote it down.
Systematically, Dr. Moore began to remove the organs, handing them off to Ben to place in a hanging scale while Patrick recorded the numbers Ben called out.
“Do you see how pink the lung is, Miss Mahoney?” Dr. Moore ran his finger down the tissue and invited Cameryn to do the same. “No asthma, no chronic problems. Baby Doe was healthy and young. Here. Feel for yourself.”
With a gloved finger Cameryn touched the tissue. It felt slippery but firm, like a saturated sponge. When she pulled her hand away, she saw there was blood on her fingertip. Discreetly, she wiped it on her apron.
The small intestines, large intestine, and appendix were removed, followed by the bladder, ovaries, uterus, spleen, and liver. Finally Dr. Moore removed the stomach, which he drained into a silver bowl, examining the contents like a soothsayer reading entrails.
“The girl ate a cheeseburger and fries not too long before she died—one hour, maybe two,” Dr. Moore said, swirling the bowl. “We’ve got four hundred fifty-three milliliters here.”
“Four hundred fifty-three ML,” her father said, scribbling the numbers on a sheet while Dr. Moore removed the kidneys. Each organ he “loafed” with a bread knife so that the tissue opened against the terry cloth as though he were slicing a bun. Small samples were removed and preserved in a specimen jar, while Ben, in time with the music, dipped a kitchen ladle into the hollowed remains, rhythmically scooping up blood. He poured it into the sink with the water and Cameryn watched as it disappeared down the drain.
“We’re ready for the head,” Moore said, dropping the kidneys into a metal bin he’d set atop Mariah’s legs. Cameryn knew when the autopsy was done the contents of the bin would be dumped in a garbage bag. The Hefty bag would then be tied and placed back in the body cavity, and then Ben would stitch Mariah back up. There was nothing glamorous about a person’s guts. They ended up in a jumbled stew.
Sheriff Jacobs had put on his wire-framed glasses, which made his small eyes seem almost normal. Pointing to the hole in Mariah’s temple, he said, “My deputy thinks there may be foul play. What say you? Anything unusual so far?” he asked.
“I say no one can know anything until we’re finished. This is a medical examination and I’m not done examining yet. Miss Mahoney, I want you to stand next to me,” said Moore. Obedient, Cameryn took her place to the right of Mariah’s head. Mariah’s torso had been completely emptied. It lay open and exposed, vacant except for the vertebrae of her spine that glinted in the overhead lights like knots on a string.
Dr. Moore put a blue paper mask on, tying it behind his head in a quick knot. The thin gray hairs bristled over the line of the string. “I heard you ask Ben if we could just begin with the gunshot wound to the head, but there is never a variation in an autopsy procedure,” Moore said. His voice was muffled. “We go by the book, piece by piece. Put on a mask, Miss Mahoney,” he said, shoving a blue paper mask in her hand. “Bone dust is not something you should inhale.” She’d been unaware the men had already donned their own masks. The blue paper collapsed, then expanded with their every breath, in and out, like a bellows.
As the opera hit a crescendo, Dr. Moore gave a crisp nod to Ben, who pulled down the flap of skin from Mariah’s face,
“Close. It’s three hundred twenty,” said Ben, and Patrick dutifully wrote it down.
Systematically, Dr. Moore began to remove the organs, handing them off to Ben to place in a hanging scale while Patrick recorded the numbers Ben called out.
“Do you see how pink the lung is, Miss Mahoney?” Dr. Moore ran his finger down the tissue and invited Cameryn to do the same. “No asthma, no chronic problems. Baby Doe was healthy and young. Here. Feel for yourself.”
With a gloved finger Cameryn touched the tissue. It felt slippery but firm, like a saturated sponge. When she pulled her hand away, she saw there was blood on her fingertip. Discreetly, she wiped it on her apron.
The small intestines, large intestine, and appendix were removed, followed by the bladder, ovaries, uterus, spleen, and liver. Finally Dr. Moore removed the stomach, which he drained into a silver bowl, examining the contents like a soothsayer reading entrails.
“The girl ate a cheeseburger and fries not too long before she died—one hour, maybe two,” Dr. Moore said, swirling the bowl. “We’ve got four hundred fifty-three milliliters here.”
“Four hundred fifty-three ML,” her father said, scribbling the numbers on a sheet while Dr. Moore removed the kidneys. Each organ he “loafed” with a bread knife so that the tissue opened against the terry cloth as though he were slicing a bun. Small samples were removed and preserved in a specimen jar, while Ben, in time with the music, dipped a kitchen ladle into the hollowed remains, rhythmically scooping up blood. He poured it into the sink with the water and Cameryn watched as it disappeared down the drain.
“We’re ready for the head,” Moore said, dropping the kidneys into a metal bin he’d set atop Mariah’s legs. Cameryn knew when the autopsy was done the contents of the bin would be dumped in a garbage bag. The Hefty bag would then be tied and placed back in the body cavity, and then Ben would stitch Mariah back up. There was nothing glamorous about a person’s guts. They ended up in a jumbled stew.
Sheriff Jacobs had put on his wire-framed glasses, which made his small eyes seem almost normal. Pointing to the hole in Mariah’s temple, he said, “My deputy thinks there may be foul play. What say you? Anything unusual so far?” he asked.
“I say no one can know anything until we’re finished. This is a medical examination and I’m not done examining yet. Miss Mahoney, I want you to stand next to me,” said Moore. Obedient, Cameryn took her place to the right of Mariah’s head. Mariah’s torso had been completely emptied. It lay open and exposed, vacant except for the vertebrae of her spine that glinted in the overhead lights like knots on a string.
Dr. Moore put a blue paper mask on, tying it behind his head in a quick knot. The thin gray hairs bristled over the line of the string. “I heard you ask Ben if we could just begin with the gunshot wound to the head, but there is never a variation in an autopsy procedure,” Moore said. His voice was muffled. “We go by the book, piece by piece. Put on a mask, Miss Mahoney,” he said, shoving a blue paper mask in her hand. “Bone dust is not something you should inhale.” She’d been unaware the men had already donned their own masks. The blue paper collapsed, then expanded with their every breath, in and out, like a bellows.
As the opera hit a crescendo, Dr. Moore gave a crisp nod to Ben, who pulled down the flap of skin from Mariah’s face,
Similar Books
