Do we tell the
truth or nothing in it.
No one remembers
the coroner unless there was a dead victim to be examined. There I was buried
in the separate section of the building in a section named the Morgue, taken
from the French word; Mortuary early fourteenth century "gift to a parish
priest from a deceased parishioner," It was the English who refined the
word to 'deadhouse' in 1865.
The section of the
morgue was of two areas; the examining area and the storage rooms. The later
was kept at two degree to minus fifty Celsius, of course the temperature, the
dead body would be able to delayed its decomposition. The examination area was
all sterile in looks with its metal fittings including the tables alongside the
metal trays and tables. My room was at the right end; you are not keen to know,
well, never mind. Well, it won't be lilac or lavender that you would get to
smell in there but there may be the antiseptic cleaning agents or it may be
laid as pristine to avoid scent contamination. Yes, smell was one possible
evidence or clue to the evidence.
However, although
morgues are kept cool, and as clean and sterile possible, you will sometimes
smell an underlying odor of death and decomposition. This odor is less likely
in a hospital morgue, since bodies there are usually not kept for long periods
of time--though this depends on the city or town and whether or not a separate
forensic morgue is available. If you are worried about odors, bring some
menthol ointment to put under your nostrils. You could always shared it with
the others.
On some busy days,
the bodies that don't fit into a cooler designed to hold 40 persons, we would
resort to lined the corridor outside the examination room. Those are for
temporary purposes. We do endeavor to clear the 'John or Jane Doe' but its
judgmental to say who gets the priority.
Yes, you want to
know how does it feel to be among the dead bodies? Everyone who was not a
Coroner wants to know, but no we do not disclose personal carvings on the dead
bodies, and for heaven sake, we are not necrophobic. With that out, I would
proceed to tell you a case I handed. I got that call from the Homicide Section;
they are the only guys who knew I existed here. The others tend to avoid me. I
got into the van with my assistant; Andy was the name. Who cares about his
father's name. I was not getting married to him or his family anyway. Even if I
did, it would be a waste of my sperms on him.
"Sir, we got
a dead body here." I looked at the rookie who addressed me. They are just
too darned polite at that stage. I ignored him and walked up the stairs with my
assistant carrying my bag. It was three flight of stairs and one set of rickety
old knees which would come loose of its sockets soon. Soon I made it up there;
sordid looking place with more doors that I have seen in my house, which was
quite decent with its five bedrooms and we only occupied one. I sleep on the
couch or next to her on the armchair. Bernice had been inside the oxygen tent
for sometime.
"Hooker had
called to report that a client had died in her arms and she didn't know what to
do. We showed up and sure enough there was this very dead elderly man on the
floor of the apartment." The uniformed officer brief the detective while I
went down on my knees to check. It was my knees and not my haunches as that
would put stress on my painful spine. I was not young any more and whoever say
I needed to retire could end up on my examination table.
It was the
coroner's job to determine a cause of death; homicide, suicide, accident and
natural.
Fairly
self-explanatory.
"It looked
like he died of a cardiac arrest. But I would know more when back in the
lab." I told the detective.
"Screwed it,
Dan. That's Freddy Lane. He was my partner for sometime. Why can't you just
signed off without him being cut opened by you?" I heard the detective.
"Jim, I don't
tell you what to do and you don't tell me what not to do." I was thankful
that he did not picked a fight with me.With my knees bucking, I would had hit
him below the belt. Later at the morgue, I had him examined and then looked up
at the personnel file. I remembered Freddy; first grade homicidal freak, the
only different was he held a badge. During his period of service, he had abused
all the suspects he brought until the civil rights were enforced by the
Department. I also knew personally him when his ex-wife came to report on
marital abuse. I was younger then, and took my pugilistic skill more seriously.
I sent him to the Medical High for two weeks. He never stepped into my morgue
anymore. Well not till that day, he was laid there for my scalpel, plier,
cutter and weighing scale. Freddy had some money, an expensive watch and a plastic
wallet. Inside the wallet were several pictures encased in plastic; all of
himself in uniforms. In it was the name card of one Rebecca Ward, the hooker
who was with him at his last moment.
In his stomach, I
found a concentration of poisonous element known to be from the flower named
Fox Glove or Digitalis purpurea. It was known to induce nausea,
vomiting, diarrhea, abdominal pain, wild hallucinations, delirium, and severe headache. Depending on the
severity of the toxicosis, the victim may later suffer irregular and slow
pulse, tremors, various cerebral disturbances, convulsions, and deadly disturbances of the
heart.
When we confronted
Ms.Ward, she denied feeding him that.
"I just fed
him Comfrey tea. He was coughing and that tea soothes the throat." Ms Ward
demonstrated her need for throat relived medication. Its tough sometimes being
a hooker.
I told her that
sometimes cardiac medication caused coughing, especially when he had just
changed his medication type. He was adjusting to it. Jimmy asked who gave her
the tea.
"I had mine
bought at the Herbal Shop. That one bottle was given to me by John Henry. He
was an arsehole." She spoke out his name with the eyes rolled up. I guess
I caught up the meaning; there are things we do not need to demonstrate for
words.
Jimmy went after
Henry and on some hard selling of his torture methodologies, the suspect
admitted he swapped the tea for something else. He read it would just induced
diarrhea. That one we understood but I would had recommended a butt plug would
do a better job. We booked John Henry on culpable homicide.
"Red', that's
what they called Rebecca. "She won't die from it. The guy in the shop told
me so."
I passed him the
remaining tea in the bottle. He might need it while he served time. It was good
to have loose stools. Then the boys in the Precinct got together to solve the
issue of what to tell ex Mrs Freddy Lane. I was given the task as I knew her
more.
"Sorry, Mary.
Freddy died in has died."
"What were
the circumstances," she asked.
He gave her the
agreed-upon story.
Her reply?
"I was sure
he would die in the arms of some prostitute. Well, I guessed keeled over on the
toilet seat was just as bad."
I agreed with her.
Sleaze bags like him don't deserved to die in a lady's arm. I went home and
slept next to Bernice on the chair holding her hand.
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