Heart Stop

by Radclyffe

Jay frowned and laid her palm on the girl’s arm. Even through her gloves she could tell the body was warm. “She’s cooling off but not cold.”

  “Right. Check her corneas.”

  Jay gently pushed on an eyelid. “Can’t open her eyes. Her lids are too stiff.”

  “So,” Olivia said, “you’ve got a flaccid arm, fixed lids, and a warm body temp. Early stages of rigor. She also doesn’t show any signs of animal activity, and in a building like this, I’d expect the rats to have found her quickly. No insect infestation, either. All together that means she hasn’t been dead very long. Three to four hours, probably.”

  “And she was on her back for a while right after she died,” Jay said, “since the lividity is all posterior.”

  “Yes. Probably in the vehicle used to transport her here. Let’s get a look at her back now.”

  As Jay started to reposition her, Olivia grasped Jay’s arm.

  “Wait,” Olivia said. “Roll the body away from you when you want to examine beneath it. That way if there’s any release of fluid or other postmortem effluents, you won’t be wearing them.”

  “Thanks,” Jay said wryly, maneuvering around so she could flip the body all the way over. The back revealed nothing they didn’t already know except for one thing. Jay pointed to the spot low on the girl’s back where her top had pulled free from her skirt. “Why is there lividity there if she wasn’t flat on her back?”

  “There shouldn’t be.” Olivia shone her penlight over the pale skin stained with the purple blush of death. She looked over her shoulder. “Darrel, are you getting shots of this?”

  “Got it.”

  Olivia straightened. “I think we’re done here. Bobbi, you and Darrel can transport her now.”

  “Okay, Doc,” Bobbi said. “I’ll get the gurney up here.”

  “Jay, anything else here?” Olivia said.

  Jay appreciated Olivia treating her as if she knew what she was doing, which she definitely did not. She wished she knew what Olivia thought about her performance, and grimaced inwardly. She really was acting like a green recruit again. “Not that I can think of.”

  “Let’s see if the police have anything else for us, then.”

  “Sure.” Jay pushed up from her semi-kneeling position with her good leg and caught her breath when her bad knee folded. She tilted, despite planting her cane, and swayed with the wave of pain.

  Olivia’s hand closed around her elbow, steadying her. “Take a minute.”

  “I’m good,” Jay said, gritting her teeth. She carefully flexed her knee a couple of times and gingerly put weight on it. Thankfully, it held. “Back in working order.”

  Olivia lowered her voice. “Just let me know if you need a break. Fieldwork is rigorous, I know.”

  “It’s fine.” Jay knew she sounded brusque but she was determined not to appear any less capable then Olivia already thought she was. “Really.”

  Olivia nodded. “I’m sure you know your limits.”

  The blond officer who they’d talked with earlier leaned against the wall just outside the room. When she saw Olivia, she straightened eagerly. “Done in there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have a TOD?”

  Olivia shook her head. “Very approximate at this stage. Once we do the post—”

  “Ballpark—less than twenty-four hours, more?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t say. If I speculate and later find I’m wrong, your whole investigation could be a waste of time. Check with me tonight.”

  “I will,” Sandy said. “Anything jump out at you that says this isn’t an OD?”

  “Our preliminary findings—very preliminary—do not show any evidence of blunt or sharp trauma. There are no chronic signs of drug injection, but a single needle mark may not be evident at this point.”

  Sandy looked frustrated. “So she might have OD’d.”

  “Very possibly, but not here,” Olivia said.

  “Someone moved her here?” Sandy’s eyes lit up.

  “Yes.”

  “Huh.” Sandy glanced toward the room where Bobbi and Darrell were just wheeling out the gurney with the black vinyl body bag strapped to it. “Why not just dump her in a lot somewhere. Why bother bringing her inside?”

  She’d been musing aloud, and probably didn’t expect an answer.

  Olivia said, “Maybe he wanted her found here. Maybe it’s the building that matters.”

  “Or where the building is. Nice.” Sandy grinned, looking younger and decidedly hot. “Want a job at the PPD, Doc?”

  Olivia laughed, her beauty outshining the blonde’s youthful glow. “Definitely not. What about the drug you mentioned? What do you know about it?”

  “Next to nothing. We haven’t seen it around here yet, but there have been a few cases in NYC and Chicago. Very potent synthetic heroin. High OD rate. And other nasty side effects—coma and organ failure.”

  “Hmm. Sounds toxic or maybe cut with a toxin.” Olivia glanced at Jay. “We’ll have to check the liver for signs of infiltration or inflammation.”

  “My partner and I will be working this case.” Sandy handed Olivia a card. “Can you call me when you get to the post?”

  “You want to observe?”

  “Yes, if you’re cool with that.”

  “Certainly, but do you mind telling me why?”

  Sandy hesitated. “Because it reminds me they’re more than statistics, I guess.”

  Olivia regarded her thoughtfully. “All right, Officer Sullivan. We’ll be sure to contact you.”

  “Thanks.”

  As the officer strode away, Olivia turned to Jay. “Would you mind if we postponed your official orientation for another day?”

  Jay laughed. “Didn’t we just do that?”

  Olivia grinned. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Then I’ll just stick with you,” Jay said, finding that idea unexpectedly exciting.

  Chapter Seven

  “When do we start her post?” Jay asked as Olivia pulled away from the crime scene and circled the block to head west, back to the ME complex.

  “We’ve got another one who’s been waiting since last night. I want to finish him first.” Olivia flicked on the windshield wipers for a few seconds, the blades cutting through the light mist that had followed on the rain. Heading into late afternoon, the clouds had reformed and the day was gray. Still, the warm showers promised that spring was around the corner.

  “How do you decide who has priority?” Jay resisted the urge to scratch the itch on the back of her neck, pretty sure if she did, she’d be chasing the irritating sensation all day. She’d tried telling herself the Tyvek suit was no hotter than standing under the OR lights for hours gowned and gloved. Sweat was sweat, after all—but somehow, she couldn’t shake the feeling she’d carried something away from that desperate scene in her pores.

  “Do you want the AC on?” Olivia asked. “Those suits take some getting used to.”

  “No, I’m good.” Jay flushed. Was she that obviously rattled?

  “You did fine back there. Nothing you’ve done so far in your training really prepares you for a crime scene. It can be unsettling.”

  Jay groaned. “It shows, huh?”

  “A little.” Olivia lifted a shoulder. “Nothing every first-year resident hasn’t experienced.”

  “I’m not a first…I guess I am.” Jay grimaced, appreciating Olivia not making a big deal out of her discomfort. If she’d had a resident who couldn’t take the heat, or anything else, she’d have ridden him—or her—a bit harder. For as much as Olivia came off as aloof and remote, she was unexpectedly understanding. Surprising. Jay wasn’t often surprised by people. “It’s a change.”

  “Is it possible you’re not quite ready to work full-time?” Olivia couldn’t ignore the subject, even though Jay was clearly sensitive about her physical condition. Fieldwork was strenuous, and Jay was pale. “You might be asking a lot of yourself for the first day.”

  Jay’s gut reaction wa
s to fire back at the implied criticism, but the careful tone in Olivia’s voice softened the barb. “I’ve been sitting on my ass for almost three months, presumably to work on getting my strength back. I’m probably as close as I’m gonna get.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Olivia said. “I’ll trust you to monitor your own limits if you agree not to play the tough guy.”

  Jay grinned. “Who, me?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Deal.”

  “Good.” Olivia nodded, just as happy as Jay probably was to leave the personal behind. Under different circumstances, Jay would be ready to accept a staff position at a university hospital. She wasn’t an ordinary resident, but a very qualified, fully trained surgeon, and the fairest approach was to treat Jay like a junior associate, as much as possible, while still being sure she received appropriate training. “So, about the posts. Ordinarily, we would try to take the cases chronologically, but most of the time it doesn’t work out that way. If there’s a high-profile case, that may get bumped ahead of others.”

  Grateful to no longer be under the spotlight, Jay asked, “Such as?”

  Olivia glanced over at her. “Have you really decided to take this fellowship seriously?”

  Jay straightened, caught off guard by the question. She wasn’t used to having her motivation or her dedication questioned. She got it, though, why Olivia might not take her completely seriously, and she didn’t like it. She didn’t like anyone wondering about her capabilities or her sense of responsibility. “I could give you the answer you want to hear, which would be yes, of course, there’s nothing else I ever wanted to do, but you already know that’s not true. The only thing I ever wanted to be was a trauma surgeon.”

  “Why is that?” Olivia asked, her eyes back on the road now.

  “It’s complicated—well, maybe not. My older sister is a trauma surgeon. My older sister’s best friend, practically another sister, is a trauma surgeon. It’s either in the genes, or maybe just fated, that I would be too.”

  “Or maybe a little hero worship?” Olivia asked softly.

  “I’m not offended by that possibility. They’ve always been my heroes, along with my parents, I guess. But Ali and Vic—Victoria, my older sister—have always been a huge influence in my life, always going ahead of me, always setting the benchmark.”

  “And have you always exceeded it?”

  She grunted. “Not hardly. If I matched it, I was happy.”

  “Ali—is that Dr. Torveau, the trauma surgeon at University Hospital?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Is your sister there too?”

  “No, she has a staff position at Chicago General. I did my general surgery residency there and then came here for the trauma fellowship with Ali.”

  “How was that, working for your heroes?”

  “It inspired me. Like a boot in the butt every morning when I woke up.”

  Olivia nodded. “It can be a powerful motivator, trying to meet the goals set by someone you admire.”

  “It sounds like you know.”

  “You never considered anything else? Or asked yourself if you were doing it for them or for yourself?”

  Jay thought she probably should be offended by the question, but she wasn’t. It was an honest and reasonable question. Something about the way Olivia phrased it, or maybe the pensive quality of her voice, suggested she had some firsthand knowledge of living up to someone else’s standards. Maybe more than just understood it, maybe resented it just a little. Jay didn’t miss how neatly Olivia had deflected conversation from herself, either. “What about you? Do you do what you do because someone inspired you?”

  “Sometimes it’s hard to tell where or how the germ of an idea was planted, don’t you think? I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know I would do this.”

  “Seems like an odd thing to choose without having much exposure to it. I mean, how old were you when you decided?”

  “Hmm,” Olivia said, making a quick turn onto the expressway to cut around the beginning rush-hour clog coming out of Center City, “Eight, I would say.”

  “Right. So why does an eight-year-old decide they want to be a doctor to the dead?”

  “I guess I’ve always had a fascination with dead things.”

  “Okay, now that sounds a little weird.”

  Olivia laughed. “You have no idea.”

  “There’s gotta be a reason, don’t you think? Something that pulls us in a certain direction?”

  “Oh,” Olivia said, “there’s a reason. My mother is a physical anthropologist and an archaeologist. The dead have always been part of my life.”

  “That sounds pretty fascinating. Does she do a lot of fieldwork?”

  “Yes. You might have heard of her. Daphne Price. Her specialty is ancient South American civilizations.”

  “Wasn’t there a National Geographic special a few years back—that’s your mother?”

  “Mmm.”

  “Wow. That’s pretty special. Don’t those expeditions take years, sometimes?”

  “They can. She was a member of some of the early teams working at Machu Picchu and related Incan sites. I grew up living in a tent for a large part of my childhood.”

  “Really. What about school?”

  “I was homeschooled until I was a teenager, then boarding school.”

  “So what made you decide to study contemporary bodies and not—you know, long-ago dead, like your mom?”

  “The difference between you and me”—Olivia clicked on her blinker and turned in to the drive that ran along the side of the ME building to the lot behind—“is that I had no desire to compete with my inspiration. Practicing forensic pathology, even though I study the dead, is very much a part of the present world. I am accountable to the living, the ones who need answers. Besides, I have no desire to lose myself in the past.”

  “Does your mother approve?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not something we talk about.”

  “What about your father?”

  “My parents divorced when I was small. He’s remarried, and I am not close to him.” Olivia pulled into a place in the first row reserved for the Medical Examiner. She shut off the engine and shut down the topic just as neatly.

  Jay wanted to ask more, but she’d already trod dangerously close to an interest that was decidedly unwise. Olivia was fascinating, and far, far more complicated than she’d originally thought. The last thing she needed in her life was another complication.

  “I imagine you’re ready for a break,” Olivia said casually, gathering her briefcase and keys. “Why don’t we meet tomorrow at seven thirty, and we’ll—”

  “Didn’t you say you have another post to do? And when are you going to start on the—on the girl we just examined?”

  “I hope to get at least one done today, but it’s not necessary that you keep the same hours I do.”

  “One thing you learn in surgery, you don’t get to do the good cases if you aren’t there when they come in. I’m not going home to sit in my apartment when there’s work to do. If you’re working, I’m working.”

  “You may change your mind—I tend to keep long and erratic hours.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Jay said. “I can take it if you can.”

  Olivia laughed, that brief sun-shattering instant of pleasure coursing over her face. “Well then, we should test that theory. First, something to eat.”

  “Can I treat you to a street dog?” Jay, like most of her fellow surgeons, often ate lunch on the run, and the sidewalk vendors were the go-to place for something quick.

  Olivia hesitated. “Why not.”

  “Excellent. I’ll only be a minute.”

  “Meet me in my office. We’ll go over the field reports while we eat.”

  “Sure thing.” Jay headed for the line of vendors crowded in front of the medical complex, feeling almost like her old self again. She knew the feeling wouldn’t last, but for now, she’d take it.

  *
>
  “Hey,” Harvey White, one of the senior members of the narcotics squad called as Sandy and Oz walked back into the bullpen, “the lieutenant is looking for you two.”

  “Thanks,” Oz said, glancing at Sandy with an elevated eyebrow.

  She shrugged. They probably weren’t in any kind of trouble, considering they had the same number of open cases as all the other teams, and their clearance rate was better than most. Their lieutenant wasn’t one of the desk jockeys passed up through administrative channels, but an honest-to-God street cop like Rebecca Frye who had advanced based on experience and merit. He was a tough commander, but he stood up for them, no matter what. Knowing someone had your back made all the difference. She smiled to herself as they trooped through the haphazard aisles between desks, chairs, and wastebaskets toward the lieutenant’s cubbyhole office in the far corner of the room. Before she’d met Dell, the girls she’d worked with had been the ones to cover her back, and Frye too. But even then, there’d been plenty of times when she’d gone it alone. Now she never had to worry about facing anything alone. Dell was always there for her. Knowing that made it easy to face anything.

  Oz rapped on the glass door, the vibration rattling the half-opened blinds that hung on the inside of the window.

  “Yeah,” the lieutenant called.

  Oz opened the door, and he and Sandy squeezed in and pulled chairs over in front of the lieutenant’s desk. The three of them, the big gray metal desk, and their chairs took up most of the room. A computer, a tall file cabinet, and a lopsided bookcase filled up the rest of the available space. The place smelled like coffee and oranges. A squat candle burned in a shallow dish on top of the bookcase—the source of the orange-blossom odor.

  “My wife says it’s good for my blood pressure,” the lieutenant said, following Sandy’s gaze.

  “Yes, sir,” Sandy said, smothering a smile.

  “Yeah, well.” Will Ramos was square jawed and blocky, his caramel face always neatly shaved and adorned with a trim mustache. His jet-black hair was cut close on the sidewalls and left a bit longer on top. An ex Marine, an ex-street cop, and solid squad leader. “I got a call from Frye, asking about anything that looks like street-level skirmishes over territory or product. Everything quiet out there?”