by Radclyffe
“I know, but tell me if I’m wrong.”
“Oh, I most certainly will.”
Olivia’s tone was a dare, and Jay liked dares too. “He looks like the girl.”
Olivia’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes glinted. “What do you mean?”
“It’s not the superficial positioning with him curled on his side, because I think this time that’s how he expired. He hasn’t been moved. Look at the vomit. If he’d been dead when he was moved, his stomach muscles would have been denervated and he wouldn’t have vomited. He vomited as he was dying, so he was in the position we see him in now prior to death. It’s his overall appearance that’s similar—he’s clean, well nourished, with an expensive haircut and expensive clothes, at least for casual wear. He’s young, about her age. I’d be willing to bet when we look at his arms, he’s not a junkie. Maybe he’s a casual user, maybe a first-timer. Like her. Plus, he’s out of his element here. This place is a dive, but I bet it’s a great place to score drugs or somewhere around here is.”
“You think this is an overdose?”
“I think it might be,” Jay said, avoiding the trap of assumption. “We’ve ruled out penetrating injury—nothing to indicate a GSW, no blood on the floor or on him, at least from what we can see now. We can’t be sure there isn’t some blunt trauma since we can’t see the back of his head and neck completely. I suppose there could be an ice pick wound that would’ve left minimal blood, but that would be a very unusual form of death for someone like this in this place. I think we’ll know more when we’re finished with the autopsy and the toxicology comes back.”
Olivia smiled, the pleased smile that set Jay’s heart tapping a little faster. “I think you’re right.”
“To all of it?”
“He falls into the same age and apparent socioeconomic demographic as our Jane Doe. Maybe this time we’ll get lucky and actually get an ID. He’s got a wallet in his back pocket.”
“How do you know that?”
“Easy. I can see it.”
Jay squinted, and sure enough, the faint line of a slim wallet tented the lower corner of his back pocket, all that was visible from their angle. “Good eye.”
“I’m surprised the CSU techs didn’t try to tease it out, but they know it aggravates me when they fool with the body.”
From the doorway, Dell said, “I’d be very happy if you teased it out now. I’d like to ID him so we can try to piece together what happened here.”
“Give us just a moment,” Olivia said without turning. “Jay, will you photograph, please.”
“Absolutely.” Jay opened the field kit, assembled the digital camera, and starting with the perimeter, worked her way counterclockwise around the room, ending with the body, first distant shots, then multiple close-ups. She shot over fifty photos from various angles and backed everything up to an external hard drive when she was done. “Got it.”
Olivia pulled on gloves, extracted the wallet, and handed it to Dell.
Dell, also gloved, flipped open the wallet. “He’s from Massachusetts. Victor Gutierrez, twenty years old.”
“Visitor?” Jay mused out loud. “Weird place to be visiting.”
“He could be in town for an interview, some sports event, a family visit, who knows.” Dell took a digital image of the license, looked through the rest of the wallet, and dropped everything into an evidence bag. She handed the bag to Olivia to initial and then added her own, securing the chain of custody. “I’ll tell Flanagan’s people to come collect this.”
“He could also be a student,” Olivia said. “That fits.”
Dell paused. “Fits with what?”
Olivia stood, a forceps in her right hand, holding a postage-stamp-sized glassine envelope with some kind of marking in black ink. “This is like the one found with our Jane Doe. I’ve been trying to think of reasons she hasn’t been identified yet. If she’s a student, she might not be missed right away, especially if her family isn’t used to hearing from her regularly or they think she’s on some kind of trip, or any number of reasons.”
“Wait a minute,” Dell said. “You have another victim related to this one?”
“We don’t know that yet,” Olivia said. “But we do have an unidentified female who died of a drug overdose. It’s possible he did as well. I was speculating perhaps they were students. Just speculating.”
“It’s SOP to canvass all the local colleges,” Dell said, “but it’s also like looking for a needle in a haystack if no one’s reported her missing. Sometimes kids move off campus without telling the parents, and their dorm mates never miss them because they think they’re shacked up somewhere else. If this one’s a student, though, his student ID isn’t with him.”
“Hopefully he’ll turn up in the databases,” Olivia said, already kneeling again, a thin probe in her right hand. She lifted his shirt, palpated the lower edge of his right rib cage, and slid the probe into his abdomen and the liver underneath. She read out the body temp to Jay, who had started the field report without being asked. That was part of her job.
A few minutes later, Olivia said, “I think we’re done here. I’ll text Darrell and let him know this one’s ready for transport.”
“It looks like he came in here, maybe wasn’t feeling very well, lost consciousness, and died,” Jay said quietly.
“I agree with you.” Olivia sighed. “I had hoped we wouldn’t have a repeat, but this looks very much like the other case.”
“Coincidences do happen,” Jay said.
“Yes, they do, but I for one consider them the cause of last resort.”
Jay chuckled. “Me too. Time to check out the alley?”
“Yes.”
Jay picked up the field kit, and Olivia handed the evidence bag with the wallet to one of the CSU techs who appeared to collect it. A door marked exit had been propped open with a wooden chair braced under the push bar. The harsh white light just beyond was eerie and disorienting. From the depths of the club, Jay felt like she was stepping into some alternate reality. Two halogen lamps on stands fifteen feet apart spotlighted their second victim, another young white male, this one in chinos, oxfords, again with no socks, and an expensive-looking V-neck sweater. He lay on his back, staring up into the light, eyes wide and unblinking. His fly was open, but otherwise, his body seemed undisturbed. No blood, no external signs of injury, nothing around him to suggest a struggle. Jay pointed to a wide streak on the brick wall a few feet away. “I bet that is urine.”
Olivia turned, followed Jay’s gaze. “You think he came out here to relieve himself, and then…?”
“And then whatever he took, either inside or right after he came out, killed him.”
“We need to determine the onset of action for this drug. I’m beginning to think we already know the LD50.”
“You mean like everyone who takes it dies?”
“We can’t know that,” Olivia said, “but when we’ve got more than one victim in the same place, we have to assume it’s highly lethal.”
Jay pulled out her tablet, scrolled to a new page.
“Let me do that,” Olivia said. “You do the photos and the body.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jay happily handed over the tablet and took the scene photos. After measuring liver temp, she checked his pockets, removed his wallet, and almost as an afterthought, slid her fingertip into the small key pocket on the inside of his waistband. She came out with a small glassine envelope between her index and middle fingers, a thin line of white powder still coating the bottom seam. “Got a residual sample here.”
“How did you know to check in there?”
“I’ve got a pair of pants like this,” Jay said. “It’s kind of a design quirk of the brand. Instead of a watch pocket, which doesn’t look right on chinos, they put this small inner pocket on all their casual pants.”
“I would’ve missed that,” Olivia said, her tone distressed.
“CSU would’ve gotten it from the clothes. Probably.”
“But now we’re ahead of things. Good job.”
By the time they reached the third body, the story was depressingly repetitive. Another twenty-year-old male, African American, dressed similarly to the other two, sprawled at the far end of the bar in a pool of vomit. Archie appeared as they were starting their examination and took over the scene photographs from Jay. Olivia collected specimens of the vomitus and went through his clothes. She extracted a plastic photo ID card from his shirt pocket.
“Someone should get Detective Mitchell,” Olivia said as she rose. “Student ID. Schuyler College.”
“I’ll find her.” Jay circled the club and, when she didn’t see her, stepped outside to look. A pair of news vans had pulled up tight behind the police cruisers, their satellite dishes standing out above them like mini UFOs. A woman pushed a mic toward a police officer wearing a uniform with a lot of brass. Not surprisingly, Dellon Mitchell wasn’t in the spotlight. She didn’t look the type who lusted for publicity. Jay finally found her at the margin of the bright lights flaring from the news vans and told her about the ID.
“Excellent, thanks,” Dell said, heading back toward the club. “What do you think so far?”
Jay was used to interfacing with the police in the trauma unit. She often treated crime victims or suspected offenders, and updating law enforcement was standard procedure. But in those cases, she’d been giving a medical report of changing conditions. Now she was being asked for a conclusion. “Other than all three of them being dead, nothing you don’t already know.”
Dell snorted. “Had to try.”
“Yep. But if I know Olivia, we’ll be working them all night.”
“That’s good, because we’ll be out all night too. Maybe I’ll buy you breakfast, and we can compare notes.”
“Done,” Jay said, “if I can.”
“Good enough. Let me have your number,” Dell said.
Jay extracted her phone. “Trade.”
They synced their numbers and Dell entered the club. Jay was about to follow when someone called her name.
She turned and Dr. Greenly emerged from the crowd onto the sidewalk. He looked like he was ready for the office in a topcoat, suit, and tie instead of being out in the middle of the night on a trash-strewn street.
Jay hid her surprise, or at least she hoped she did. “Hello, sir.”
“Doctor,” Greenly said, and Jay wondered if he actually remembered her name. “Captain O’Hara, the police commander in this district, contacted me for information about the investigation, so I thought I’d best come oversee the progress. Why don’t you update me.”
“Ah…” Jay had a feeling what he was asking was a little above her pay grade. “Dr. Price is right inside, Dr. Greenly. I’m sure she can—”
“That’s quite all right. Just give me the pertinent details for now.”
“Actually, sir, I’ve just been taking photographs and don’t really have any details. Come this way.” Before he could question her again, she pushed open the door and held it for him, giving him no choice but to follow. Looking exasperated and a little reluctant, he stepped into the semidark, dank club. Jay hoped to give Olivia a heads-up before they descended on her, but Olivia saw them from across the room, said something to Archie, and strode to meet them well away from the last victim.
“Dr. Greenly, I’m sorry someone got you out of bed.”
“Quite all right.” He grimaced as if the situation were anything but, then replaced the discomfited expression with a forced smile. “It’s the job, after all. So, what do we have?”
“Three deceased,” Olivia said instantly, “all male. No positive IDs at the moment, but we’re working on it and should have something reasonably soon.”
“Yes. And cause of death?”
Just as smoothly, Olivia replied, “Not definitive at this moment, but we can allay the fears of the concerned members of the community. We have determined there is no risk from noxious chemicals, gas leaks, or other environmental contamination. I’m sure everyone will want to know. A brief press statement to that effect, perhaps?”
He seemed to brighten and nodded. “You’re absolutely right. Good work. Thank you.”
Jay stifled a laugh as Greenly hastily retreated. “That was slick.”
“I’m sure I don’t have any idea what you mean,” Olivia deadpanned. “The trick is to provide some information that’s already been released or doesn’t have any direct bearing on your conclusions. That we have three male victims is probably all over the street by now, and we know from CSU and fire rescue there’s no risk to any of us from airborne toxins. So I didn’t actually tell him anything we don’t want the news to have.”
“You think that’s where he’s headed?”
“I know that’s where he’s headed. It’s politics.”
Jay grunted. “Can’t escape it.”
“No, but—”
The front door banged open and a police officer yelled, “We need you out here, Doc. ASAP.”
Olivia took off on the run and Jay hurried to keep up. A circle had formed around a figure lying in the street, and it took Jay a second to realize it was Greenly and not another overdose. “What happened?”
“He just…dropped,” the officer said.
Olivia knelt, felt Greenly’s neck for a pulse, and shouted, “Get the paramedics. He’s arrested.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Fire rescue, coming through.” Beau, an oxygen tank tucked under one arm and a red equipment box in the other hand, squatted beside Jay, who continued chest compressions in a steady, rapid rate. “What we got?”
“Sixty-year-old male,” Olivia said, keeping Greenly’s chin up and his airway clear. “Abrupt syncopal episode. I can’t find a pulse.”
Beau opened her field kit, and her partner, a big ruddy blond, cut open Greenly’s shirt with heavy field scissors, exposed his chest and abdomen, and deftly attached EKG leads to Greenly’s shoulders and flanks. Beau charged the defibrillator.
“Flatline,” the blond grunted and fitted a breathing mask over Greenly’s mouth with one hand, pumping oxygen through the bag with the other.
Beau set the paddles on Greenly’s chest. “Clear.”
Jay lifted her hands off Greenly’s body. His body jumped with the first electrical discharge. She watched the portable monitor. Still flatline. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, memory flared. Flashes of light, a cacophony of unintelligible voices, a burst of pain. Sweat popped out on her brow despite the cold. She shivered, shook off the animal instinct to escape the danger she sensed but couldn’t see.
“Got the epi, Bobby?” Beau asked.
Bobby taped in the IV he’d just started and grabbed a prefilled syringe from the med drawer. “Got it.”
“Go ahead.”
The EKG stayed flat. Beau upped the current of the defibrillator. Jump-starting a flatline didn’t often work, but they didn’t have much else to try. “Clear!”
Again, no response. Jay resumed compressions, shutting out any other thoughts.
“Get the rig, Bobby,” Beau said. “We need to transport.”
“On it,” Bobby said.
“Here, I’ll take over there.” Olivia knelt and Bobby handed over the breathing bag.
“Thanks.” The big man rose and the crowd around them parted to let him through. Two police officers hurried after him and jumped into patrol cars to make room for the rescue rig.
“Do you want to intubate him?” Olivia asked. Although technically, either Jay or Olivia could have run the resuscitation, neither of them had said a word, smart enough to know that Beau and her colleague were far more adept at field resuscitation than either of them. Jay had plenty of experience in acute resuscitation in the trauma unit, but they weren’t in the relatively controlled environment of the unit now. This was Beau’s domain.
“O2 sats are good so far.” Beau hurriedly packed gear automatically, her focus on the monitors. “I’d rather get him to the ER ASAP.”
“Of c
ourse,” Olivia replied.
“Does he have any heart condition that you know of?” Beau asked.
“None that I’m aware of,” Olivia said. “Jay, do you want to switch with me?”
Jay’s arms trembled from the strenuous compressions she hadn’t performed in almost a year. Thankfully the PT had helped her preserve her upper body strength. Still, her shoulders and arms were slowly going numb. Pride had no place in this situation, and after another few seconds, she leaned back. “Yeah, you can spell me now.”
“Anything?” Bobby asked as he jumped out of the rescue rig and hurried to join them.
“Still flatline,” Olivia said, watching the monitor.
“Let’s push another round of epi and get going,” Beau said.
Bobby injected the second ampule and everyone watched the monitor. A tiny blip, then another, then nothing.
“Damn it,” Beau said. “That’s it. Let’s roll.”
Bobby pushed the gurney into position, and he and Beau swiftly transferred Greenly. As Beau strapped him down, Jay said, “Listen, you need me to ride with you? Somebody’s gonna have to keep up the chest compression, or I can bag him.”
“Yeah,” Beau said, “that would be good. Then we don’t have to pull one of the fire crew to assist. Bobby’s the best driver in the whole station.”
Olivia sprinted alongside the stretcher as Bobby and Beau pushed it toward the fire rescue truck. “I’ll follow you there.”
Jay climbed in after Beau, strapped into the jump seat at the head of the gurney, and took over cycling the breathing bag. Beau continued closed chest compression. Bobby slammed the rear doors closed, and ten seconds later they lurched forward, sirens blaring. Jay stared at the monitor so long without blinking, her eyes burned. She blinked. Blinked again.
“Got a rhythm!” Jay checked his carotid. “Weak pulse here.”
Beau stopped compressions and took a quick pressure. “Got a BP too. Ninety over forty. Keep bagging him.”
“On it.”
Beau adjusted the IV drip, added lidocaine, and rechecked the pressure. “He’s holding.”
