Chapter 25
25
“What’s the holdup on the toxicology report for Roy Parker?” Cora asked as David walked into the room. He was an excellent intern when it came to wanting to learn about autopsies, but she found him lacking when it came to the paperwork necessary for their jobs.
He looked up from his microscope. “Roy Parker?”
She placed her hands on her hips and glared. “Yes. Roy Parker. Came in through the ER. His sister wanted the autopsy, and I ruled an autopsy based on no previous heart condition, the sister’s suspicions, and his physician. His wife wasn’t happy. Does any of this ring a bell?”
He had the grace to blush but shrugged. “Sorry, Dr. Wadsworth. I haven’t seen it come in.”
“Well, how about you follow up with the state lab and see if they can estimate when it might be ready? His wife is blowing up my phone and has now contacted an attorney. If you don’t know this by now, you might as well learn—hospitals hate it when patients or families contact attorneys.”
His blush deepened. “Yeah… um… sorry. I’ll call.” He turned and walked out of the room, and she sighed heavily, dropping her chin to her chest.
“Do you think he’ll make it?”
Cora turned, finding Janice leaning against the counter on the far side of the room. The older woman’s brow arched inquisitively, and her arms loosely folded across her chest.
Shaking her head slowly, Cora replied, “He’s an excellent clinician—dedicated and willing to learn.”
“Agreed,” Janice said with a knowing smile. “But I can sense a ‘but’ coming.”
Cora exhaled, the weight of her thoughts pressing visibly on her. “You’re right. His follow-through is lacking. Some in the medical profession thrive under the urgency of a live patient in front of them. But when that urgency disappears—when the patient is deceased—they lose their drive.”
“Then maybe this isn’t the field for him,” Janice countered. “He could probably excel in another area of medicine. Anyway, his internship ends in two weeks. Maybe that’s the nudge he needs to find his niche.”
Cora leaned back, stretching her neck from side to side. A satisfying pop echoed in the room.
Janice chuckled. “At this rate, you’ll be a hunched-over old woman long before your time.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” Cora muttered with a wry smile. “Was there something you needed?”
Janice hesitated, her humor fading. “Sylvia from hospital risk management called for you. I’m guessing it’s about the Parker situation.”
“Dammit,” Cora grumbled under her breath. “I might need to rope Dan into coming with me.”
Before she could collect her thoughts and notes on Mr. Parker, the mortuary receptionist walked in, her expression tight.
“Cora, you’ve got a call-out. Unattended death.”
“Jesus,” Janice said, her exasperation clear. “Are we having a rash of these lately, or what?”
Cora grabbed her gear, her movements automatic. “Get Carl and meet me there,” she instructed, secretly relieved at the excuse to postpone her meeting with Sylvia. After taking down the address from the receptionist, she double-checked her supplies and headed out to the parking lot.
The drive to the modest home took almost thirty minutes. As she pulled into the driveway, she noted the well-tended yard—a stark contrast to the somber reason for her visit.
She didn’t recognize the deputies standing near the doorway but exited her car and began suiting up. Once her full PPE was in place, she slung her large bag over her shoulder and approached. When she flashed her medical examiner badge, the female deputy stepped aside to let her in.
“What do we know?” Cora asked as she neared.
“The deceased is Hank Snodgrass,” the deputy replied.
“Who found him?”
“His neighbor down the street. He called to ask if Mr. Snodgrass needed anything from the store, but he didn’t get an answer—unusual for him. The neighbor said he had a bad feeling. He had a key, which was given to him by Mr. Snodgrass’s son in case of emergencies. When he let himself in this morning, he found him on the bathroom floor.”
Cora nodded, absorbing the details. Behind her, Carl and Janice arrived, parking next to her vehicle. She slipped protective covers over her shoes before stepping inside.
The house was orderly, with wide spaces between the furniture—a clear accommodation for mobility aids like walkers or wheelchairs. The lack of clutter and visible signs of struggle reassured her initial assessment.
In the hallway, she passed family photos arranged neatly in frames. Pausing at an open bedroom door, she noted the unmade bed and an overturned walker on the floor. Her gaze shifted to the en suite bathroom, where the body lay sprawled.
She stepped closer, confirming that Mr. Snodgrass was indeed deceased. “Time of death,” she called out, her voice carrying to Carl, who had begun documenting the scene with his camera. She leaned closer and whispered to the old man, “I’ll take care of you.”
Standing, she began looking around. The bathroom offered little in the way of immediate answers. A cup, toothbrush, toothpaste, and electric razor sat undisturbed on the sink. She picked up the cup with a gloved hand and noted it was dry inside. She opened the mirrored medicine cabinet and found several prescription bottles, all empty and labeled for Hank Snodgrass.
She turned to the deputy standing behind Janice. “I’ll need evidence bags for these.”
As Carl continued taking pictures, she and the deputy searched the rest of the house, checking drawers, nightstands, and even the kitchen. They found no other medications or pills.
“Ready to move the body?” Carl asked, stepping back into the room.
“I think we may need to wait,” she replied.
He glanced at the bagged prescriptions in the deputy’s hands, his expression grim. “Damn. Another one of these?”
Cora nodded. “It’s happening too often—elderly patients found dead, their medications gone. We don’t know yet, but I’m seeing a pattern.”
“Want me to call the detectives?” the deputy asked.
“Yes,” Cora replied. “Detectives Pickett and Bolton are already working similar cases. If they’re nearby, I’ll wait. Otherwise, they can follow up with me at the morgue.”
After placing the call, the deputy said, “Detective Pickett said they’re on their way.”
“Thank you,” Cora said, exhaling deeply as she prepared for the next phase of her investigation. As she wandered to the door, she noticed the security camera on the door. Lifting a brow, she walked back into the house.
As more law enforcement arrived, she continually glanced out the window, searching for Jeremy. Her heart leaped as soon as he pulled up, and her lips curved.
Her gaze swept over him as he approached the house, each step fluid and self-assured. His muscular frame moved quickly, bolstering the quiet confidence he exuded.
When he reached the door, she was already there to meet him. She didn’t miss how his eyes twinkled when they landed on her.
“Detective Pickett,” she greeted, her tone steady but warm.
He dipped his head in acknowledgment, a faint smile gracing his lips. “Dr. Wadsworth. We meet again.”
A soft chuckle escaped her as she shook her head, but her demeanor quickly shifted to seriousness. “Before we go any further, take note of the door security camera.”
Jeremy’s brow lifted, his expression sharpening as he nodded. “Good catch. Hopefully, we can pull something useful from it.”
She turned and led him toward the back of the house. As they stepped into the bedroom, her clinical side took over.
“The neighbor identified the deceased as Hank Snodgrass,” she said, gesturing toward the body visible on the bathroom floor. “He lived alone. The neighbor has a key for emergencies and got suspicious when repeated calls went unanswered. He mentioned that the son lives in Suffolk.”
Jeremy’s sharp gaze swept over the room, cataloging details before settling on the body. His silence spoke volumes as he absorbed the scene.
“I’m ready to transport whenever you are,” she continued. “The deputy has bagged the medication bottles—they’re all empty. Prescriptions from Baytown Pharmacy, which we’ve seen in other cases. I’m not labeling this suspicious until I’ve conducted the autopsy, but if the tox screen comes back like the others, and he doesn’t have the medication in his system, then we may have a pattern.”
“Understood,” Jeremy replied, his tone even.
Cora stepped aside as Jeremy and Pete entered the bathroom to investigate. As she watched them work, her mind already began generating potential scenarios.
After several minutes, Pete turned to her. “You can take the body when you’re ready.”
Nodding, she looked at Janice. “Tell the paramedics to come in.”
As the paramedics carefully transferred Mr. Snodgrass into a body bag and secured him on the gurney, Cora signed the necessary paperwork with practiced efficiency.
Jeremy followed her to the front of the house, his presence steady and grounding. “Are you going to start the autopsy immediately?” he asked.
“Yes,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Anything to keep me from dealing with the risk management department.”
“Something going on?”
“The Parker case,” she admitted, her frustration seeping into her tone. “I don’t have the toxicology report back yet, so I haven’t released the body. Now, his wife’s attorneys are pressuring the hospital, and they’re in damage-control mode to avoid bad publicity. If I could just get the damn report, this would be so much easier to handle.”
Jeremy’s voice softened, his concern evident. “I’m sorry, babe. It never seems to stop in our line of work, does it?”
She shook her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “No, but seeing you is a definite bonus.”
His grin was immediate and warm, and she felt it settle in her chest, soothing the weight she carried. What she once thought of as a smirk now seemed like the smile of a man who knew how to find light even in the darkest moments. She hadn’t realized until now how much she needed that.
She wanted to reach out and squeeze his hand, but the gloves between them made the gesture feel too sterile. Instead, she sighed softly. “Will I see you tonight?”
His smile widened. “Your place or mine—it doesn’t matter. I just want to be with you.”
Those simple words, coupled with the warmth in his eyes, filled her heart. She pulled her mask off and smiled back at him, her emotions spilling over in her expression. Without another word, she turned and left the house, her heart noticeably lighter.