Chapter 17 MINKA
MINKA
“Did you know our John Doe very well, gentlemen?” I’ve already cut the Y and opened Agosti’s chest, so now I slice through the muscle holding the block.
I peel his tongue away from the back of his throat, dragging it downward and into his chest cavity.
But I’m not ready to remove everything yet, so I trade my scalpel for something much larger. Something much more serious.
Glancing over my shoulder, I meet Number-One’s hard stare. “Can you not hear me when I’m wearing a shield? I asked if you knew—”
“I’ve been in this man’s presence on a handful of occasions.” His eyes flicker to Agosti’s naked body laid out on cold, hard steel. “I’d prefer not to talk while you’re working. It’s important that you concentrate.”
“No need to worry about my abilities. I enjoy teaching, talking through my technique, and quizzing my pathologists to ensure they’ve paid attention.
” I walk around the table and align my tool.
“To access a patient’s organs, I must remove the ribcage.
To do that, I have to cut along the boundary between the ribs and the cartilage connected to the breastbone.
” Snip. “It’s a bit like cutting through a thick branch on a tree, I imagine.
Same tool, too.” Snip. “An autopsy like the one I’m performing on our John Doe will require removing the entire cage, and then I can remove each organ one by one.
His heart. His lungs.” Snip, snip. “His kidneys. Oh, look.” I set the shears down and snag my pen and notebook instead, since this case isn’t exactly on the record.
“He’s had his appendix removed already. It’s interesting, don’t you think?
We have a mostly useless organ just sitting here in our bodies.
We don’t need it, and seven percent of our population will develop appendicitis and require emergency surgery in their lifetimes.
If not caught in time, appendicitis is lethal.
” I trade the pen for the shears again. “I lie awake at night sometimes and wonder why evolution hasn’t phased the appendix out. ”
Snip.
Number-Two shifts his eyes away and squirms, even if he’s large enough and scary enough that most wouldn’t notice.
“I still have my appendix, but the risk remains. Did you know some people are born without their third molars? Their wisdom teeth,” I clarify, opening my mouth wide and pointing with my gloved pinkie.
“In fact, I had a colleague in New York who was born without them, and her daughter was born without hers, too. Kind of implies an advanced bloodline when considering the evolutionary track.”
Snip.
“I still have my wisdom teeth. But that makes sense, since both of my parents had naturally straight teeth and none of us suffers from overcrowding.” I wrinkle my nose and look to Number-One.
“My husband doesn’t have his third molars anymore.
It’s not really something we’ve talked about, but I noticed a while back.
Timothy Malone the Second was an asshole.
” I go back to my work. Snip. “You’ve met him, too, right?
He was a total prick. But on this one topic, it seems he did the right thing and had his son’s dental needs seen to. ”
Snip.
“I’d prefer you to perform this autopsy without speaking, Chief Mayet.” A line of sweat trickles along the side of Number-Two’s cheek. “The quicker you’re done, the sooner we can leave.”
“I typically have my colleague in here with me. She talks a lot, and it’s always about totally random stuff.
I guess I’ve become used to it, because now that she’s off work for the week, I kind of miss it.
I wouldn’t say so to her face, since I usually meet her chatter with impatience.
But the truth is, I love having her around.
She brings a lightness to an otherwise heavy workload.
She brings sunshine to dark days. She used to live at the bar next to my apartment, but then she went and got married and moved out, which made me feel a certain way.
Now I’ve moved too, which means we’re closer again—geographically, that is—and she’s more easily able to drop by my place.
Are you two like that?” I look from One to Two. “Are you friends outside of work?”
They glance toward each other in silence. Then away again.
“You’re guys. I get that guys are less likely to confess their feelings for one another.
But if you work together a lot, it’s entirely possible—probable, even—that you’d develop affections for each other.
You probably grill on the weekends and watch the…
” I shake my head. “Sport. One of the sports. If you’re married and have kids, your wives are probably friends with each other, too. ”
Snip.
I lift my chin and tilt it toward the guards waiting on the other side of the glass wall.
Three and Four. “Are they annoying? I noticed you leave them outside a lot, and now that I’m thinking about it, I guess I recall seeing you two standing beside each other at Pastore’s that time.
But those other two…” I click my tongue.
“They were on the other side of the room. Is there tension?” I bring my focus back to Two.
“Did one of them do something to upset you?”
“Listen—”
“Because I wouldn’t stand beside someone who upset me, either.
I don’t like standing next to people in general.
Well, except my husband, since nine times out of ten, he lets me lean on him.
It’s wonderfully helpful when I’ve been working my butt off all day, but I’m not quite ready or able to sit down yet. ”
I snip the last of the cartilage keeping Agosti’s ribs in place, then, setting my tools aside, I spin and select a large steel bowl.
Double-fisting the chest plate, I lift all twenty-four ribs out of Agosti’s body and keep my mouth shut about the way Number-Two gulps.
Nearly there. I place the ribs inside the bowl and put the bowl back where I found it.
“I don’t really need that for anything. A cursory glance to make sure our patient has the right number of ribs.
Gotta check for historical fractures and whatnot, too.
But other than that, they’re nothing more than a really cool armor evolution was clever enough to give us.
What’s hidden behind that armor is significantly cooler. ”
I flip my plastic shield up and study Agosti’s organs. “He was a smoker, huh?”
Intrigued, Number-One tilts closer, his chest pushed forward, though his feet remain rooted firmly in place. “You can tell that already?”
“Sure.” I cock my hip against the edge of the table and carefully drag the tip of my finger along Agosti’s diseased thymus.
“We all come into this world with an average life expectancy of eighty-ish years, right? Eighty-three, eighty-four. Whatever. Naturally, not everyone makes it that far, but for argument’s sake, let’s consider averages.
Our organs—heart, lungs, liver—they’re probably supposed to stay with us that entire time.
Once again, outliers exist. But the average human being does not receive donor organs.
So we’re born with these lungs, and they’re supposed to last us eighty years.
Smoking fast-forwards that aging process exponentially.
Our John Doe is in his fifties, but his lungs appear much, much older.
It’s entirely possible he was headed to the oncology ward within the next few months if he hadn’t already put a blade to his wrists. ”
“Did he have cancer?” Number-Two questions. We won’t mention the sweat beading above his top lip, or the way his cheeks glow a rosy pink. “Could you tell by looking?”
“Sure. I’ll dissect his lungs shortly and give you my professional opinion. If you require one-hundred-percent accuracy, we’ll need to biopsy whatever growths we find. Discovering abnormalities within his lungs would, however, provide a strong indication.”
Satisfied, Number-Two leans back again and lifts his chin.
“Our John Doe treated his body poorly. The fatty layer surrounding his stomach and organs is quite thick. I suspect we’ll find significant blockage in his aortic valve, which might have led to failure.”
“Heart attack?” Number-Two queries again. The guy is desperate for a concrete answer to take back to his boss. Preferably before he loses his breakfast. “Could you estimate when failure was expected?”
“Mmhm. Within reason, and with room for error. I’ll dissect his heart, too. This is all pretty standard for an autopsy.” I drop my gaze to Two’s clenched fists. “Could I see your fingers?”
Stunned, his eyes whip back to mine. “What?”
“Your fingers.” I pick Agosti’s hand up and study the yellowing tips. “I didn’t need to open his chest and look at his organs to know he smoked. Are your fingertips discolored, too? Surely you know better than to age your lungs and destroy your heart with this terrible habit?”
Number-One snorts, catching himself and turning serious again. “Sorry.”
“You do?” Faux-sighing, I shake my head. “I suggest you find a new hobby if you hope to hang around for your eighty-three years.”
“Get back to work, Chief.” He slides his hands behind his back and stands taller. “Mr. Cordoza demands the results of your autopsy as soon as possible. Useless chatter slows you down.”
“On the contrary. We’ve only been at this for thirty minutes, and I’ve already discovered quite a lot about the man none of us like.
” I lower my voice. “I won’t tell Cordoza you said so.
But it’s easy to tell. Anthony Agosti was a bastard, he bred a bastard son, and now they’ve reunited in hell, where the devil may treat them as well as they treated those who knew them.
” I lift a single shoulder and shrug. “That’s my hope, anyway.
For everyone. May the afterlife treat all humans to the same standard they forced on others while they lived. ”