She poured half the contents of the jar into the strainer, and immediately rinsed the liquid with a gentle stream of tap water. When the strainer and the odds and ends caught in its mesh were clean, she turned off the water, placed a paper towel under the strainer, and layered an open petri dish under the towel.
“Hey!” the secretary protested. The smell had traveled to her workstation.
“Sorry. S’got to be done.” Theresa moved to the stereomicroscope and placed the strainer and its accompaniments under the lens. A stereomicroscope used incidental light-light shining on the object from above- instead of light transmitted through the item from below. It viewed larger, opaque items that could not be mounted on a tiny glass slide, essentially a powerful magnifying glass. Plus, it left her hands free to poke at the strainer’s contents with a thin metal prod.
This was the other part she didn’t like about gastrics. The lab had scientific means for identifying bodily fluids and select inorganics, like gunshot residue and paint. Not food. To draw any conclusions from a gastric-contents examination they were reduced to poking at a bit of it and asking each other, “Do you think that could be a piece of tomato? It looks like a piece of tomato.”
Theresa dutifully poked. Jillian’s stomach had contained, indeed, a piece of translucent red skin that could be tomato, surely an odd food considering that the last meal she consumed would have been breakfast. Unless she liked southwestern omelets. Or the skin could be from a dried cranberry or strawberry, common breakfast food additives for the health conscious. Or, Jillian had lived past lunch.
Leo materialized at her elbow. “What did you stink up the lab for? Are you doing a gastric? Who do we have where time of death is in question?”
While toxicology examined gastrics for undigested drugs or drug capsules, the trace evidence department usually looked at gastrics with only one purpose in mind-establishing time of death. Bodily processes more or less stopped when a person died.
Leo got a look on his face that she guessed had nothing to do with the smell. “Tell me this isn’t Jillian Perry.”
“I did Jacob Wheeler too,” she informed him, hoping to sound virtuous. “The fifteen-year-old?”
He paused. Nothing brought pressure on the office like a child murder, and the press, when they hadn’t been expounding serial killer theories, had been demanding to know who had killed one of the city’s youth in his own backyard. “Find anything?”
“Tortilla chips and pickles. Consistent with what his mother said he snacked on when he came home from school. He probably died shortly after leaving the house.”
“And now you’re working on-?”
“Uh-can you take a look at this red thing? What do you think it is?”
Normally, asking Leo’s opinion stroked his ego enough to deflect any criticism. Not now. “We have to talk about Jillian Perry, Theresa.”
“Okay. But can you take a look first? I always have a hard time with gastrics. Everything looks like it could be anything to me.”
He couldn’t resist this, and she really did need the help. After a two-minute consultation they decided that the dark green flecks were pepper, the light green fleshy bits were apple, and one piece of brown matter could be hamburger. The red skin could be a number of things.
“Okay,” Leo said after Theresa had washed the contents of the strainer down the sink and flushed the sink well to dispose of any remaining odorous substances. “Now let’s have a chat about Jillian Perry. Or actually, let’s not bother. The M.E. wants to see you.”
“Stone?”
“We have only one M.E., Theresa.”
“When does he want-”
“Now.”
This was out of the ordinary, to say the least. Stone had long been an expert in delegation, and appeared in the trace evidence lab only once or twice a year. He had spoken to Theresa privately to tell her she had been hired, and that, ten years previously, had been their last one-on-one chat. Her heart began to thud against her rib cage, gently but persistently. “Why?”
“You might as well ask him that since you’ll be in his office in thirty seconds. Won’t you?”
“But-”
“Now.”
“Not even a hint?”
“I told you. Jillian Perry. Now go.”
She stopped in the ladies’ room to check her hair and the crevices between her teeth, and traveled the one flight of stairs down to the second floor. Carefully, as if any misstep could result in the breaking of bones.
The M.E.’s secretary showed her in without the slightest trace of sympathy, but there had long been lingering resentments between the trace lab and the administrative staff. The secretaries had been instructed to treat the doctors like demigods, and chafed at the scientists’ easy familiarity with same. So this didn’t mean her head had been placed on the chopping block. But it didn’t mean it hadn’t.
Elliot Stone waved her to a seat. He seemed much friendlier than his secretary, though this also meant nothing. The office upholstery smelled faintly of leather. The shelves around her held a few books and many pictures of the man behind the desk with other people, the memorabilia of rubbed elbows. Stone excelled at rubbing elbows.
Like now. Evan Kovacic and a young man in a sharp suit occupied the two other chairs.
Evan nodded at her. “Mrs. MacLean.”
To his credit, Stone could be succinct when he wanted and apparently he wanted. “We have a problem. Mr. Kovacic is planning to file a lawsuit against this office for abuse of authority. He intends to name you as the agent.”
Her lower jaw slackened. “What?”
Evan’s attorney grinned like a lion upon spotting a legless gazelle. Evan didn’t grin, but he had the same sheen to his eyes.
The M.E. held up a stack of legal-size papers. There must have been twenty sheets, stapled together. Why were attorneys always so long winded? “I have the complaint here. He says you advised another man to sue for custody of not only his wife’s body, but their baby daughter? Mrs. MacLean-Theresa-I hope you have a good explanation for this”
“It’s completely untrue, Yo-” She almost said
Stone continued the interrogation, and Evan’s attorney seemed content to let him. Why not? The job of decimating her career was getting done regardless. “Apparently this other man is not a family member or legal kin. And you discussed the victim’s case with him?”
“No, of course not. I asked for information about the deceased. I didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know.”
Stone did not appear convinced. He fixed her with a look so shrewd that for the first time she did not wonder how he had risen to the position in which he now found himself. She went on, “Drew is suing to be awarded guardianship of the man’s stepdaughter, but that has nothing to do with me. I certainly never advised him to do so.”
Technically. She swallowed hard, ducking her head to keep the motion from the men present.
“So you admit Drew Fleming would be a completely unfit parent?” the attorney asked.
“I wouldn’t have any idea what kind of parent Drew Fleming would be. All I know is that it is not my decision.”
“That hasn’t stopped you from interfering so far,” Evan said. He had not glanced away from her since the moment she’d entered the office.
The best defense is a good offense. “I’m surprised you aren’t more curious about your wife’s death. I would think you’d want me to do my job.”
“Trying to get the court to take my stepdaughter away? Questioning my friends and business associates about me? That’s your job?”
“Yes.”
