Grave Matters

you've been called out to that nursing home too many times….'

'Yes, that…but also, that none of the last four people who died at Sunny Day had any family to notify, remember.'

'I remember…and now you're telling me the murder weapon is air.'

'Well, here's another fact for you….'

'Facts are good. We like facts a lot better than hunches.'

'I know you do. The others have all been heart attacks, too.'

Warrick felt his skepticism fading and his interest rising; the facts were beginning to pile up like a winner's chips, and something in David's earnestness made Warrick want to trust the assistant coroner's instincts.

After all, a 'hunch' from an expert, the 'instincts' of a professional, could be as valid as a physician's diagnosis.

'The theory is really pretty simple,' David began. 'The killer injects a fairly large syringe full of air into the victim. In Mrs. Elliot's case, the IV catheter gave the killer an injection site that wouldn't even be noticed. The air embolism reaches the heart and the muscle seizes. The outward symptoms are that the victim is having a heart attack, but the truth is…she's been murdered.'

'Dispose of the needle,' Warrick said, 'and it's like you were never there.'

'That perfect crime you hear so much about.'

'Not so perfect.'

David frowned. 'Where's the flaw?'

Warrick grinned. 'Somebody smart like you, David, can see right through it.'

David beamed, but Warrick didn't let him bask in the praise, asking, 'What do you hope to accomplish with the X-ray?'

With a gesture toward Vivian Elliot, who posed under the X-ray's eye, David said, 'The cardiovascular system is a closed system. Despite the fact that there's over 60,000 miles of arteries, veins, and capillaries, the air bubble will show up on an X-ray. If there's an air bubble, Vivian Elliot was murdered. If not…I've wasted a lot of valuable time, and this poor woman is still dead.'

'Dead not murdered.'

'Dead but not murdered…. Only, doesn't this woman have a right for us to make a serious effort to find her cause of death?'

Warrick gave David the complete and profound answer the assistant coroner was hoping for: 'Yes.'

They moved the body and took more X-rays. Working in silence for a while, they finished their task in a relatively short order.

Holding up the last undeveloped X-ray, Warrick said, 'Is this the only way to find out if she was murdered by an air bubble?'

Shrugging a little, David said, 'There is one other way, but I don't think Doctor Robbins would ever go for it.'

'Well, try me.'

David's eyes flicked wide. 'Well…you crack the chest and fill the cavity with water. If there's an air embolism, it'll leak out, and the ME will see bubbles in the water.'

'That's nasty,' Warrick said.

'So is murder.'

'Good point.'

'I've heard about this technique, but I've never actually seen anyone do it in practice. The X-rays are still our best bet.'

'Well,' Warrick said, 'let's take these vacation pics to one-hour photo, and see if our next trip's gonna be to track down a murderer….'

Catherine stretched her arms wide, yawning herself awake. The windowless office was pitch-black, the only light coming in under the crack of the door. She checked the iridescent dial of her watch and realized she'd slept five more minutes than the twenty she'd planned. Blessed with an uncanny internal clock, Catherine seldom had use for an alarm and only wore a watch for confirmation of what her body was already telling her.

She reached over to switch on her desk lamp. When her eyes had adjusted to the light, her gaze came into focus on the framed picture of her daughter Lindsey. The blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl smiled at her and Catherine smiled back. Not long ago, she might have felt a twinge of guilt over the many hours she spent away from the child.

But she had come to terms with her single-parent status, and dedication to her job was something to feel pride about, not shame. Catherine's nightshift work actually made it possible for her to spend more time with Lindsey than many a working mom…although in doubleshift marathons like this one, that notion was put to the test.

At a counter in her office, Catherine reached at random for one of the brown bags of evidence from Vivian Elliot's room. After breaking the seal, she realized she'd picked up the one filled with sheets. She set that aside, saving that for the layout room where she'd have more space. For now, she selected the bag containing Vivian Elliot's personal belongings; inside was a smaller bag of valuables as well, which she'd picked up from the Sunny Day office.

She carefully emptied the contents of the smaller bag onto the counter: three rings, a watch, a gold cross necklace, a wallet, and a cell phone. A few years ago, the cell phone might have surprised her, with a woman of Vivian's age; but now the whole world seemed to have one, and many seniors in fact carried cells for I've-fallen- and-can't-get-up emergencies.

The rings were a gold wedding band with an attached diamond engagement ring, possibly a karat, and a decorative number with a diamond-centered ruby rose. The rings weren't cheap, but they probably weren't from Tiffany's, either.

Likewise, Vivian's gold cross necklace was a nice mid-range piece that looked like she'd had awhile, but had taken good care of it, as with her rings. The watch was a Bulova that looked to be about ten years old; it seemed as well-maintained as the other pieces, and the band was a replacement one, fairly recent.

Nothing terribly significant-a woman with enough money to have nice if not lavish things, which she took care of and (as in the case of the Bulova) made last.

The cell phone was what really interested Catherine-cells often held a wealth of information just waiting to be tapped.

She jotted down the numbers from the speed dial-only three, but one might be the mystery woman who had visited Vivian right before her death. Next, Catherine checked the call log, which gave her the last ten numbers Vivian had dialed, the last ten calls she'd received, the calls she'd missed, and the in-box for text messages, though the latter was empty. Several of the numbers turned up again and again, most likely Vivian's closest friends. Women Vivian's age often rivaled teenage girls for phone time with their gal pals….

In fact, one of the numbers showed up on the speed dial, the missed calls, the received calls (three times), and the dialed calls (four times). That would be where Catherine would start, figuring that number (keeping in mind the late woman's lack of family) probably belonged to Vivian's best friend.

Catherine was going through this list of cell phone numbers when she realized neither she nor Warrick had gotten a log of the calls to and from Vivian's room at Sunny Day. She made a mental note to ask Warrick about it, then picked up her own cell phone and dialed Vega.

'It's Catherine, Sam-got time for a question?'

'From you, always.'

'Did you and Doctor Whiting discuss the telephone in Mrs. Elliot's room?'

She could hear the smile in Vega's voice as he said, 'I was wondering when the most diligent CSI in Vegas would get around to asking about that.'

Sighing her own smile, Catherine said, 'Oh-kay, smart guy-don't gloat. You may pull a double shift someday.'

'How about last week?…Anyway, there's only two numbers on the list, and frankly I haven't had