Under those circumstances, Laurie agreed for Jennifer to come out to fetch them when they arrived. “Now I better let you get back to your dinner and your dinner companion.”
“Speaking of Mrs. Benfatti, I offered that you would look into the situation with her husband. I hope you don’t mind. There are parallels, as I’ve said.”
“We’ll look first at the parallels and then decide,” Laurie said.
“One more thing,” Jennifer said. “I went to the U.S. embassy this afternoon and spoke to a very nice consular officer who was very helpful.”
“Did you learn anything?”
“It turns out that the case manager at the Queen Victoria was giving me the true story about bringing bodies back to the States. You have to jump though a lot of bureaucratic hoops, and it is expensive. So I’m leaning in the direction of cremation.”
“We’ll discuss it more when I get there,” Laurie said. “Now get back to your dinner.”
“Aye-aye, sir. See you tomorrow night,” Jennifer said gaily.
Laurie replaced the receiver. For a moment she kept her hand on it, thinking about a heart attack and general cyanosis. When the heart fails, the pumping action stops, and you don’t get general cyanosis. Cyanosis generally comes from the lungs failing and the pumping continuing.
The phone under Laurie’s hand rang harshly, causing her to start. With her pulse racing, she snapped the receiver back up and blurted a hurried hello.
“I am looking for Dr. Laurie Montgomery,” a pleasant voice said.
“This is she,” Laurie answered with curiosity.
“My name is Dr. Arun Ram. I just spoke with Dr. Shirley Schoener. She said you were imminently coming to New Delhi and are in the middle of an infertility cycle using hormones. She said you will need to have the size of your follicles followed and your estradiol blood levels checked.”
“That’s true. Thank you for calling. I expected to hear back from Dr. Schoener with some numbers so I would have to make the calls.”
“It is no bother. It was my suggestion, since Dr. Schoener said she had been just speaking with you. I wanted to let you know I would be honored to be of assistance. Dr. Schoener told me a little about you, and I am very impressed. There was a time in my early training when I aspired to become a forensic pathologist from watching American TV shows. Unfortunately, I became disenchanted. The facilities in this country are very bad because of our infamous bureaucracy.”
“That’s too bad. We need good people in the specialty, and India would be well served if the facilities and the field were improved.”
“Dr. Schoener had first called a colleague of mine, Dr. Daya Mishra, who is obviously a woman, if you would prefer. But Dr. Schoener said you were interested in someone with admitting privileges at the Queen Victoria Hospital, so Dr. Mishra recommended me.”
“I would be very grateful if you would see me. My husband and I have other business at the Queen Victoria Hospital, so it will be convenient.”
“When are you coming exactly?”
“We are leaving this evening from New York and scheduled to arrive in Delhi late Thursday night, October nineteenth, at twenty-two-fifty.”
“Where are you in this current infertility cycle?”
“Day seven, but more important, on Monday, Dr. Schoener estimated five days before the trigger shot should be given.”
“So the last time you were seen was Monday, and everything was fine.”
“Everything was fine.”
“Then I believe I need to see you Friday morning. What time would you prefer? Anytime is good since Friday is a research day and my calendar is clear.”
“I don’t know,” Laurie said. “How about eight a.m.”
“Eight a.m. it is,” Dr. Arun Ram said.
After terminating the call with Dr. Ram, Laurie called Shirley back and thanked her for the referral.
“You’ll like him,” Shirley said. “He’s very smart, has a great sense of humor and good stats.”
“One can’t ask for much more than that,” Laurie said before ringing off.
With all the calls out of the way, Laurie glanced briefly at her watch. It was time to head over to the company to which India had outsourced its visa service. She got out her and Jack’s passports from her briefcase and wedded them with the photos they’d had taken that morning.
With the passports and photos tucked into her shoulder bag along with her mobile phone, Laurie stepped back out of her office and headed for the elevators. When she heard the elevator door open ahead, she quickened her step to catch it and bumped head-on into her officemate, Dr. Riva Mehta, exiting. Each apologized. Laurie actually laughed.
“My, you are in a good mood,” Riva commented.
“I guess I am,” Laurie responded cheerily.
“Don’t tell me you are pregnant,” Riva said. Not only were Riva and Laurie officemates, they were also confidantes. Riva was the only person other than Shirley with whom she had shared all the stresses of the infertility treatment.
“I wish,” Laurie said. “No, Jack and I are making an emergency trip to India.” Laurie struggled with the elevator door that desperately wanted to close.
“That’s terrific,” Riva said. “Where in India?” Riva and her parents had emigrated to the United States when she was eleven.
“New Delhi,” Laurie said. “Actually, I’m on my way over to get our Indian visas. I’ll be back in a half-hour or so. I’d love to talk to you about it and maybe get some tips.”
“By all means,” Riva said with a wave.
Laurie ducked into the elevator car and let the insistent door close. As she descended, she thought about Riva’s comment regarding her mood and realized that she was truly on a high, magnified by the low she’d been on over the last two to three months. Vaguely, she hoped that the strain of infertility wasn’t making her bipolar.
Getting off at the basement level, Laurie hurried down to the autopsy room. Knowing she was going to be in there for only a few moments, she grabbed just a gown and a hat, and pushed in through the main double doors. Although it was almost eight-forty-five, Jack and Vinnie were the sole team working. Several other mortuary techs were preparing cases and putting out bodies, but the associated docs had yet to appear. Jack and Vinnie were well along. The body they were working on already had the large Y incision over the chest and abdomen sutured. At the moment, the individual’s skull cap was off and they were working on the brain.
“How’s it going?” Laurie asked, coming up alongside Jack.
“We’re having a ball as usual,” Jack responded, straightening up and stretching.
“A typical gunshot suicide?” Laurie asked.
Jack let out a short laugh. “Hardly. At this point, it’s pretty clear it was homicide.”
“Really?” Laurie questioned. “How so?”
Jack reached over to the corpse and grabbed the reflected and inverted scalp and pulled it from covering the face back into its original position. High on the side of the head and in the center of a shaved area was a sharply defined circular deep-red entrance wound surrounded by a number of two-to-three-inch black speckles.
“My word,” Laurie exclaimed. “You are right. This is not suicide.”
“And that is not all,” Jack said. “The path of the bullet is steeply downward such that it ended up in the subcutaneous tissues of the neck.”
“How can you guys read so much into this?” Vinnie asked.
“It’s easy,” Laurie said. “When someone shoots themselves, they almost always place the barrel against the skin. What happens then is the explosive gases go into the wound along with the bullet. The resultant entrance wound becomes raggedly stellate as the skin blows away from the skull and tears.”
“And you see this stippling?” Jack said, pointing with the handle of a scalpel to the ring of black spots around the wound. “That’s all gunpowder residue. In a suicide, all that goes into the wound.” Then, turning back to Laurie, he asked, “How far away do you think the barrel was when the gun was fired?”
Laurie shrugged. “Maybe fifteen to twenty inches.”
