“Assistance!” the nurse yelled. “Can we get Dr. Cutler out here?”
Maura backed away, face throbbing, as a doctor and another nurse emerged from one of the treatment rooms. The commotion had drawn the attention of patients in the waiting room. Maura saw them eagerly peering through the glass partition, watching a scene that was better than any TV episode of
“We know if she has any allergies?” the doctor asked.
“No medical history,” said the nurse.
“What’s going on here? Why is she out of control?”
“We have no idea.”
“Okay. Okay, let’s try five milligrams of Haldol IV.”
“IV’s out!”
“Then give it IM. Just do it! And let’s get some Valium in her, too, before she hurts herself.”
The woman gave another shriek as the needle pierced her skin.
“Do we know anything about this woman? Who is she?” The doctor suddenly noticed Maura standing a few feet away. “Are you a relative?”
“I called the ambulance. I’m Dr. Isles.”
“Her physician?”
Before Maura could answer, one of the EMTs said: “She’s the medical examiner. This is the patient who woke up in the morgue.”
The doctor stared at Maura. “You’re kidding.”
“I found her moving in the cold room,” said Maura.
The doctor gave a disbelieving laugh. “Who pronounced her dead?”
“Weymouth Fire and Rescue brought her in.”
He looked at the patient. “Well, she’s definitely alive now.”
“Dr. Cutler, room two’s now empty,” a nurse called out. “We can move her in there.”
Maura followed as they wheeled the stretcher down the hallway and into a treatment room. The woman’s struggles had weakened, her strength giving way to the effects of Haldol and Valium. The nurses drew blood, reconnected EKG wires. The cardiac rhythm ticked across the monitor.
“Okay, Dr. Isles,” said the ER physician as he shone a penlight into the woman’s eyes. “Tell me more.”
Maura opened the envelope containing the photocopied paperwork that had accompanied the body. “Let me just tell you what’s in the transfer papers,” she said. “At eight A.M., Weymouth Fire and Rescue responded to a call from the Sunrise Yacht Club, where boaters found the subject floating in Hingham Bay. When she was pulled from the water, she had no pulse or respirations. And no ID. A state police investigator was called to the scene, and he thought it was most likely accidental. She was transferred to our office at noon.”
“And no one at the ME’s noticed that she was alive?”
“She arrived while we were swamped with other cases. There was that accident on I-95. And we were still backlogged from last night.”
“It’s now nearly nine. And no one checked this woman?”
“The dead don’t have emergencies.”
“So you just leave them in the refrigerator?”
“Until we can get to them.”
“What if you hadn’t heard her moving tonight?” He turned to look at her. “You mean she might have been left there until tomorrow morning?”
Maura felt her cheeks flush. “Yes,” she admitted.
“Dr. Cutler, ICU has a bed available,” a nurse said. “Is that where you want her?”
He nodded. “We have no idea what drugs she might have taken, so I want her on a monitor.” He looked down at the patient, whose eyes were now closed. Her lips continued to move, as though in silent prayer. “This poor woman’s already died once. Let’s not have it happen again.”
Maura could hear the phone ringing inside her house as she fumbled with her keys, trying to unlock the door. By the time she made it into the living room, the ringing had stopped. Whoever had called had not left a message. She cycled through the most recent numbers on caller ID, but did not recognize the last caller’s name: ZOE FOSSEY. A wrong number?
I refuse to worry about it, she thought, and started toward the kitchen.
Now her cell phone was ringing. She dug it out of her purse, and saw from the digital display that the caller was her colleague, Dr. Abe Bristol.
“Hello, Abe?”
“Maura, you want to fill me in about what happened at the ER tonight?”
“You know about it?”
“I’ve gotten three calls already. The
“What are these reporters saying?”
“They’re all asking about the corpse who woke up. Said she just got admitted to the medical center. I had no idea what they were talking about.”
“Oh, Jesus. How did the press find out so soon?”
“So it’s true?”
“I was going to call you-” She stopped. The phone was ringing in the living room. “I’ve got another call coming in. Can I get back to you, Abe?”
“As long as you promise to fill me in.”
She ran into the living room and picked up the receiver. “Dr. Isles.”
“This is Zoe Fossey, Channel Six News. Would you care to comment on-”
“It’s almost ten o’clock,” cut in Maura. “This is my home telephone. If you want to talk to me, you’re going to have to call my office during business hours.”
“We understand that a woman woke up in the morgue tonight.”
“I’m not going to comment.”
“Sources tell us that both a state police investigator and a fire crew in Weymouth pronounced her dead. Did someone in your office make the same determination?”
“The ME’s office was not involved in that determination.”
“But the woman was in your custody, right?”
“No one in our office made any pronouncement of death.”
“You’re saying this was the fault of the Weymouth Fire Department and the state police? How can anyone make this kind of mistake? Isn’t it pretty obvious when someone is still alive?”
Maura hung up.
Almost immediately the phone rang. A different number appeared on the caller ID screen.
She picked up the receiver. “Dr. Isles.”
“This is Dave Rosen, Associated Press. I’m sorry to disturb you, but we’re following up on a report about a young woman who was taken to the medical examiner’s office and woke up in a body bag. Is this true?”
“How did you people find out about this? This is the second call I’ve gotten.”
“I suspect you’re going to be getting a lot more calls.”
“And what have you been told about it?”
“That she was brought to the morgue this afternoon, by Weymouth Fire and Rescue. That you were the one who found her alive and called the ambulance. I’ve already spoken to the hospital,
