between them of language and culture were too great to overcome; that she would be happier here in the US without him; that he would be happier in China with a woman of his own race.
And now he was in America. Had been here, she knew, for nearly a year, making no attempt to get in touch with her. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know that she had taken up a lecturing position at the college of criminal justice in Huntsville, because she had told him that was where she was going. But from his reaction to meeting her across the autopsy table here in Houston, it was clear he had been unaware that she was now the chief medical examiner for Harris County. At least until today.
‘So…’ Steve’s voice sounded beside her, ‘…suffocation?’
‘That’s how it appears,’ she said. ‘Although they’d probably been in the truck for about twenty-four hours — right through the heat of the previous day.’
‘Ah,’ said Steve. ‘Core liver temperature.’
‘Mine were all a hundred and seven degrees Fahrenheit or higher.’
‘Mine, too.’
‘They’d also eaten, and all of my bladders were pretty much empty, so it would seem they had been allowed out at some point to relieve themselves.’
‘Which means that the air vent was open when they set out…’
‘…and closed, either accidentally or on purpose, when they stopped somewhere en route.’
‘And they died either of suffocation or hyperthermia.’
‘Or a combination of the two.’
A thoughtful silence hung between them, then, for a moment, and Margaret noticed a trace of blood in the water in Steve’s sink. She looked at him, immediately concerned. ‘Where’s the blood coming from?’ And she saw for the first time how pale he looked. His smile was almost convincing.
‘Ah, it’s nothing.’
‘You cut yourself?’
He took a long time to compose his reply. Finally he said, ‘Usually I leave the organs piled at one end of the table before I section them. When I went back after coming through to talk to you about the injection sites, they had slid down the cutting board, and when I went to lift them I felt this little jag in my finger. I had left my knife lying on the cutting board and the organs had slipped over the top of it. My left hand is well protected. I wear chain mail under the glove in case of a slip. But on my cutting hand, my right, I usually only wear the latex. That’s the hand I lifted the organs with. The tip of my knife made a tiny puncture about halfway down the middle finger.’ He held his open right hand out for her to see, and she saw a tiny fleck of blood oozing from an almost imperceptible nick. ‘At the time I didn’t think I had cut the skin.’ He grimaced. ‘Guess I was wrong.’
‘Jesus, Steve,’ Margaret said. They both knew that this smallest of accidents would have made him vulnerable to contracting any viral or bacterial infection carried in the blood of the victim. ‘What have you done about it?’
He shrugged. ‘What could I do? I’ve taken a lot of samples from the guy and asked the AFIP people at Walter Reed to do a complete blood screen. I’ve drawn some of my own, for a baseline, and I guess I’ll be checking it every six weeks for the next year for HIV and hep B and C.’
Margaret felt sick. She looked at him with the heartfelt concern of someone who is only ever a split second’s carelessness from exactly the same predicament. ‘You said you thought you hadn’t cut the skin.’
He grinned ruefully. ‘Hey, you’re talking to paranoid Steve, here. I never take chances.’
But Margaret didn’t smile. ‘What about whatever it was these people were injected with?’
‘I’ve asked the lab to do several specific panel tests to cover as wide a spectrum as possible. Between PCR and the virus panel we should find out what it was pretty fast.’ He smiled bravely. ‘If it was West Nile, then with luck I get free immunity.’ He dried his hands and stretched a flesh-coloured Band-aid over the
And now he was in America. Had been here, she knew, for nearly a year, making no attempt to get in touch with her. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know that she had taken up a lecturing position at the college of criminal justice in Huntsville, because she had told him that was where she was going. But from his reaction to meeting her across the autopsy table here in Houston, it was clear he had been unaware that she was now the chief medical examiner for Harris County. At least until today.
‘So…’ Steve’s voice sounded beside her, ‘…suffocation?’
‘That’s how it appears,’ she said. ‘Although they’d probably been in the truck for about twenty-four hours — right through the heat of the previous day.’
‘Ah,’ said Steve. ‘Core liver temperature.’
‘Mine were all a hundred and seven degrees Fahrenheit or higher.’
‘Mine, too.’
‘They’d also eaten, and all of my bladders were pretty much empty, so it would seem they had been allowed out at some point to relieve themselves.’
‘Which means that the air vent was open when they set out…’
‘…and closed, either accidentally or on purpose, when they stopped somewhere en route.’
‘And they died either of suffocation or hyperthermia.’
‘Or a combination of the two.’
A thoughtful silence hung between them, then, for a moment, and Margaret noticed a trace of blood in the water in Steve’s sink. She looked at him, immediately concerned. ‘Where’s the blood coming from?’ And she saw for the first time how pale he looked. His smile was almost convincing.
‘Ah, it’s nothing.’
‘You cut yourself?’
He took a long time to compose his reply. Finally he said, ‘Usually I leave the organs piled at one end of the table before I section them. When I went back after coming through to talk to you about the injection sites, they had slid down the cutting board, and when I went to lift them I felt this little jag in my finger. I had left my knife lying on the cutting board and the organs had slipped over the top of it. My left hand is well protected. I wear chain mail under the glove in case of a slip. But on my cutting hand, my right, I usually only wear the latex. That’s the hand I lifted the organs with. The tip of my knife made a tiny puncture about halfway down the middle finger.’ He held his open right hand out for her to see, and she saw a tiny fleck of blood oozing from an almost imperceptible nick. ‘At the time I didn’t think I had cut the skin.’ He grimaced. ‘Guess I was wrong.’
‘Jesus, Steve,’ Margaret said. They both knew that this smallest of accidents would have made him vulnerable to contracting any viral or bacterial infection carried in the blood of the victim. ‘What have you done about it?’
He shrugged. ‘What could I do? I’ve taken a lot of samples from the guy and asked the AFIP people at Walter Reed to do a complete blood screen. I’ve drawn some of my own, for a baseline, and I guess I’ll be checking it every six weeks for the next year for HIV and hep B and C.’
Margaret felt sick. She looked at him with the heartfelt concern of someone who is only ever a split second’s carelessness from exactly the same predicament. ‘You said you thought you hadn’t cut the skin.’
He grinned ruefully. ‘Hey, you’re talking to paranoid Steve, here. I never take chances.’
But Margaret didn’t smile. ‘What about whatever it was these people were injected with?’
‘I’ve asked the lab to do several specific panel tests to cover as wide a spectrum as possible. Between PCR and the virus panel we should find out what it was pretty fast.’ He smiled bravely. ‘If it was West Nile, then with luck I get free immunity.’ He dried his hands and stretched a flesh-coloured Band-aid over the
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