Read Online The Cobra Event by Richard Preston - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Richard Preston
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hummed, cleaning the air of infective particles that might get into the lungs of the pathologists.
Ben Kly halted the pan next to an autopsy table and set the brake. He unzipped the white bag.
Kate
HER EYES WERE CLOSED , the eyelids puffy. She had had a streaming bloody nose, and the blood had run over her chin and pooled in the hollow of her throat. Someone, probably a busy nurse, had attempted to wash her face, but the washing had not been thorough.
People are fastidious by nature, and have a hundred ways of grooming their bodies and keeping order about their persons. When a person dies, the ways of grooming vanish. The first impression one has of a dead person is of disorder—unkempt hair, purposeless limbs, blotchy moist skin with specks of dirt on it, eyes half open, a faint meaty unwashed smell.
Her teeth were visible in a grimace behind shredded lips. The teeth were stained with brownish blood. Her hair was russet, shining and beautiful, wavy hair. With a start, Austen saw that the girl’s hair was the same color and texture as her own hair. There were two rings in her left ear.
“Her name is Catherine Moran,” Nathanson said. “Our medicolegal investigator talked to some of her teachers yesterday. They called her Kate.”
Ben Kly unzipped the pouch completely. The dead girl was wearing a short hospital gown, as if for modesty.
Dudley opened the investigator’s report, a collection of sheets of paper in a manila folder.
“Case number 98-M-12698,” Dudley said, reading from the file. “She collapsed in a school classroom.” His eyes glanced rapidly over the report. “Mater School, on Seventy-ninth Street. She became extremely ill in class. Yesterday. About ten-thirty in the morning. She fell to the floor. She was grimacing and biting her lips—biting herself, chewing her lips and swallowing them—grand mal seizures—heavy nosebleed—sudden unexplained death. Yeah, and they reported she went into a hard tonic seizure at the end. Superficially, the case looks like Harmonica Man—you’ve got the wild seizures, the hard clonic tensing of the spine, the bleed, the chewing. She was D.O.A. at New York Hospital. It made the news last night.”
“You’ve got a homeless man and a young woman from a well-to-do background,” Nathanson remarked. “That in itself stands out. There’s no obvious connection between them.”
“Drugs,” Dudley said.
“It’s almost like there was a demon inside them,” Ben Kly whispered.
“Want to call in a priest, Kly?” Dudley said.
“I’m a Presbyterian,” Kly answered.
“The hospital did a blood and spinal workup?” Austen asked.
“They didn’t run any tests—she was pronounced dead,” Dudley replied.
Dudley and Kly lifted the girl out of the pouch and transferred her to the autopsy table. The inside surfaces of the pouch glistened with droplets of black blood. They stretched her out on her back, on the heavy steel mesh of the table, with water running underneath the mesh. They removed the gown. Her breasts were small. Her body was young.
The appearance of Kate’s body disturbed Austen. The truth was that the girl looked very much like her. She could be my younger sister, Austen thought, if I had a younger sister. She reached out and took the left hand of the girl in her gloved hand. She lifted the hand up gently and looked at it. The fingernails were delicate.
“Someone could have given her a hot load, Lex,” Dudley said.
Austen frowned, puzzled.
Nathanson explained, “A lethal dose of bad drugs, Dr. Austen. A hot load. Dealers do it when they want to get rid of a customer.”
“That would make it a homicide, but it would be hard to prove,” Dudley said.
Nathanson suddenly said, “Dr. Austen—I’d like you to be the prosector for this one. You can do the autopsy.”
“But I came here to observe.”
“I think your insights into this case could be interesting,” Nathanson said. “Ben, she’ll need a chain-mail glove. You’ll
Ben Kly halted the pan next to an autopsy table and set the brake. He unzipped the white bag.
Kate
HER EYES WERE CLOSED , the eyelids puffy. She had had a streaming bloody nose, and the blood had run over her chin and pooled in the hollow of her throat. Someone, probably a busy nurse, had attempted to wash her face, but the washing had not been thorough.
People are fastidious by nature, and have a hundred ways of grooming their bodies and keeping order about their persons. When a person dies, the ways of grooming vanish. The first impression one has of a dead person is of disorder—unkempt hair, purposeless limbs, blotchy moist skin with specks of dirt on it, eyes half open, a faint meaty unwashed smell.
Her teeth were visible in a grimace behind shredded lips. The teeth were stained with brownish blood. Her hair was russet, shining and beautiful, wavy hair. With a start, Austen saw that the girl’s hair was the same color and texture as her own hair. There were two rings in her left ear.
“Her name is Catherine Moran,” Nathanson said. “Our medicolegal investigator talked to some of her teachers yesterday. They called her Kate.”
Ben Kly unzipped the pouch completely. The dead girl was wearing a short hospital gown, as if for modesty.
Dudley opened the investigator’s report, a collection of sheets of paper in a manila folder.
“Case number 98-M-12698,” Dudley said, reading from the file. “She collapsed in a school classroom.” His eyes glanced rapidly over the report. “Mater School, on Seventy-ninth Street. She became extremely ill in class. Yesterday. About ten-thirty in the morning. She fell to the floor. She was grimacing and biting her lips—biting herself, chewing her lips and swallowing them—grand mal seizures—heavy nosebleed—sudden unexplained death. Yeah, and they reported she went into a hard tonic seizure at the end. Superficially, the case looks like Harmonica Man—you’ve got the wild seizures, the hard clonic tensing of the spine, the bleed, the chewing. She was D.O.A. at New York Hospital. It made the news last night.”
“You’ve got a homeless man and a young woman from a well-to-do background,” Nathanson remarked. “That in itself stands out. There’s no obvious connection between them.”
“Drugs,” Dudley said.
“It’s almost like there was a demon inside them,” Ben Kly whispered.
“Want to call in a priest, Kly?” Dudley said.
“I’m a Presbyterian,” Kly answered.
“The hospital did a blood and spinal workup?” Austen asked.
“They didn’t run any tests—she was pronounced dead,” Dudley replied.
Dudley and Kly lifted the girl out of the pouch and transferred her to the autopsy table. The inside surfaces of the pouch glistened with droplets of black blood. They stretched her out on her back, on the heavy steel mesh of the table, with water running underneath the mesh. They removed the gown. Her breasts were small. Her body was young.
The appearance of Kate’s body disturbed Austen. The truth was that the girl looked very much like her. She could be my younger sister, Austen thought, if I had a younger sister. She reached out and took the left hand of the girl in her gloved hand. She lifted the hand up gently and looked at it. The fingernails were delicate.
“Someone could have given her a hot load, Lex,” Dudley said.
Austen frowned, puzzled.
Nathanson explained, “A lethal dose of bad drugs, Dr. Austen. A hot load. Dealers do it when they want to get rid of a customer.”
“That would make it a homicide, but it would be hard to prove,” Dudley said.
Nathanson suddenly said, “Dr. Austen—I’d like you to be the prosector for this one. You can do the autopsy.”
“But I came here to observe.”
“I think your insights into this case could be interesting,” Nathanson said. “Ben, she’ll need a chain-mail glove. You’ll
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