Read Online The Honest Folk of Guadeloupe by Timothy Williams - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Timothy Williams
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stainless basin attached to a weighing scale.
Anne Marie could feel her belly lurching.
Overhead, the banks of neon gave off a shadowless light. Dr. Bouton had not yet switched on the long-armed directional lamp that was set directly above the steel tables.
“You have news for me?”
Bouton smelled of ammonia and coffee. He smiled a thin smile. “How’s the little girl?”
“Little girl, Docteur Bouton?”
“Your daughter.”
Anne Marie had difficulty in repressing a sneeze. “Létitia’s doing very well. The
procureur
informed me he’d like me to be present for the autopsy.”
“Létitia—such a pretty name. And what a lovely child.”
“I’m ready when you are, Docteur Bouton.”
“There’s no rush.” He picked up his paper cup from where he had placed it on the table.
“The sooner …”
“Please sit down,
madame le juge
.” He gestured to two hard chairs placed against the walls of glazed tiling. “Like some coffee? Or perhaps something a bit stronger? You look as if you’ve got a cold coming on.”
“I’ve been drinking coffee all afternoon.” Anne Marie glanced at her watch. “It is nearly half past five …”
“Some vitamin C, perhaps? Or if you care for it”—he winked—“I have some firewater in my drawer. For medicinal purposes, you understand.”
Anne Marie asked brusquely, “What have you been able to find out about the girl so far?”
“Once upon a time, Mother Mortis had four daughters—Algor, Livor, Pallor and Rigor.” Bouton opened the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet and took out an opaque bottle. It was half-full.
“Neither Monsieur Lafitte nor I are thirsty,” Anne Marie said.
He held up a finger. “To calm your nerves.”
“Tell me what you’ve found out about the nurse.”
“Monsieur Lafitte, a little something to keep the demons away?”
Lafitte eagerly took the paper cup Dr. Bouton gave him.
“Evelyne Vaton?” He pronounced the name as if testing it for poetic resonance.
“Precisely.”
“Algor mortis, livor mortis, pallor mortis and rigor mortis,” he repeated. He turned and pulled a wooden stool toward him. He was wearing loose corduroy trousers. Because of the chill air, he also wore a cardigan with a heraldic badge at the breast pocket. His lab coat and cap hung from a hook on the back of the door. Dr. Bouton had a thin face. His skin was waxy and was pulled tight across the bones of his skull.
“You now have established time of death?”
“You will recall that I was not called to the scene of the crime.” He sounded slightly peeved. “I have Malavoy’s report to go on and as usual, Docteur Malavoy’s done a professional job.” He looked up, but not at Anne Marie. “At the scene of the crime, the medical examiner found no foreign bodies other than sand and insects on the corpse. Everything washed away by the rain and several days’ exposure to the elements. A very professional job in all senses.”
“Professional?” Following the doctor’s glance, Anne Marie turned. She had not seen the other man who was sitting quietly in the corner of the room, on a low wooden stool, like a child who had been reprimanded. A West Indian in his early sixties, with a bald head. He was wearing a suit and staring at the ground. Anne Marie had met Dr.Malavoy on several occasions; on each, he had struck her as excessively shy.
Dr. Bouton was saying, “Anal or vaginal reading of body temperature is subtracted from the normal body heat of thirty-seven degrees centigrade. You then divide that by one point five and you get a rough idea of the number of hours the person’s been dead. Obviously deducing the time of death through algor mortis is rough and ready—and there are variables. Here in the tropics, a body will cool more slowly than in Europe or North America. On the other hand, the body was exposed on an open beach, with a cool easterly breeze. Also there are differences due to body size. Docteur Malavoy put the time of death at
Anne Marie could feel her belly lurching.
Overhead, the banks of neon gave off a shadowless light. Dr. Bouton had not yet switched on the long-armed directional lamp that was set directly above the steel tables.
“You have news for me?”
Bouton smelled of ammonia and coffee. He smiled a thin smile. “How’s the little girl?”
“Little girl, Docteur Bouton?”
“Your daughter.”
Anne Marie had difficulty in repressing a sneeze. “Létitia’s doing very well. The
procureur
informed me he’d like me to be present for the autopsy.”
“Létitia—such a pretty name. And what a lovely child.”
“I’m ready when you are, Docteur Bouton.”
“There’s no rush.” He picked up his paper cup from where he had placed it on the table.
“The sooner …”
“Please sit down,
madame le juge
.” He gestured to two hard chairs placed against the walls of glazed tiling. “Like some coffee? Or perhaps something a bit stronger? You look as if you’ve got a cold coming on.”
“I’ve been drinking coffee all afternoon.” Anne Marie glanced at her watch. “It is nearly half past five …”
“Some vitamin C, perhaps? Or if you care for it”—he winked—“I have some firewater in my drawer. For medicinal purposes, you understand.”
Anne Marie asked brusquely, “What have you been able to find out about the girl so far?”
“Once upon a time, Mother Mortis had four daughters—Algor, Livor, Pallor and Rigor.” Bouton opened the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet and took out an opaque bottle. It was half-full.
“Neither Monsieur Lafitte nor I are thirsty,” Anne Marie said.
He held up a finger. “To calm your nerves.”
“Tell me what you’ve found out about the nurse.”
“Monsieur Lafitte, a little something to keep the demons away?”
Lafitte eagerly took the paper cup Dr. Bouton gave him.
“Evelyne Vaton?” He pronounced the name as if testing it for poetic resonance.
“Precisely.”
“Algor mortis, livor mortis, pallor mortis and rigor mortis,” he repeated. He turned and pulled a wooden stool toward him. He was wearing loose corduroy trousers. Because of the chill air, he also wore a cardigan with a heraldic badge at the breast pocket. His lab coat and cap hung from a hook on the back of the door. Dr. Bouton had a thin face. His skin was waxy and was pulled tight across the bones of his skull.
“You now have established time of death?”
“You will recall that I was not called to the scene of the crime.” He sounded slightly peeved. “I have Malavoy’s report to go on and as usual, Docteur Malavoy’s done a professional job.” He looked up, but not at Anne Marie. “At the scene of the crime, the medical examiner found no foreign bodies other than sand and insects on the corpse. Everything washed away by the rain and several days’ exposure to the elements. A very professional job in all senses.”
“Professional?” Following the doctor’s glance, Anne Marie turned. She had not seen the other man who was sitting quietly in the corner of the room, on a low wooden stool, like a child who had been reprimanded. A West Indian in his early sixties, with a bald head. He was wearing a suit and staring at the ground. Anne Marie had met Dr.Malavoy on several occasions; on each, he had struck her as excessively shy.
Dr. Bouton was saying, “Anal or vaginal reading of body temperature is subtracted from the normal body heat of thirty-seven degrees centigrade. You then divide that by one point five and you get a rough idea of the number of hours the person’s been dead. Obviously deducing the time of death through algor mortis is rough and ready—and there are variables. Here in the tropics, a body will cool more slowly than in Europe or North America. On the other hand, the body was exposed on an open beach, with a cool easterly breeze. Also there are differences due to body size. Docteur Malavoy put the time of death at
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