Page 8 of Fever: Love In Scrubs
“No problem. Because I know you, I bought you something to eat because I guarantee you haven’t eaten breakfast.”
“You’d be correct.”
“Go wash your hands and take a break, sir.”
I chuckled and shook my head as I stood. “You really think you can boss me around.”
“Yet you’re standing. Shoo shoo.”
With a roll of my eyes, I went to wash my hands. When I returned to the desk, she had everything in the bag distributed. Most people asked how we could eat down here. It was simple. A nigga was hungry.
“I appreciate this,” I said, taking a seat.
“No problem. What are you working on?”
“A James Porter. I suspect foul play.”
“Really? Why?”
I gave her the rundown as we made haste in eating our breakfast. Once we were done, we both washed up so I could complete the rest of the external exam.
Returning to the body, I began photographing the neck discoloration from multiple angles. Under the bright examination light, I could make out what appeared to be finger-shaped impressions. While they were faint, they were unmistakable to someone who had seen them before, and I’d seen a little of everything in this field. Raq noticed them too.
The pattern suggested someone with large hands, possibly another male, though I wouldn’t make any assumptions. Assuming too early could lead to a number of mistakes and I couldn’t afford that in this line of work. I had testified in enough murder trials to know that every detail mattered. Every photograph could be scrutinized by defense attorneys looking for reasonable doubt.
Pulling out the recorder, I made a note.
“Upon closer examination, the decedent exhibits possible signs of manual strangulation. Faint bruising consistent with finger impressions is visible on the anterior neck, measuring approximately...”
I paused to take measurements with my ruler, documenting everything with precision.
I knew this was about to be a long morning, but one thing I learned about working with the dead was patience. This morgue was a place to discover hidden truths. Every corpse that passed through here was once a living, breathing human being. They deserved truth, and some even deserved justice.
Raq and I worked tirelessly to get this assignment complete so I could turn in my report. Just as we finished up, the doors opened, and another body was rolled in by an all too familiar face.
“What do we have?” Raq asked Vinnie, the transport specialist.
He looked at the paperwork before answering. “Frost Driscoll. Found unresponsive at his home. This is a sad one, man. When we pulled him out of that house, it was clear he was a hoarder. We could barely get inside.”
I shook my head. “Hoarding is a mental thing, Vinnie. It’s a trauma response or rooted in grief or something.”
“I overheard a neighbor say it started after his wife died in childbirth.”
“He has a kid? Were they there?”
Vinnie shook his head. “Nah. He’s fifty-six so I’m assuming the kid is grown, but don’t quote me on that. Anyway, that family has been contacted so expect someone to come claim the body in a few days. Just sign the usual paperwork and tell me where to put him.”
I nodded to Raq, who busied herself with showing the other man with Vinnie where to put Mr. Driscoll while I signed the paperwork. We chopped it up for a second before they left and I went to view the body.
Looking down into the face of Mr. Driscoll, I sighed. Vinnie mentioned him being a hoarder, and it showed in the tattered clothing with holes in the shirt and pants. His socks had holes as well. There were signs of insect bites on the exposed skin. While he had been in his home dead for days, it was also clear that he hadn’t bathed in a while either.
I felt a tinge of sadness. He wasn’t much younger than my father, only by a couple of years. My heart went out to his child, knowing they would have to bury him soon. I wanted to get him cleaned up and made presentable before the viewing. If he had to be seen this way, let there be some tinge of dignity in it.
“Poor man,” Raq said, shaking her head. “I wonder where his family was to let him live like that?”
“I can only imagine his lifestyle put a strain on relationships. They probably felt torn between love and frustration. Sometimes it’s easier to love people from a distance when you want more for them than they want for themselves.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” She sighed. “Shall we get started?”
