Page 16 of So Normal

“Can’t say I have,” Michael replied.

“Well, there’s a scene where a guy gets cut in half by the elevator,” Amy explained. “Ever since then, I can’t stand taking elevators.”

“Makes sense,” Faith replied.

“You’d think I wouldn’t mind so much considering my job,” Amy said, “but there’s always a way out, you know? I’m never trapped when I’m in an autopsy room. Even the morgue has multiple exits, so there’s always a way out. Anyway, here we are.”

Chester McIlhenny was sixty-four years old when he died and looked it. He was not one of those older men who took care of himself well and remained hale and hearty past middle age. His skin was somehow flabby and leathery at the same time and liberally sprinkled with liver spots. He wasn’t especially overweight, but what little extra weight he did carry he carried in a rotund paunch that formed an almost perfect circle between his belt and his ribcage. All in all, he looked like a man who had long since given up on his health, if he had ever tried.

Amy evidently agreed with Faith’s assessment. “Not much of a looker, is he? Guess he didn’t get the memo that sixty is the new forty.”

“Any sign of injury?” Michael asked.

“Not that anyone would have seen,” Amy said, “but I do know the cause of death.”

She tilted Chester’s head to the left and turned it slightly so the agents could see a tiny little prick just underneath his ear behind his jaw.

Faith’s eyes widened. “Poison?”

“Yep. Specifically, phenol.”

Michael whistled.

“Phenol?” Faith asked. “Like what they use for lethal injections?”

“Well, not anymore. Mostly, lethal injection is a combination of pancuronium bromide, potassium chloride, and midazolam. But yes, phenol has been used for lethal injection before. As you can see, it’s very effective.”

“No other signs of injury?” Faith asked.

“None,” Amy said. She released his head and said, “Not even defensive wounds. Either he was asleep when the attack happened, or it happened so fast that he never even noticed it.” She looked up at the agents and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. That’s your job to figure out. I’ll only say that this little pinprick was the only sign of injury.”

“Where might someone get phenol?” Michael asked.

“Well, if you want pure phenol, you need to get it from a chem lab. However, if you have a decently well-stocked home lab and a little know how, you can separate it from medical-grade sanitizer or sore throat spray.”

“So, we’re looking for a professional in the medical, chemical, or pharmaceutical fields,” Faith said.

“Well, not necessarily,” Amy said. “You can buy sore throat spray with phenol over the counter. All you have to do is be over twenty-one with no drug-related felonies on your record.”

“Lovely,” Faith said, “so our guy could literally be anyone.”

“Well, in order to source enough pure phenol to kill someone by injection, he’d need to have at least a little chemistry know-how. Say, undergraduate level chem student. Think fourth year and above.”

“So, likely someone with a professional background.”

“That would be my guess,” Amy agreed, “but then again, I’m not a detective.”

“Thank you for your time, doctor,” Faith said. “It goes without saying that if you find anything else, we need to be your first call.”

Amy raised an eyebrow. “Problems with the police?”

“The police have problems, but not with us,” Faith explained. “We’re not concerned with local politics, so we have freedom to act on information and make sure it isn’t buried before we can act on it.”

Amy nodded knowingly. “I get that. Politicians are assholes.”

“That’s my experience,” Faith said.

Amy looked down at their victim and said, “Funny thing. He was on the verge of congestive heart failure. Odds are, he would have been dead in six months if our killer had just left him alone.”

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