Page 83 of Unnatural Death

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Ahead is the autopsy suite, and I can hear rock music from the eighties drifting out the open double doors. The Police are singing “Every Breath You Take,” and it’s ironically appropriate.

“…I’ll be watching you…,” and I feel like something is as I step inside to tell Fabian I’m leaving.

The old-style boom box is turned up loud on a countertop, and I can smell the sharp odor of hospital-grade disinfectant. He’s polished the four steel autopsy tables attached to sinks. He’s set up the surgical carts, getting ready for the next cases, because there will be more. That we can always count on. I notice the walk-in cooler door isn’t closed all the way.

“Fabian?” I call out, looking around. “Who’s in here? Hello?”

I pull open the cooler door, a fog of condensation rolling out to the loud noise of blowing air. Pouched bodies on stretchers are parked side by side with barely enough room to walk between them.

“Fabian? Tell me if you’re in here?” I don’t see him, and he doesn’t answer.

What is wrong with everybody?The cooler door isn’t supposed to be left open. I walk out, shutting it hard behind me.Dammit!

“Hello?” I duck inside the locker room next, and Fabian has been in here recently.

The old industrial washer is loud in the spin cycle, thudding at top speed as if the machine will explode. Connected to the locker room is the anteroom where we keep surgical scrubs, gowns, PPE and other supplies. I hear someone moving around. Footsteps, then the door opens, and it’s not Fabian, I realize with uneasy surprise.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” Norm the security officer steps out with a bold smile. He’s holding a box of shoe covers. “Can I help you with something, boss?”

“Maybe I should ask you the same thing,” I reply.

“Nope, I’m good considering.”

Built like a stone column, Norm has an intense gaze, his thick neck tattooed with an eagle. His khaki uniform is badly wrinkled, his shirt halfway untucked, and he needs a haircut. I’d be very happy if he’d trim his beard, but I stay away from making comments about his hygiene or appearance.

“Hope you don’t mind if I keep a supply in my car.” He indicates the box of shoe covers, and I do mind. “It’s important I protect myself. And I wouldn’t have to worry about what I might track into my personal car or residence if I didn’t work here. It’s a job-related hazard. Meaning it should be covered by the employer.”

“You can’t help yourself to PPE for your personal use. I’m sorry. I thought you understood that,” I reply, and of course he knows. “You’ve been working here almost as long as I have, Norm.”

“It’s not that I don’t understand. I don’t accept it, boss.”

“I don’t make up the rules in state government. And I’ve asked you before not to call me boss.”

“It’s meant as a compliment.”

“It’s not one and I don’t believe that’s how you mean it,” I reply.

“Sorry you took offense, ma’am.” Brazenly holding my gaze, Norm makes me feel the way I did when I was getting started in my career.

Some of my male colleagues would look at me as if I were good for only one thing. Their smiles were meant to shrink me into compliance. Not a day went by when I wasn’t reminded of my place, and I feel the slow burn of an old anger that I don’t want roused. It’s been a long day and my resistance is low. Some of what I’m upset about has nothing to do with the here and now.

“The same rules apply to everybody.” I return Norm’s stare, refusing to back down. “You’ve been told before. You can’t take gloves, disposable sheets, sticky mats, booties, face masks, nothing out of this building for personal use. Not even a roll of toilet paper if the state paid for it.”

“You have PPE in your car.” Norm digs in a pocket of his uniform pants, pulling out a stick of beef jerky that he peels open in front of me. “Marino has PPE in his truck.” Talking as he chews, reeking of garlic. “All your doctors have crap like that. Even Fabian does.”

“For when we respond to scenes,” I reply. “Not for our own personal use.”

“Like I said?” Norm takes another odiferous bite, smacking loudly as we talk inside the locker room. “Anything I don’t want to track into my personal vehicle or my residence is the result of my working here. I shouldn’t have to cover the expense.”

“We’ll have to take this up another time.” I have no intention of talking to him again if I can help it. “I just ducked in looking for Fabian.”

“Got no idea,” Norm says with a rude shrug.

“I assumed he might be nearby since the cooler door was left open,” I reply pointedly.

“I don’t supervise Fabian. But he gets distracted when he’s listening to music, fussing with his hair and all the rest. Probably he left the cooler door open by mistake.”

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