Pete raised his glass in triumph. Good work, that. The emphasis today on DNA takes away from the importance of paying attention to small details at the scene and the autopsy. Its made us lazy.
Jake joined him in his salute. You made me realize a good ME is a scientific detective. The obvious answers arent always right, and the right answers arent always obvious. He took a deep breath. Pete, are you all right?
The older man looked at him sharply. What do you mean?
Today, for example. You couldnt take the sun; you doubled over in the morgue; you were pale as paper. I dont like it.
Pete poured himself another drink, swallowed it in a gulp, and poured again, leaving this one on the desk. Im fine. Really.
I dont believe you. Ill get off this, I promise, but if youre sick, tell me.
Sadness and pain crept into Harrigans eyes. Jake, I
Go on.
I miss her, is all. I miss my wife Dolores.
Thats not all, Jake thought. Not by a long shot. But if his friend didnt want to talk, there was no way to force him. Pete had always been secretive, sometimes revealing what he wanted Jake to know only by leading him to that knowledge indirectly.
Ill find out the rest when hes ready and not until then. Be patient.
* * *
By Sunday night, Jake was back home reviewing autopsy photos and witness statements in preparation for testimony he had to give in a murder trial the next morning. If it hadnt been for the court appearance, hed have stayed in Turner and taken his first vacation day in God knows how long to keep working with Harrigan.
But the truth was theyd done just about all they could do for the time being. Theyd photographed the skeletons, concentrating on the broken vertebra, cracked ribs, and skull defect. Theyd collected samples of the soil where the stomachs would have been in hopes of discovering what the decedents had eaten a wild chance, they knew, but Harrigan would send it to the lab all the same, along with the hair for toxicology. When Jake finally drove off around seven, Harrigan was still at the hospital, x-raying the bones.
* * *
Jake didnt hear from Harrigan again until Tuesday afternoon. It was already past three, and Jake still had two more autopsies ahead of him. He was sorting through messages in his office, putting aside everything that wasnt marked
Urgent,
when the phone rang.
Have a minute?
Maybe two, but thats all. Whats up?
Theres been a breakthrough, but its a good-news/bad-news situation. There was tension in Petes voice, but at least it was strong.
Go on.
The good news is we know where the bodies came from. The bad news is everyones so happy with the answer, theyre about to restart work on the mall.
Slow down. Howd you find out about the bodies?
I didnt. Marge Crespy did. Remember the initials on the elastic?
Of course.
Turns out they stand for Turner Mental Hospital. As long as Ive lived here, its been called the Turner Psychiatric Institute, but Marge is the historian and knew the earlier names it began as a home for the feebleminded. Anyway, I got in touch with Hank Ewing Henry Ewing, Nobel laureate, dean of the Catskill Medical School, once head of Turner, friend of mine and he filled me in on the places history. Ill tell you when we see each other. The point is, they treated nearly ten thousand people over the decades, among them hundreds of indigents.
And Ewing says that when they died they were buried in the
field
? Jake asked.
Its not far from the hospital which is closed down, by the way. I guess they ran out of crazies in Baxter County, or it got too expensive to keep them. Marge found no record of its being a potters field, and as far as Sheriff Fisk and Mayor Stevenson are concerned, the case is closed. Indigents. Untraceable. The backhoe rides again at dawn.
The queasy feeling returned to Jakes stomach.
Corruption.
Theyre going too fast, he said. They should at least wait until you have the tox and DNA results.
Right. And I need to reshoot the X-rays on the Skeleton Two humerus. Something went wrong with the film.
But Fisk and Stevenson dont want to hold up construction.
Harrigan sighed. You know, Id just as soon let em go on. I have to live in this town, and Im not a big fan of crucifixion.
Jake felt a surge of anger. Quitting?
Not really. He sounded suddenly very tired. I went over to the site again Monday, looking for the plate from the skull of Skeleton Three. God knows, Fisk wasnt going to do it. Anyway, I found it. Fits perfectly. You can take a look tomorrow.
Pete, theres no way I can get there. Ive got a months work here to be finished by Friday.
But who else is going to help me identify the other three bodies?
Sly fox. The other
three? Youve IDd one of them?
From the laundry mark. Harrigan sounded smug.
Assuming the man was wearing his own underpants.
According to a logbook at the historical society, patient number 631217 was one James Albert Lyons. Height, race, and age match the skeletal findings. Im trying to locate his next of kin.
You dont waste any time.
At my age, times precious. So haul your ass up here and help out.
Really, I cant. Pederson will have my head if I take time off, and Im being deposed on a double murder on Thursday.
Jake, its urgent!
Despite himself, he was getting annoyed. Why? Its routine work. Get one of the hospital staffers to help.
Its not the identification. I have to talk to you.
What about?
Petes voice dropped to a whisper. It has to be in person.
Has
to be.
Hes going to tell me about the cancer.
Ill come up Friday night, then. Its the soonest I can make it.
A pause.
Okay?
Pete sighed.
The sound of despair.
I can live with it.
JAKE KNOCKED on the door: no answer. He tried the knob: locked. Pete, you home?
Silence.
Jake walked to the back of the house. The kitchen lights were on, the door open. Jake entered. There was a dirty frying pan in the sink, along with a single plate and some cutlery. Pete had made himself a steak for dinner.
Pete?
He moved through to the living room. One light was on, but there was no sign of his friend. Frightened now, Jake opened the door to the master bedroom, hoping Pete had simply gone to sleep after his meal. The bedclothes were rumpled, but there was no one on the bed. Jake could feel his heart pounding; the quiet was oppressive.
Only the study, where just a week ago they had talked of ghost spots and shared the finest scotch in the world, was unexplored.
You in there? He opened the door.
Pete was slumped at his desk, a book open in his hands. In two steps Jake was at his friends side, taking his pulse, feeling for life but finding none.
He let out a little moan.
I should have talked Pederson into letting me go. I should have spent more time with him. Told him I loved him like a father. Too late. Dear God, forgive me. Too late.
Verify.
He bent over the body and tried to move the jaw, confirming the presence of rigor mortis. Then he gently lifted Harrigans face from the desktop. Lividity had developed, but it wasnt fixed yet. Jake pressed his thumb against Petes right cheek, noting that an oval of pale skin appeared and then faded away. Time of death, Jake knew, was about three-thirty, four hours before he walked through the door.
Science finished, he sat in the chair facing the desk and let himself weep.
* * *
A small private funeral mass was held for Dr. Peter Harrigan in the local parish of his Catholic church in the Queens neighborhood where he and Dolores spent most of their married life. Given Elizabeths position as New Jerseys U.S. Attorney, there would be a large reception afterward at her home, but Pete had wanted a simple ceremony, and Elizabeth had honored his wishes. Jake spotted her in the front row, her head buried against the shoulder of a man Daniel Markis, Jake figured. He had never met her husband, but who else could it be? There were two girls on one side of her, a boy on Markiss right. Their children, but Jake couldnt remember their names. The sight of them was disconcerting. It had been fifteen years since hed last seen her, and though Pete had told him of her marriage and the births, it still came as a shock to find they were flesh and blood. He recognized Doloress sister Ruth? but none of the other fifteen or so mourners. Just as well. The intensity of his grief would have made small talk even commiseration impossible.
To Petes delight, Elizabeth, a lawyer, had risen from ten years with the U.S. Justice Department to become New Jerseys first female U.S. Attorney. Recently, she had uncovered major corruption in Monmouth County involving kickbacks by a contractor to mayors and assemblymen to assure his participation in a public housing project already behind schedule and running three times its estimated cost. Word was, Jake knew, that she was angling for governor, and he suspected shed succeed. Her ambition and single-mindedness had scared him off when years ago they had dated briefly (Petes idea); he supposed those attributes had only intensified. Markis, Jake guessed, didnt mind them. He was a high school football coach, affluent by inheritance and arrogant by nature, but, Pete had told him, so much in her shadow it was sometimes tough to see him at all.
Elizabeth caught up to him on the church steps after the service and took him over to Markis and the kids. Markis was younger than Elizabeth, in his mid-thirties, Jake guessed, with thinning brown hair and dark eyes. His hostility toward Jake was badly disguised; he glared as though Jake were responsible for his father-in-laws death.
Probably hates me because I once went out with her. If I tell him all I got out of her was a kiss, and that an icy one, would he feel better?
Markis insisted on being called by his last name by anyone outside his family, his only pretension. Elizabeth didnt object maybe, Jake guessed, because it made him sound important.
Elizabeth grabbed his arm. Can I talk to you for a minute? She was tall and thin and auburn-haired. Jake remembered how beautiful she was, but also how indifferent when they dated.
She led him up the stairs to the door of the church. Elizabeth, Im so sorry.
She bowed her head. Thanks. I feel terrible that we didnt visit him more, but a rueful smilethe kids are a handful, and Ive been incredibly busy.
So I read in the papers. No need to blame yourself. I didnt see enough of him, either.
Still, I should have been a better daughter. Its not that his death wasnt expected. I mean, he had a heart condition and couldnt sit still for two seconds. I tried to talk him out of working. Fat chance.
He was stubborn as hell.
You said it. She blew her nose, took a step closer. And on top of everything else . . . A couple of times when I called him at night, I could tell hed been drinking. I hardly knew what was going on in my own fathers life. Made me feel like a truant until Dad owned up.
Cancer, Jake said, the word escaping too loudly.
So Dad told you, too.
No. I guessed. What kind was it?
Pancreatic. A death sentence. Incurable, inoperable, unbeatable.
Ah, Pete, you stoic bastard. I hope the rest of that scotch was ambrosia.
He remembered something Harrigan always told his medical students before they entered the morgue for the first time: Its the heart that animates life. When the murmur of the heart finally ceases, the rest remains silent. He wanted Pete to break his silence for one more day so he could tell him he loved him.
Daniel and I drove up last Monday, after Dad and I had a heart-to-heart over the phone earlier that morning and he admitted he was sick. We had dinner with him. Daniel went back to New Jersey, and I stayed the night and had a federal marshal pick me up and take me to the office. He didnt seem particularly upset said he knew his body and that something was very wrong. He spent most of the time telling us about the case he was working on, the one with the skeletons, and how youd come to help. I cant tell you how thankful I am that I was there. It was the best talk we ever had. She squared her shoulders. At least I got to see him. But I didnt think it was going to be this quick.
