Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

from this side of the window, with the rest of you. I assume we can watch it on that monitor?” She pointed to the TV screen mounted in the anteroom.
    “I’ll turn on the camera, so you’ll all have a good view,” said Dr.Gruber. “And I’m going to ask all the observers to remain in this room anyway, with the door shut. Since there’s a possibility we’re dealing with cyanide poisoning.”
    “I thought you had to swallow the stuff to get sick,” one of the officials said.
    “There’s the chance of outgassing. The biggest danger is when I cut into the stomach, because that’s when cyanide gas might be released. My assistant and I will be wearing respirators, and I’ll dissect the stomach under the fume hood cabinet. We’ve also brought a GasBadge sensor, which will immediately alert us if it detects hydrogen cyanide. If it’s negative, I may be able to let some of you into the room. But you’ll have to wear gowns and masks.”
    Gruber donned dissection garb, including a respirator hood, and pushed through the door into the autopsy lab. His assistant was already waiting, similarly garbed. They turned on the camera, and on the TV monitor, Maura could see the empty autopsy table awaiting its subject. Gruber and his assistant wheeled the plastic-shrouded body out of cold storage and slid it onto the table.
    Gruber unzipped the shroud.
    On the video monitor, Maura could see that the body was a young girl, only about twelve or thirteen. Since the exhumation from the frozen ground, her flesh had been allowed to thaw. Her face was ghostly pale, her blond hair a crown of damp ringlets. Gruber and his assistant were quietly respectful as they removed the garments. Off came a long cotton dress, a knee-length slip, and modest white briefs. The corpse, now nude, was slender as a dancer’s, and despite days of burial, she was still eerily beautiful, her flesh preserved by the valley’s subfreezing temperatures.
    The officials pressed in closer around the monitor. As Gruber collected blood, urine, and vitreous specimens for toxicology, the men’s eyes took in what should never have been revealed to them. It was a violation of a young girl’s modesty.
    “The skin is markedly pale,” they heard Gruber say over the intercom speaker. “I see absolutely no residual flush.”
    “Is that significant?” Detective Pasternak asked Maura.
    “Cyanide poisoning can sometimes cause the skin to appear bright red,” she answered. “But this body has been frozen for days, so I don’t know if that would affect it.”
    “What else would you find in cyanide poisoning?”
    “If it’s ingested orally, it can corrode the mouth and lips. You’ll see it in the mucous membranes.”
    Gruber had already slipped a gloved finger into the oral cavity and he peered inside. “Membranes are dry, but otherwise unremarkable.” He glanced through the window at his audience. “You getting a good view of this on the monitor?”
    Maura nodded at him. “There are no corrosive lesions?” she asked over the intercom.
    “None.”
    Jane said, “Isn’t cyanide supposed to smell like bitter almonds?”
    “They’re wearing respirators,” said Maura. “They wouldn’t be able to smell it.”
    Gruber carved the Y-incision and picked up the bone cutters. Over the intercom, they heard the
crack, crack
as he split the ribs, and Maura noticed several of the officials suddenly turn away and stare at the wall. Gruber lifted up the shield of sternum and ribs, exposing the chest cavity, and reached into the chest to resect the lungs. He lifted out one wet and dripping lobe. “Feels pretty heavy to me. And I’m seeing some pink froth here.” He sliced into the organ, and fluid oozed out.
    “Pulmonary edema,” said Maura.
    “What does that signify?” Pasternak asked her.
    “It’s a nonspecific finding, but it can be caused by a number of drugs and toxins.”
    As Gruber weighed the heart and lungs, the camera remained fixed on a static view of the torso, gaping open. No longer were they staring at a nubile young girl. What once might have titillated had been transformed to butchered flesh, a mere carcass of cold meat.
    Gruber once again picked up his knife and his gloved handsreappeared on the monitor. “This damn face shield keeps fogging up,” he complained. “I’ll dissect the heart and lungs later. Right now, I’m most concerned about what we’re going to find in the stomach.”
    “What is your sensor showing?” Maura