Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

asked.
    The assistant glanced at the GasBadge monitor. “It’s not registering anything. No cyanide detected yet.”
    Gruber said, “Okay, here’s where things could get interesting.” He looked through the window at his audience. “Because we could be dealing with cyanide, I’m going to proceed a little differently. Normally I’d just resect, weigh, and open up the abdominal organs. But this time I’m going to clamp off the stomach first, before I resect it in toto.”
    “He’ll place it under the fume hood before he slices it open,” Maura explained to Jane. “Just to be safe.”
    “Is it really that dangerous?”
    “When cyanide salts are exposed to gastric acid, they can form toxic gas. Open that stomach and you release the gas into the air. That’s why they’re wearing respirator hoods. And why he’s not going to cut into that stomach until it’s under a fume hood.”
    Through the window, they watched Gruber lift the clamped and resected stomach out of the abdomen. He carried it to the fume hood cabinet and glanced at his assistant.
    “Anything showing up on the GasBadge?”
    “Not a blip.”
    “Okay. Bring that monitor closer. Let’s see what happens when I start cutting.” Gruber paused, staring down at the glistening organ, as though bracing for the consequence of what he was about to do. The fume hood blocked Maura’s view of the actual incision. What she saw was Gruber’s profile, his head craned forward, his shoulders hunched in concentration as he sliced. Abruptly he straightened and looked at his assistant.
    “Well?”
    “Nothing. It’s not reading cyanide, chlorine, or ammonia gas.”
    Gruber turned to the window, his face obscured by the fogged mask. “There are no mucosal lesions, no corrosive changes in the stomach. I have to conclude that we’re probably not dealing with cyanide poisoning.”
    “Then what killed her?” asked Pasternak.
    “At this point, Detective, I’d be guessing. I suppose they could have ingested strychnine, but the body shows no lingering opisthotonos.”
    “What?”
    “Abnormal arching and rigidity of the back.”
    “What about that other finding, in the lungs?”
    “Her pulmonary edema could be due to anything from opiates to phosgene. I can’t give you an answer. I’m afraid this is all going to come down to the tox screen.” He pulled off his fogged respirator hood and heaved out a sigh, as though relieved to be free of that claustrophobic mask. “Right now, I’m thinking this is a pharmaceutical death. A drug of some kind.”
    “But the stomach’s empty?” said Maura. “You didn’t find any capsule remnants?”
    “The drugs could have come in liquid form. Or death could have been delayed. Sedation, followed by assisted asphyxiation.”
    “Heaven’s Gate,” Maura heard someone say behind her.
    “Exactly. Like the Heaven’s Gate mass suicide in San Diego,” said Gruber. “They ingested phenobarbital and tied plastic bags over their heads. Then they went to sleep and never woke up.” He turned back to the table. “Now that we’ve ruled out any danger of cyanide gas, I’m going to take my time. You’ll all have to be patient. In fact, some of you may find the rest of this tedious, if you’d like to leave.”
    “Dr. Gruber,” one of the officials said, “how long is this first autopsy going to take? There are forty other bodies waiting in the deep freeze.”
    “And I’m not thawing any more of them until I’m satisfied I’ve done justice to this young lady.” He looked down at the girl’s corpse, and his gaze was mournful. Entrails glistened in her gaping abdomen,and her freshly thawed flesh dripped pink icemelt into the table drain. But it was her face that seemed to hold his attention. Staring up at the monitor, Maura, too, was transfixed by the face, so pale, so innocent. A snow maiden, frozen on the threshold of womanhood.
    “Dr. Gruber?” the assistant said. “Are you okay? Doctor?”
    Maura’s gaze shot back to the viewing window. Gruber swayed and put his hand out to catch himself against the table, but his legs seemed to dissolve away beneath him. A tray toppled and steel instruments clattered across the floor. Gruber collapsed, his body landing with a sickening thud.
    “Oh my God!” The assistant knelt down beside the body. “I think he’s having a seizure!”
    Maura grabbed the nearest telephone and dialed the operator. “Code Blue, autopsy lab,” she said. “We have a Code Blue!” As