The Dying Breath: A Forensic Mystery

listened to acoustical instruments float around them, light as summer rain.
    “Are you ready?” Moore asked.
    “Ready,” she answered. She could feel excitement in the air as she moved toward the body of Joseph Stein. A partially filled-out chart on a clipboard lay next to him. On the top she saw a pen fastened by a string.
    “They must have been here for the television festival,” Cameryn said. “But why wasn’t Brent Safer recognized? He’s famous.”
    Her father, jotting down items for the personal inventory, paused long enough to say, “Safer had on a wig and sunglasses, which have already been bagged as evidence. I guess the man wanted to be left alone.”
    “Wow,” Cameryn said. “So no one recognized him?”
    “Nope,” Ben interjected. “We had no idea who he was until I found his ID. That’s when we decided to call you-all—Dr. Moore said he wanted the help.”
    “That’s enough, Ben,” Moore grumbled.
    “I’m just sayin’ that if Stein’s got that Jell-O stuff in his lungs then things’ll really go crazy.”
    “Do you want me to unwrap Stein?” Cameryn asked Dr. Moore, but the doctor shook his head vigorously. “There is still an open body that needs to be addressed. Remember, Miss Mahoney, we have procedures and protocols.” Once again, although the room was filled with people, the doctor addressed his comments only to her. Just her. It was as if an invisible bubble encased Cameryn, Ben, and Dr. Moore, shutting out everyone else. The others seemed to sense it, too. She watched as Sheriff Jacobs tilted his head and scratched it, shaking it slowly from side to side while he and Justin exchanged glances. Her father, on the other hand, looked pleased, because he understood this was what she’d always wanted. As coroner, Patrick was limited to the collection and identification of bodies—the basic paperwork of death. Cameryn, though, dreamed of becoming a medical examiner like Dr. Moore. It was the medical examiner who opened up the body. Through autopsies, the ME determined the cause and manner of a victim’s death, disassembling and reassembling the decedent’s pieces until the picture of what happened became clear. And now, surprisingly, Dr. Moore seemed ready to share his secrets with her. Sensing this, Patrick shot her a knowing smile before jotting another item on the clipboard.
    “I can help, sir,” Justin said. He took a step toward Cameryn but Dr. Moore waved him away.
    “I want to teach my protégée, Deputy, so stand down until you are called.” The doctor crossed his arms over his once-ample belly. “We never begin a second autopsy without completing the first. Why, Miss Mahoney?”
    Cameryn looked from one disemboweled body to the next, wrapped in a cotton sheet as neatly as a gift. “I don’t know.”
    Tapping his forehead with a gloved finger, Moore said, “Think. Part of your job is to examine the evidence and draw conclusions.”
    Cameryn bit the edge of her lip, straining for the right answer. Why would it make any difference? Mentally, she flipped through the pages of her forensic books, searching for an answer. “Well . . . maybe you’d have to be really careful of any kind of cross-contamination. With two bodies opened up at the same time I suppose there would be a chance that fluid from body A could get into body B, which could screw up the results. Especially if it’s a homicide.”
    Dr. Moore’s face lit up, his eyes morning bright as he peered at her over his half-moon glasses. “ Precisely . When there’s any kind of a doubt as to the cause or manner of death, we go by the book. A tight ship means a controlled ship. We go one body at a time. Tools are washed, gloves changed before we begin the dance again. Constant vigilance , Miss Mahoney. Constant vigilance, every case, every time.”
    “You sound like Mad-Eye Moody,” Cameryn said.
    “Excuse me. Are you trying to be funny?” Dr. Moore lowered his chin, staring at her with eyes that had suddenly lost their warmth. Sheriff Jacobs snorted and leaned against a cabinet, whispering something to her father.
    “You know, Mad-Eye? The guy from the Harry Potter books? Never mind.” Stupid, stupid, stupid, she chided herself. Dr. Moore’s trying to treat you like a professional and you say something like that. In an effort to redirect the doctor, she said, “Um, why do you have to wash the tools—don’t you have more than one set? I mean, that would seem to make more sense, you know, so