Page 53 of Chosen Path
“Zombies?” Molly asked.
“It’s a long story.”
A long and weird story. But apparently it earned him some grudging good will with Ed Pratt, who stuck out his hand. Bodhi shook it and found himself surprised when it was warm. He’d half-expected Ed’s skin to be waxy and cool.
“Come on, let’s get this over with.” Ed led them to a door at the end of the hall and paused outside. “This isn’t where we’d normally store a loved one’s body, but it’s unusual for us to have two guests at the same time.”
They followed him inside.
‘Guests?’ Molly mouthed. Bodhi shot her a look that he hoped would remind her to behave. Ed flipped a switch and a bright overhead light blared to life to reveal what appeared to be a storage room. Open metal shelves lined the walls and were filled with boxes of makeup, packages of nitrile gloves, and an assortment of items Ed Pratt and his team would use to prepare their guests for their final social engagements. In the center of the room, Corrine Wolf lay on a gurney, still dressed in her flannel nightgown and robe.
Bodhi turned to the funeral director, prepared to voice his discomfort.
Ed beat him to the punch. “This is highly unusual, I know. But I don’t want to touch her until I know if Derek Wolf is calling the shots or if the council will be handling the arrangements.”
Molly exclaimed, “That didn’t stop you with Laura Gardener, did it?”
Ed eyed her coolly. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re taking about.”
“You told me her family refused to consent to an autopsy, but you asked Kara, not Hope, who you should have known was Mrs. Gardener’s health care agent.”
Bodhi thought Ed may have paled at the accusation, but it was hard to say, given his natural complexion and the harsh lighting. Before Ed could respond, Officer Booth held up her hand like a traffic cop.
“Enough. Doctor Hart, you have fifteen minutes. I suggest you use them examining Corrine’s body, not slinging accusations at Mr. Pratt. Your clock starts running … now.” The police officer took a giant step back and stood right in front of the shelves. The mortician joined her.
Bodhi removed two pairs of nitrile gloves from his backpack and offered one to Molly. They snapped them on and stood looking down at Corrine’s body. Bodhi was vaguely discomfited. Ed had called the circumstances highly unusual, but it went beyond that. He and Molly were about to examine Corrine’s corpse under conditions that could contaminate anything they found. Nothing about this situation comported with best practices.
At least, he thought, they had witnesses. He inhaled, exhaled, then looked at Molly. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Does your phone have a dictation app?”
She nodded, pulled her cell phone from her pocket, and cued up the app. “I’m going to start it now.” She pressed the play arrow on her display, recited the time, date, and location, the parties present, and Corrine Wolf’s name and age.
Good enough, he figured.
They stepped closer to Corrine’s body. She’d been dead for well over twenty-hours at this point and lividity had set in. Given the position she’d been in when she’d died, blood would have pooled in her thighs, low back, and buttocks. He’d expect to see blanching in her feet and the arm that had been pressed up against the edge of the sofa. He narrated these thoughts, speaking slowly and clearly so the app would pick up each word.
“Belly?” Molly asked.
“Yes.” The most common place to self-inject insulin was in the abdomen. It was an easy spot to reach and insulin injected into that area was absorbed quickly and at a predictable rate. Molly untied Corrine’s robe and lifted her body to ease the flannel nightgown up over her hips. She bunched the material up under Corrine’s breasts.
“That’s good.”
They both leaned in and examined the area between the woman’s ribs and pubis. Bodhi noted a smattering of freckles and an old scar.
“C-section?” he asked Molly.
“Yes,” Molly confirmed. “It was in her chart.”
“I don’t see a puncture site.”
“But if she used a high-gauge needle, we might not,” Molly countered.
She was right. Bodhi studied Corrine’s face as if it might give him an idea of what to do next.
Officer Booth cleared her throat. “So, are you satisfied that she didn’t commit suicide by insulin? She must’ve had a visitor who used insulin. Heck, maybe her kid turned up for a visit.”
