Page 91 of Cold, Cold Bones
“Doc,” Slidell’s way of announcing our arrival.
Hawkins kept filming. Nguyen looked over her shoulder, thermometer in one gloved hand.
“Detective, Dr. Brennan.”
“What’s the verdict?” Slidell asked.
“Probable carbon monoxide poisoning.”
I said nothing.
“I’m seeing very little trauma,” Nguyen added.
“Very little?” I managed to ask.
“Abrasions on the forehead, the left cheek and ear.”
“From his head hitting the wheel?”
“Maybe.”
“You’re thinking suicide?” Slidell asked.
“I’ll know more after the autopsy.”
“The garage door was down when you arrived?” he asked me.
“Yes.”
“Was the car hood up?”
“No.”
“The vic have any grease on his hands?” This question to Nguyen.
“No.”
Slidell scanned the small space. “No tools lying around.”
“I agree, Detective,” Nguyen said. “This doesn’t look like an accident.”
“Time of death?”
“Based on body temp, I’d put it at very early morning. But that’s only a rough estimate.”
“Refresh me. How long’s it take to die by CO poisoning?”
“Not long.”
Slidell scowled.
“Death can occur quickly. A level of one to three percent CO is normal, seven to ten percent in smokers. A level of ten to twenty percent will cause headache and poor concentration, thirty to forty percent severe headache, nausea, vomiting, faintness, lethargy, elevated pulse and breathing rates. With forty to sixty percent comes disorientation, weakness, and loss of coordination. With sixty percent, coma and death.”
Slidell sighed. “How ’bout a ballpark?”
“Of?” Nguyen was inspecting one of Charlie’s hands.
“How long you last.”
