JL02 - Night Vision Read Online Free PDF Page B

to the assistant ME. “Manual strangulation. Any evidence of sexual battery?”
    “Nothing…visible,” he stammered. “No contusions or lacerations other than the head and neck injuries. I swabbed the genitalia. No visible semen. However, vaginal secretions are consistent with…uh…sexual activity in close proximity to death.”
    “You’ll check the smear for spermatozoa, of course.”
    “Yes, sir. I thought I’d use methylene blue.”
    Charlie Riggs shook his head. “You’ll never distinguish sperm cells from artifacts with that stain. Try hematoxylin and eosin for better differentiation.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “What else, what other tests?”
    “Well…I don’t know.”
    “What if the fellow’s had a vasectomy, or he’s an alcoholic with cirrhosis? Won’t find any wagging tails there, eh?”
    “In that event,” the young doctor recited, as if taking his oral exams, “acid phosphatase determination will reveal the presence of seminal fluid. If the man’s a secreter, we can identify A, B, or H blood types.”
    “Verus,” Charlie said, beaming, a professor whose student had finally caught on. “Be alert to every detail. Don’t believe that old saw Mortui non mordent—”
    “I never did,” I chimed in.
    “‘Dead men carry no tales.’ Hah! They can tell us stories horribile dictu, horrible to relate, but essential to our understanding of their deaths.”
    The young doctor was nodding his head vigorously.
    “Now, what about odor?” Charlie Riggs asked.
    “Beg your pardon?”
    “Vaginal odor? It’s okay to take your sweet time with the lab tests, but you’ve got one chance to work up the crime scene. Just don’t forget to use the old schnoz.”
    “Tell him about the time you opened a stomach and ID’d the restaurant by smelling the beer in the barbecue sauce,” I prompted Charlie.
    “Only one ribs joint in town had sauce like that,” Charlie said. “Wasn’t hard to figure where he had his last supper, then a waiter identified his dining companion, a hired killer.”
    The assistant ME bit his lip, shot an embarrassed look toward Pam Maxson, and sank to his knees. His head disappeared between two pale, slightly chubby thighs.
    “Three-to-one the kid says he smells barbecue sauce,” Detective Rodriguez whispered to me. He had been in the department twenty years and had little time for rookies in any field.
    A voice without a face came from the general vicinity of the corpse’s pudendum. “What smells should I be…uh…looking for?”
    “Anything, son!” Charlie boomed. “The latex of a condom or a surgical glove, maybe soap, talcum, or a douche scented with lily of the valley, even a man’s distinctive cologne. Some men splash it on their privates, you know. Maybe we find a guy who’s crazy for Aqua Velva.”
    “Or Listerine,” Rodriguez suggested, “depending on his proclivities.”
    There was the sound of a bloodhound sniffing, then the assistant ME picked himself up, looked sheepishly toward Charlie, and said, “Sorry, sir, but…it’s just plain pussy to me.”
    “Oh, never mind. You’ll want to do a complete autopsy, of course. Take a good look at the neck. I’d advise elevating the shoulders, eviscerate the body, and remove the brain. If you want a dry field, don’t dissect the neck until the blood has stopped draining. Don’t let the homicide detectives rush you. Take your time.”
    The kiddie coroner nodded, then piped up, “I’d say the assailant was right-handed, Dr. Riggs.”
    From behind me I heard a snicker. “ Fantastico ,” Detective Rodriguez said. “I’ll put out a BOLO for all right-handed guys.”
    Doc Riggs was more diplomatic. “And how do you reach that conclusion, Doctor…?”
    Charlie squinted at the name tag.
    “Whitson,” the alleged doctor proclaimed. “Well, there’s a single abrasion on the right side of the neck and four on the left. So the assailant’s right thumb would have made the single abrasion, the fingers of his right