Abandoned. John Schlarbaum
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was that?”
“Two months ago.”
“The bad news is the policy is two years old,” Luke said. “The good news is that it’s more of a suggestion than an enforceable rule.”
“So I’m safe?”
“I’m not going to say anything.”
“I thought maybe I was sentenced to walk these hallways until the scent was sufficiently undetectable. Only then could I speak with the coroner.”
“Richmond or Singh?”
“I don’t know. My editor was heavy on assigning me this mission, yet light on actual details.”
“No worries. Let’s find out who’s in.”
Luke stepped away from Jennifer and peered into an office window partially obstructed by a vertical blind. Pressing his hands together and leaning against the glass, Luke said, “Looks like ... Alpa is on duty today.”
Luke’s work radio crackled to life.
“Hey, Luke, Rob will meet you upstairs for that back door call.”
“I’m getting the cart now.” He placed the radio back in his pocket.
“Back door? What’s that?” Jennifer inquired, unfamiliar with the term. “For your sake, I hope it doesn’t involve going to the proctologist’s exam room.”
Luke laughed. “Ah, no ... kind of the opposite. Back door means the morgue, which is where I was headed to get the body cart to transfer a patient.”
“Oh my god,” Jennifer said flustered. “I didn’t mean to hold you up.”
“Trust me, there’s no real rush for this call.”
Luke let the implication hang in the air.
It doesn’t even faze him anymore. Jennifer knew cops and paramedics who had the same attitude toward the deceased. She now regretted her earlier snide remark to Maryanne. “Of course not,” she managed to say.
“So ... I think Dr. Singh is performing an autopsy,” Luke began, trying nonchalantly to change the subject, “which is in the same section as the morgue. It’s down here by the linen carts.”
“Okay,” Jennifer said, following Luke. “Besides being the Cart Pusher of Death, what’s your job title?”
“Patient Transporter, or porter for short.”
“It must be awesome to wear scrubs every shift.”
“Yeah, it’s kind of like wearing pyjamas to work.” Luke took out a key ring to unlock a door marked G1098. “Come on in.”
On the right was a large table top attached to one wall, while the other wall consisted of four stainless steel, ground-to-ceiling doors. Next to them was a dry erase board listing shelf numbers and the corresponding names of the recently departed.
“It’s smaller than I thought it would be,” Jennifer stated.
“With five hospitals within an eight block radius, each with their own morgue, this one seems about right size-wise,” Luke said, as he pressed an intercom button on the wall. “Dr. Singh, are you in? It’s Luke. There’s a visitor out here for you.”
A couple seconds later, Dr. Singh replied, “Who is it?”
Luke held down the button again and said, “I don’t really know.”
“It’s Jennifer Malone, Dr. Singh. I’m a reporter with The Telegraph, here about the John Doe.”
Luke let go of the button. “Do you have a card? One of the guards here wants to be a reporter–“
“And you’d rack up some goodwill points, right?”
“Something like that,” Luke smiled, taking Jennifer’s card from her.
“Here’s a second one for your goodwill collection,” Jennifer said, offering another card. In similar situations she’d have written her cell number on it and suggested the recipient call to discuss how the world worked over drinks, but she didn’t get the vibe Luke was interested.
He’s doing his job, leave him be, she chastised herself.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” Dr. Singh reported back.
Jennifer surveyed her sterile surroundings. “I’m going to wait in the hallway. I saw a chair against the wall.”
“That’s your best bet.” Luke opened the door and let Jennifer out, deciding not to go into the rules against civilians being alone in the morgue. “It smells nicer out there too, if only marginally,” he said re-entering the room.
Several moments later, Luke propped the door open and pushed the body cart into the hall, locking the door behind him.
“That’s a fancy cart,” Jennifer said, noting the elevated canvas cover top featuring butterflies painted on it.
“It’s not much, but most of the patients and visitors who see it don’t realize what it contains, which is a good thing. They might freak out otherwise.” Luke stepped on the stretcher’s steer lever and continued toward a service elevator. “If Rob and I don’t get back here before you leave, it was nice meeting you.”
“It was nice meeting you too, Luke.”
Jennifer took her seat and watched as a cleaning lady up the hallway wiped down a stretcher, and then put on a bottom sheet, blanket and pillow for use in the E.R. Even though she tried to give off a devil-may-care attitude, in this environment Jennifer saw how fragile life could be and she didn’t like it.
An ambulance being backed into the nearby E.R. bay was not helping. Soon, paramedics removed a patient wearing an oxygen mask laying on an industrial-sized stretcher that was swiftly pushed through the hospital doors.
“Jennifer Malone?”
Startled, Jennifer jumped from her chair and glared at Dr. Singh, an East Indian female who might stand four foot ten ... if barely.
“Is that what passes as morgue humour?” Jennifer cried out, clutching her chest. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”
Without missing a beat, Dr. Singh replied, “If that were the case, I’d call for Luke to take you to the cardiac wing. They are top notch up there.”
Jennifer stared at the tiny woman in the bright white smock and took a deep breath to calm her nerves. “I got so involved in the drama outside – a paramedic jumped on top of the patient’s chest and rode them into the E.R. on a stretcher. It was like a rodeo tryout. I didn’t hear you come out.”
“It’s okay, dear. I sneak up on a lot of people. What can I do – it’s genetics.”
The tension broken, both laughed.
“I feel so stupid,” Jennifer admitted. “I’m usually not this jittery, Dr. Singh.”
“This isn’t a good place to relax. The only perks are high-grade prescription drugs and warm blankets. At least that’s what I’ve heard Luke tell the patients he transports from room to room.”
“That doesn’t include the dead ones, right?”
Dr. Singh looked back at the spot in the morgue where the body cart was regularly parked. “I don’t think so, but you never know with part-timers. Please, let’s go to my office where it’s less stressful.”
“Deal.”
THREE
PART II
GENIFER
As she hung up the phone, Genifer felt sick. The fact that her two children were running in the living room acting out an imaginary scene for the next Iron Man movie didn’t