Author's Note: In this chapter, there will be an autopsy. I tried to keep it close to what we have seen in various episodes. Hopefully, my description isn't too gross.
There are mild references to "Skinny Dipper", "The Wolves of Deep Brooklyn", "Dead Men Tell Long Tales", and "The Last Death of Henry Morgan".
Chapter 11
Henry yawned as he pressed the elevator button. He was still groggy from last night. The Flying Dutchman had lasted longer than he had expected. When he and Abe had returned to the shop, Henry tried to read a chapter in one of the books from the office. The next thing that he knew, Abe was knocking on his door. Henry opened his eyes and jumped in surprise. He was still sitting up in bed, and his book had fallen onto the floor. Apparently, he had been so tired that he had fallen asleep while reading.
The elevator's bell pulled Henry back into the present. He stepped into the car and watched the doors close. His thoughts returned to last night. He actually had enjoyed his time at what he had discovered was an opera. After he and Abe took their seats, Henry read the program to see what type of production it was. Soon, the music started, and the actors walked onto the stage. Upon the first words, Henry realized that he didn't recognize the lyrics. He listened for a few more minutes, hoping that he would finally hear a familiar line. With each passing minute, however, the song became even more difficult to understand.
Frustrated at his inability to follow what was happening onstage, Henry decided to use the time to mentally review what he had learned earlier in the day. He began to list the few steps of the autopsy process that he had managed to read about before Jeff had entered the room. The music and the unfamiliar words, however, kept interrupting Henry's thoughts. He finally gave up; this wasn't the place to think about work.
His thoughts quickly turned to Detective Martinez. He had believed that she was somehow connected with his past, but the day's events confirmed that he was right. Apparently, they had been close friends before his hospitalization, and it showed in her knowledge about him and in her willingness to touch him in an intimate manner. The latter startled him when she placed her hand on his shoulder. Something in the gesture, however, immediately and surprisingly put him at ease. When her hand left his shoulder, he had felt slightly disappointed that the touch had ended.
Due to her familiarity with him, Henry wondered how he and Detective Martinez met. Based on the amount of knowledge that she seemed to have about him, he likely had been assigned to several of her cases. He wished that he could remember their first meeting—or anything that she had told him about herself.
Abe's light snore rudely intruded into Henry's thoughts about the detective. Henry looked over at the older man and saw that his chin rested on his chest. Henry started to tap Abe on the arm but stopped; after the past few days' events, Abe needed his rest. Henry turned his attention back to the opera. Abe would want to know what he had missed, and Detective Martinez would probably like to hear Henry's opinion about it. As he couldn't understand the language, he decided to focus on the body language and the scenery for clues. To his pleasant surprise, he could understand the performance's events much better. By the end of the opera, Henry found himself enthusiastically applauding the performers.
As they left the theater, Henry told Abe what happened during his nap. The two man talked about the show and about the rest of Abe's day during their return to the shop. Henry had eagerly listened to his roommate's opinions and insights, and Henry had found himself enjoying the discussion.
The elevator stopped, and Henry exited the car. He inhaled and walked to his office. Last night was a pleasant reprieve, but he couldn't avoid his work any longer. Whatever knowledge that he had would have to suffice. If he couldn't do his job, it was better to find out now than to have Detective Martinez learn of his incompetence through a botched autopsy.
Henry opened his door and set his coffee on his desk. As he exchanged coats, he turned toward the autopsy room. He knew which bodies that he wanted to process first: the burnt corpse and the one that he had found Saturday. In the case of the burn victim, Henry and Detective Martinez had discussed the similarities between the man in the photo and the body while they were still at WNYL's studios. They had agreed that the similarities were too striking for it to be a coincidence and that they needed more proof before they could positively conclude that the body was Brent's.
Henry chided himself for his cavalier attitude toward the deceased. He shouldn't had addressed the man so informally. Yet, the use of the man's first name seemed like an appropriate way to maintain his humanity in death.
As Henry tugged his lab coat's sleeve over the wristwatch and his blue shirt, he saw Wahl walk into the room and begin to repeat his actions from yesterday. Henry studied the young man. His strides and more alert expression suggested that his illness had passed. Either that, or Wahl had drunk a considerable amount of coffee before coming to work this morning.
Henry decided to join his assistant in preparing the room for the day. He walked over to the x-ray lamps and flipped the switches. He turned and noticed that Wahl had already turned on the monitors, the lamps, and his computer.
"Good morning, Mr. Wahl." The young man jumped and almost dropped his scrub top as he turned toward Henry. "How was your day yesterday?"
"I slept most of the day." Wahl smiled as he pulled his top over his black long-sleeved shirt. "The only times that I got up were to go to the bathroom and eat. By the way, I remembered why I don't eat canned chili anymore. The can that I ate tasted too salty and too greasy…"
Henry glared at his assistant, who seemed too eager to describe his day in detail, and then walked over to the glove box.
Henry heard Wahl's footsteps behind him. "Okay. So, how was your day yesterday?"
Henry took out two gloves and put them on. He decided about telling Wahl about the opera; it seemed very unprofessional to mention it. He smiled as he stepped away from the box to allow Wahl passage. "I told my superiors about the situation concerning the assistant medical examiners. The OCME will be hiring more assistants. Meanwhile, you'll be working with me from now on."
Wahl opened his mouth as he finished putting on his gloves. Then, he raised a fist in the air and pulled it toward himself. "Yes!" He looked at Henry. "Thank you!"
Henry and Wahl walked to the coolers, stopping only to obtain clean aprons and to put them on. Henry glanced over at the monitors; Wahl needed to know about his actions. "You forgot to turn off the monitors yesterday." That was too blunt.
Wahl stopped, closed his eyes, and dropped his head. "Nuts! I knew I forgot to do something." He opened his eyes and looked Henry in the eyes. "I promise you it won't happen again."
Henry stepped aside to let Wahl through the open door. The assistant busied himself with pulling a gurney to the coolers. Henry suddenly found himself hating to see the man's self-reproach. He bit his lower lip. "It was a simple error. Fortunately, your mistake may have produced a lead in the apartment fire last week."
Wahl stopped what he was doing and looked at Henry with widened eyes. "Really? So, who is it?"
"It might be Jeff's cousin Brent Watkins. He disappeared last week and hadn't been heard from since."
Wahl inhaled. "Oh, man! That's awful. How's Jeff taking it?"
"He's understandably upset, and I would like to start the autopsy immediately." Wahl solemnly nodded and opened the cooler with the body in it.
Henry pulled out the slab. Wahl's voice caused Henry to look up. "I haven't had the chance to take the measurements, note the condition of the body, or take hair samples last Wednesday. When I came back here with the body, I was ordered to put it into the cooler. I didn't even know that we would be working on it until I asked Jeff about it the next day. The only thing that I know is the estimated time of death, which is between 9:30 and 10:30 last Wednesday morning."
Henry's eyes widened. Two feelings vied for dominance. On the one hand, he was impressed with Wahl's attention to details. On the other hand, he wondered why the OCME seemed willing to compromise an investigation by allowing a delay in the autopsy. He hoped that Detective Martinez wouldn't blame him for any inaccuracies in his findings.
As they placed the corpse onto the gurney, Henry looked back at the trays. He didn't see any tools on it, and he noted a pair of pruning shears resting on the table nearest to the door. None of the cabinets had anything that could help him with opening the body. Apparently, his tools were—in his desk.
Wahl rolled the body to the table. Henry placed the pruning shears on the one behind him and helped Wahl transfer the body to the other table. He walked back to his office and opened his desk drawers. He eventually found a leather case lying in front of the folders in his top drawer. Hoping that it contained autopsy tools, Henry took it and walked back to the table.
Once he arrived, he glanced over and noticed that Wahl had placed a couple of trays near the table. One contained a clipboard with forms filled with unfamiliar—likely Wahl's—handwriting, various beakers, test tubes, and bags while the other was empty. Henry laid the leather case onto the empty tray. He unfolded the case and studied the contents until he located a scalpel.
Hoping that he was correct in his assumption about the similarities between an autopsy and surgery, Henry withdrew the scalpel from the case and turned to the body. He took a deep breath and positioned the instrument near the body's left shoulder. He inserted the blade. Surprisingly, his hands automatically made the necessary cuts. As he carefully folded the skin back, he wondered if he could use the pruning shears to open the body more; nothing in the case seemed to be strong enough to cut bone.
He turned to retrieve the pruning shears when the start of Wahl's voice interrupted his thoughts. "While you were getting your tools, I checked. Our victim is definitely a he."
Henry paused as he removed the shears from the other table. Wahl's observation was another piece of evidence pointing toward an unpleasant conclusion.
Once he was back at the first table, Henry positioned the tool over the deceased's rib cage. Again, his hands deftly began to cut through the bone. To take his attention away from his thoughts, he decided to satisfy some curiosity. "You are so full of life that your career as an assistant medical examiner seems unlikely. Whose death had deeply affected you?"
Henry glanced up at a puzzled Wahl. "I know that I've mentioned it to you before." Wahl paused. "But since you must have encountered something weird while "skinny-dipping" in the East River last week…"
Henry wrinkled his eyebrows in puzzlement. What does he mean by that?
Wahl momentarily frowned and then smiled at his memory. "Nightmare on Elm Street and Friday the 13th. They are the coolest! All the blood and gore…"
Henry stared at the man. He had no idea what Wahl was talking about. Suddenly, Henry had a feeling that he had had this type of reaction to something that Wahl had said—on multiple occasions before his amnesia. How could I had forgotten any connection with him? Henry found himself wishing that he could remember everything that Wahl had told him.
The weight of the pruning shears snapped Henry out of his thoughts. He caught the shears before they fell and looked back down at the victim. He and Wahl couldn't waste any more time talking. Wahl stopped talking as Henry said, "Can we get back to the autopsy?"
Once the chest was open, Henry looked inside the body. He remembered what little that he had studied yesterday. He was wrong about the similarities between the two procedures; he needed a closer look at the organs themselves to determine the cause of death.
During the next couple of hours, Henry removed the organs—with, surprisingly, a hunting knife—and Wahl collected samples of the blood and digestive contents. The men examined everything that they had found. Apparently, the victim was in perfect health and had had nothing to eat prior to death. A quick check of the nostrils while Wahl walked over to the microscope to obtain several slides revealed that, surprisingly, the man didn't die in the fire. Henry looked at the man's abdomen. There was a stab wound near the stomach. Henry had no idea what type of blade would make that type of mark, but it was deep enough to cause the man's death.
As Wahl began to prepare slides, a male voice cried, "Hey, Morgan!" Henry turned toward the voice. Another assistant rolled a second gurney into the room and pulled it up to the table in front of Henry. "The CME wants you to look at this body also. He has some questions about the findings."
"What made him question the other medical examiner's judgment?"
"It's Dr. Washington. Who knows?"
At the man's name, a hazy image slipped into Henry's mind. He was standing in this room. He could see a man standing across the table from him. Two people stood to Henry's right; the person closest to him was a woman. The image faded as suddenly as it came.
Before Henry could think about what had appeared in his mind, the assistant spoke again as he placed the body onto the table. "It's a John Doe." Henry nodded. The man's religious preference and its autopsy rules needed to be taken into consideration.
He walked to the trash can and pulled off his grimy gloves. He then put on a clean pair and walked over to the table. A middle-aged man with some gray hairs peppering his dark brown hair laid there. Henry picked up a packet of notes which rested on the victim's chest and read them. According to Dr. Washington, the man had died of suspicious causes last Monday morning.
Henry scanned the body. Other than the usual postmortem changes and some unusual scratch marks on the back of the man's neck, Henry didn't see anything medical that could had caused the man's death. If anything, the man was slightly obese but relatively healthy. Henry then realized that something else had killed the man.
Henry looked at the man's chest. There was a single gunshot wound in the man's chest. Henry's eyes widened; Dr. Washington's notes didn't mention it. Henry pulled the overhead lamp closer to the body. The light revealed a lack of gunshot residue and some white fibers in the wound. Henry walked over to the trays and found a pair of tweezers and a bag. He walked back over to the table, took the fibers out of the wound, and bagged them.
He took a closer look at the gunshot wound. The bullet was perpendicular to the ground, suggesting that the incident was a murder. Henry had no idea how he knew that. To distract himself, Henry looked at the man's face. Something was familiar about it.
Henry entered the alley. A dark brown haired, middle-aged man who was dressed in a black business suit and white shirt stood to Henry's left. Suddenly, the sound of a gunshot and the smell of sulfur filled the air. The man fell back and slid down the wall. Henry stood there for a minute.
As the man fell onto the ground, Henry jumped, causing the image to quickly fade. Henry closed his eyes to maintain his composure. The sights, sounds, and smells were quite vivid. In addition, he never had a visceral reaction to any of his daydreams. There was no doubt about it; this was a memory.
Henry opened his eyes and looked again at the man. The memory seemed consistent with a particular event. He was either a witness to the shooting, or…
Henry tried to push the idea out of his mind, but it stubbornly resisted his efforts. The scenario would explain his knowledge of how the two men that he and Wahl had examined today died and how the one whom he had found dead was involved in a struggle. All three men died just before my hospitalization. The thought in Henry's mind finally broke free and forced Henry to straighten his posture.
"Could I have killed these men?" The question flew out of Henry's mouth before he had the chance to stop it.
"Henry?" Wahl's voice caused Henry to jump and turn toward the man. Wahl stopped what he was doing and walked toward him. Surprise and a friendly concern was in his eyes. "No, you didn't. You're not a killer."
"Am I?" Henry heard fear and a tinge of anger in his own voice. "How else do you explain all three men's murders?" Adrenaline surged through Henry's body, and he felt the need to run to stop it.
Wahl looked Henry in the eye. "Um, someone else killed them." The calmness in Wahl's voice stopped the urge to run. "Look, I don't know. But, we can't say who did it until we finish our investigation."
Henry stared at his assistant. He was right; they needed more evidence to draw that conclusion. Yet, Wahl's serene demeanor didn't answer any of Henry's questions. The young man didn't know what he did before these deaths. Then again, neither did he.
Henry looked back at the body that they were working on. There was nothing more that he could do. Besides, he wasn't in the mood to continue with any autopsy. He took a deep breath. "Put this body in a cooler. Afterward, once you have finished preparing the slides, prepare the one that we're working on for release to the funeral home when we notify the family."
Wahl opened his mouth and then shut it. "Oh-kay. What about the body that you found yesterday?"
The pent-up adrenaline threatened to revive the desire to run. "That autopsy can wait until tomorrow."
Henry wanted to leave work and return to the shop. He couldn't; Abe would ask him about his day. Henry looked back at his office. He could busy himself with paperwork until the end of the workday.
He walked over to the trash can and disposed of his gloves. The thought of Detective Martinez walking into the room suddenly entered his mind. She needed to know what his autopsy revealed. To avoid any surprises, he should go upstairs and tell her his suspicions. Hopefully, she would accept his theory and investigate further.
Yet, the questions that she'd ask him would focus on the events before his hospitalization. Henry sighed as he walked into his office. As everything about that time was a nearly-complete blank, his answer would ultimately reveal his amnesia to her. He hated the idea of withholding evidence from Detective Martinez, but he couldn't risk losing his connection to her because of his memory issues. He would rather spend the rest of his life in jail and lose his medical license than have her commit him to Bellevue. Because of that, he wouldn't tell her about his thoughts unless she asked him. As he sat down in his chair, he hoped that he made the right decision.
Lucas finished wrangling the John Doe onto the slab and pushed the cooler closed. He took one last look at it. It wasn't like Henry to nearly panic during an autopsy. Nor was it like him to assume that he was the killer. The last time that Lucas had seen Henry panic at any point during an investigation, Lucas had walked into the room while Henry had tried to persuade Jo to stop her search for Adam's pugio. As for blaming himself for people's deaths or fates, Lucas had seen Henry blame himself for the death of Clark Walker and, mistakenly and unnecessarily, for the fates of the 300 slaves aboard The Empress of Africa. And he likely had blamed himself for his patients' deaths from his first day as a doctor in 1802 until he hung up his stethoscope in 1957.
Lucas wished that Henry could diagnose himself now. The wristwatch that Lucas had seen Henry wear yesterday wasn't a sleep-deprived hallucination; he had worn it again today. Henry had used "Mr. Wahl" once again in addressing Lucas. He had asked about Lucas' decision to become an assistant ME, something that Lucas had told Henry at the end of their first week of working together. There also seemed to be a gap in Henry's memory about the events from last week. Then again, he seemed to be confused when Lucas had mentioned last Monday's "skinny-dipping" incident.
That last one, honestly, wasn't that disconcerting. The thought of Adam overhearing their conversation momentarily crossed Lucas' mind before he answered Henry.
Adam. Nuts! Why didn't I think of that?
If Adam had given Henry an exotic drug or tortured him to the point of breaking last week, it would explain a lot of Henry's behavior. As for the mysterious deaths, it wouldn't be the first time that Adam had framed Henry for murder, and it likely wouldn't be the last. Proving the theory, however, would be difficult. Adam might brag about harming Henry, but he was also very careful to hide his actions. That, and there hadn't been any mysterious envelopes or packages appearing on Henry's desk recently. The only way to prove Adam's involvement was Adam's next "gift" to Henry.
Lucas walked over to the table and picked up a slide. He looked into Henry's office and saw Henry doing some paperwork. Lucas sighed. Maybe he should call Abe and ask the older man about his father. That might not be a good idea; Adam might be lurking in the OCME, waiting to see what we do next.
Lucas affixed the cover over the sample. He hoped that Jo would come to the morgue and ask about the autopsies. Henry could always talk to her about anything. Maybe he would tell her what was going on in his mind.
Lucas set the slide aside and took another look at Henry. In a way, he hoped that Jo's investigation would lead to Henry. Lucas knew that Henry didn't kill anyone, and he knew that the investigation would rule Henry out as a suspect. Maybe Jo's conclusion and the evidence would give Henry enough peace of mind about his actions to let him focus on his recovery from whatever Adam had done to him.
Jo could feel a headache coming on, and it wasn't from her coffee. She looked down at her notes. So far, she and Mike didn't have a solid lead on the apartment fire. Rowell had returned home to New York earlier that morning, and she and Mike went over to the complex to find out what he knew. When Rowell arrived, he seemed genuinely shocked to see the building's state. Under Marshal Gideons' supervision, the trio entered the building. Rowell had located his files, but whomever Brewster had sublet the apartment to hadn't filled out a contract. As for the other apartment, no one had rented it in seven years.
Now, the only bright spot in Jo's day would be seeing Henry about the autopsy. It wasn't just the discussion of his findings that she looked forward to. She wanted to see how he was doing. He probably had spent some of his time last night resting. Maybe he and Abe had played a game of chess or had taken in some of New York's cultural offerings as well.
"Martinez!" The voice snapped Jo out of her thoughts. She looked up and saw a uniformed officer set a box on her desk—right on top of her notes.
"Yes?" She rose from her seat.
"We're backlogged downstairs. Since this involves a death, I was ordered to bring this box of evidence up to you."
Jo wrinkled her eyebrows as she placed her hands on the box. "Which case is this?"
"The shooting near Suffolk and Rivington last week. From my understanding, your guy's handling the autopsy." The officer then turned and walked away from Jo's desk.
Jo leaned toward the aisle. "Thank you." The officer ignored her.
She straightened back up, opened the box, and looked into it. It was mostly empty. She picked up the notes from the investigator and flipped through them. According to the officer in charge of the scene, an anonymous tipster had called 9-1-1 and reported two gunshots in the area earlier that morning. Officers had found the John Doe dead about five minutes later. There were no eyewitnesses to the shooting nor any weapon found at the scene.
Jo laid the notes down and looked back into the box. A patch of blue caught her attention. She pulled a bag out of the box and examined the contents through the plastic. She gasped. It was one of Henry's scarves. Particularly, it was one of several blue paisley cashmere scarves that she had bought for him for his birthday a couple of years ago. She smiled at the memory of him wrapping it around his neck and thanking her for the gift. His grin told her that it would be one of his favorite scarves. She swore that he might had kissed her on the cheek if Abe hadn't interrupted with his gift to his father.
Now, his favorite scarf rested in her hands as a piece of evidence in a man's death. She had no idea how it was found in an alley one block from his residence—and believed to be the suspect's. She inhaled to stop any tears forming. She knew that Henry wasn't the killer. Likely, he was a witness, or he unsuccessfully tried to stop the shooting by sacrificing his life for the victim's. That still didn't explain why the scarf was found so far away from the victim. Or, how it survived one of Henry's deaths, if he died there last Monday.
"It's his, isn't it?" Lt. Reece's stern but calm voice startled Jo out of her thoughts. The woman held Jo's gaze. "We need to talk."
Jo nodded, placed the notes and scarf back in the box, and closed it. She then followed Lt. Reece to her office. Once inside the room, Jo sat down in front of the lieutenant. She briefly glanced over at the other seat. Her mind went back to the day when she and Henry had told Lieu that he was immortal. It was the last time that Lt. Reece had used that tone of voice with anyone on the team.
Lieu took her seat and studied Jo's face for a minute. "It's not looking good, right?"
Jo looked at Lt. Reece's desk to steady her emotions. She noticed a journal laying on top of a stack of folders; Jo didn't remember Lt. Reece ever owning one. She looked back at the other woman. "No, it doesn't. Three mysterious deaths in Henry's neighborhood, his scarf being found at one scene, Henry's disappearance, and his unusual—for him—behavior lately." Lieu raised an eyebrow. I'm not the only one who's noticed the changes in Henry. Jo continued. "I know that he couldn't do it, but I don't know what to think."
"What do you think may have happened?"
Jo took a deep breath. "Adam must had kidnapped Henry last Tuesday. He threatened the team, and he hurt Henry when Henry didn't comply with his wishes. Since then, Henry decided to adjust his behavior to keep us safe."
"And the deaths?"
"Adam could be framing him for the two deaths near both Stanton and Suffolk. As for the apartment complex fire, that death could be coincidental. We can't prove anything until Adam calls Henry again."
Lieu nodded. "That's what I've been thinking." She glanced down at her desk and then looked back up at Jo. "The best course of action may be to follow the evidence, even if it leads us to places we don't want to go."
Jo nodded.
Lieu continued. "Henry is your friend, and don't ever forget that." Her face threatened to smile, almost as if she knew something that Jo didn't. Lieu, however, seemed to suppress her thoughts very well. "If you need a few hours off to calm yourself, take them. Both you and Henry will need it."
A couple of moments silence signaled to Jo that it was time to get back to work. Jo rose from her seat.
"Next time you come into my office, don't go snooping through my stuff." Lieu kept her gaze on Jo. Jo opened her mouth and then closed it.
She then walked out of the office and toward her desk. Lt. Reece was right. She and Mike would have to balance their personal connection to Henry with where the evidence led them. It wouldn't be the first time that it had happened. It, however, would be the hardest as they had grown much closer to Henry since the first two times that it did.
Jo arrived at her desk and found Mike leaning on it, palms resting on the desk. "So, how did it go in there?"
Jo sighed. "We're handling a new case in addition to our two previous ones."
"The death a block from Doc's place?" Jo glared at him as she reopened the box and removed the notes. Mike raised both hands. "Hey, I didn't know if I needed to call evidence, Doc, or the bomb squad! So, I peeked in the box."
Jo closed the box and put both hands through the handholds. "To answer your question, yes." She walked around Mike and headed for the elevators.
Mike followed her. He was quiet for a minute. "You know, Doc couldn't have done it." He paused. "There's an illegal bar just off of Rivington. One of the regulars might have seen something."
Jo thought for a minute. It could produce a major lead. "Do you want to go tonight?"
"Do you want to bring Doc with us?" Mike pressed the elevator button for her.
Jo opened her mouth. Mike seemed to know what her next thought was. "I'll run downstairs in a few hours and talk to Henry about it. Hopefully, he's feeling better than he was yesterday. Knowing him, though, he wouldn't want to miss it."
The elevator bell rang, and Jo entered the car. She turned around and saw Mike wave as the doors closed. She inhaled and hoped that Henry would tell her something about all three deaths that they were investigating. Hopefully, they were all coincidental. If they were connected and if Henry was the connection, then Jo hated to think about what had happened—and what it meant for both Henry and the rest of the team.
Author's Note: To answer Henry's question about forgetting Lucas entirely, it plays a role in the story, and I'll explain it in a later chapter.
As for the automatic nature of Henry's cuts during the autopsy, it is purely muscle memory. My inspiration for that comes from the first eight seconds of Henry and Jo's meeting. Notably, it's the part when Henry looks at Jo while he's cutting into the engineer's body. I thought that it was a nice bit of characterization, and I decided to use it in my story.
