It wasn't good news. It was never good news.
He found himself wringing his hands – that in spite of how hard he washed, never felt clean – as he listened to the doctor talk. He used words like "staging", "inoperable" and "metastases".
"We can do our best to make you comfortable, but we can't cure you," he said. "Any treatment from here on would be aimed at improving the quality of life, not the quantity."
He found himself nodding numbly. It was just so much to take in. He was only forty-one years old. How could his life be over after only forty-one years?
When he had been diagnosed with lung cancer two years ago, his doctors had made out that his prognosis was good. Just a little bit of chemo and radiotherapy, they had said. It was only a little nodule in his lung. He would be fine. But one round of chemo turned into two, then three and four. There had been the biopsies and the hair loss. The burns from the radiotherapy, that even now, months after it was over, still left a mark. He went through twelve months of Hell, and had been told he was in the clear. A couple years of being monitored, and he'd never have to see these blasted doctors again.
He had tried to go on with his life. Tried to regain what he had lost. He knew he wasn't the man that he previously was, but he was trying to forge himself a new image. A stronger image. A man who was in control of his own destiny.
But what control did he have, when all these new spots had turned up on his CT?
He thanked his doctor, because that was what you did. He went and paid the extortionate bill with his secretary. It was typical, really – having to pay the man who gave you a death sentence. He walked outside and lit up a cigarette – yet another irony in the long list that made up his life. These little sticks of death were what killed him, and yet now, facing death, they were his only comfort.
Well, let's face it, they couldn't kill him more.
He looked around at the human sea that ebbed and flowed outside of his oncologist's office. Young people, so vibrant and full of life. Old people, who had the opportunity to live life to the full. He envied them both.
And there were the young women.
His mind flashed back to the last time, as his fists pummelled into her. Her flesh had just felt so young and supple under his hands. Her skin had blushed at his touch, each impact reminding him that he was still alive. That he still mattered. That he still exerted control over something, even if it was just this one thing.
Just the thought of it made the blood thrum through his veins. It almost felt like a fizzing under the skin. His heart sped up at the memory of it, at how alive he had felt taking the life of someone else. He had thought he would feel guiltier about it, but he didn't. Life had hardly been fair to him, why should he be so to anyone else? It could be the last time he had the chance to feel that alive.
He should enjoy the feeling while it lasted.
"Lucas, can you hand me a swab, please?" Henry asked, placing a hand out without looking away from the body he was examining.
"Sure thing, doc," Lucas said, handing him one.
He watched as Henry rubbed the ulcer that had wrapped around the decedent's lower leg. The smell of pseudomonas wafting from it was so strong Lucas wondered why Henry was bothering with the swab.
"I thought we were going to be looking at our murder vic again today," Lucas said.
"Sadly, Lucas, the people of New York continue to die and need our attention," Henry said, replacing the swab into its container. "And as long as that continues to happen, it does mean that sometimes we have to refer examining murder victims on to other people. Doctor Washington will be following that case up from now on."
"Did you and Detective Martinez have a lovers tiff or something?" Lucas asked.
Henry raised an eyebrow at him.
"I was just saying, it's not like you to leave a murder until the crime is solved," he tried to explain. "Let alone leave it to Washington."
"Detective Martinez and I are fine," Henry lied. "We just decided given my relationship to certain people involved in the case, it would be better for the prosecution if I was no longer involved in gathering evidence."
"Wait – what relationship?" Lucas asked, latching on to that piece of information. "Henry, you dawg, you! Are you getting a little bit of bow-chicka-wow-wow with a witness?"
"What's bow-chicka-wow-wow?" Henry asked.
"You know…" Lucas said, and started doing his imitation of a sexy dance.
Henry was no less puzzled, but infinitely more disturbed, by this display.
"No, I don't know," Henry said. "And I don't want to know. So if we could just go back to focusing on Mr Lincoln here…"
"Well, I might not be a pimp like you, Doc, but I'm fairly sure that the sepsis had something to do with the cause of death," Lucas said, pointing to Mr Lincoln's cellulitic leg.
"Excuse me?" Henry said, taken aback.
"You know – a pimp. Being all fly with the ladies."
Lucas winked.
"Some days, I swear you are not speaking English," Henry said.
"And some days I swear you are not from this century," Lucas countered. "Come on, Henry. Work with me! Tell me about this lady who got you kicked off the case."
"I will not," Henry said. "Now, if you please, let's get back to the task at hand."
Just then, the phone rang.
"Gimme a sec," Lucas said, jogging over to where the phone sat on the desk. "Hello, Medical Examiner's office… Oh, hi Detective Hanson… There's been another body found?.. Okay, I'll just grab Doctor Morgan… What?.. No Doctor Morgan. Just me?.. Oh. And Doctor Washington. Okay, where?.. Okay… Okay… See you soon… Buh-bye."
"There's been another murder?" Henry asked, a sinking feeling settling in his chest.
"Yeah, another floater," Lucas said. "You really must be in the dog house, if they don't want you there."
"It's fine, Lucas," Henry said, the disappointment stinging. "Go and examine your body. I'm sure you'll find it infinitely more interesting than assisting me with Mr Lincoln's autopsy."
"I'm not going to find working with Doctor Washington again more fun," Lucas admitted. "Seriously, Henry, just go apologise to Detective Martinez so you can get back on the case. It's always more fun with you around."
If only it were that simple, Henry thought.
Jo, Mike and Luke stood around their latest victim, waiting for Doctor Washington to make his initial assessment. For a man that seemed to be in such a rush to close cases, he did take his sweet time about things. Jo couldn't help but think it was lucky that he couldn't pass this particular victim off as an accidental death, as he had their last case they worked together. The hand marks wrapped firmly around her neck and multiple bruises to the rest of her body made sure of that.
"Preliminary cause of death is by strangulation," he proclaimed, as if that would come as a surprise to the two homicide detectives and SVU detective standing around the corpse.
"Thanks for that, Doc," Mike said. "But we were hoping for something a little more useful, like when she died."
Doctor Washington looked at Hanson over his glasses, unimpressed.
"Patience, Detective Hanson," he said. "We will find that out when we get her back to the lab to take her liver temperature."
"Wouldn't that be more accurate if you took it now?" he asked. "Henry…"
"Well, given that Doctor Morgan was taken off this case for having inappropriate relations with assault victims, I dare say we can take his opinions with a grain of salt," Doctor Washington interrupted. "This is my case now, Detective Hanson, and we shall do things my way."
"If you like, Doctor Washington, I can take the liver temp," Lucas offered.
"…Who are you, again?" he asked.
"Seriously?" Lucas said. "Again? How many car trips is it going to take for you to learn my name?"
"As many as it takes for you to demonstrate your importance," he replied, "which up to this point, seems to be extremely lacking. I shall do the liver temperature – once we get back to the lab."
"I miss Henry already," Luke said, deliberately audible.
"He did it to himself," Jo pointed out bitterly.
"I know," Luke said. "And I agree. But this is our third body now, Jo. We need to start making breaks in this case, and somehow I doubt that Doctor Stuffy over there will be as interested as Henry was with finding our killer."
"You – there. Pack the body and send it to the lab," Doctor Washington dictated to Lucas. "We shall begin the autopsy after I have lunch."
"See what I mean?" Luke said.
Sadly, they all did.