Part Twenty-One
As Kay settled into her seat on the Virgin Atlantic flight on the Friday evening, she abandoned all thought of sleep. She was sitting in the aisle seat, and the man next to her kept leering at her, trying to see down the top of the open-necked silk blouse she was wearing. Pointedly unfolding the newspaper she'd picked up in the airport, Kay tried to put him out of her mind. The plane roared, and eventually they were airborne, with a very long eight hours before they would be back on terra firma. She'd had one last cigarette in the bar at Heathrow, but now she wouldn't be able to smoke until she was back in America. This might be a good opportunity to give up again, she thought half-heartedly, but she didn't somehow think she would act on it. She was flying from Heathrow to Washington DC, where Marino would hopefully be waiting to meet her, ready to drive her back to Richmond, so that she could leave the contents of the ominous sealed box, that was sitting in the luggage compartment above her head, in the freezer in her office before going home. She was relieved that there hadn't been any serious delays, because although dry ice was a perfectly reliable way to transport human tissue, it would never do for it to thaw prematurely. She'd done a full day's work in the hospital morgue, with a few senior medical students who were considering specialising in forensic pathology, and now it was eight o'clock on the Friday evening. The really weird thing about going back to the States from England, was that because of the time difference, she would arrive in Washington at around eight in the evening, as if no time had passed at all. Having obtained a large scotch from the drink's trolley, she dug out a notepad and pen, and began composing a letter to George, partly to explain what she intended to do with the samples she had taken from Henry's body, and partly to keep her occupied for a while. George had been something of a surprise, her clipped, clearly upper class drawl combined with a dry sense of humour and a sensitive touch of kindness when dealing with her client. Kay could see that there was clearly a steely determination to succeed behind George's outer layers, and she knew that it would definitely be an experience to see her perform in court. As she automatically wrote the date and salutation at the top of the letter, she knew that she didn't really need to do this. She could just write George an e-mail when she went into work next week, or write it from home, but a letter seemed more conversational somehow, and anyway, she didn't have to send it.
October 14th 2005: Seat 4, row 15, halfway across the Atlantic, (My current location).
Dear George,
I realize that this letter may come as something as a surprise in the circumstances, but an eight hour flight leaves me with far too little to do, and anything to stop the man next to me from staring at me as if I were the next angel incarnate. As I had predicted, customs were certainly less than amused at my unusual cargo, and it took every ounce of diplomacy I possess to persuade them to let me through without further investigation. It's at times like that, that I suppose my Chief Medical Examiner's identity shield comes into its own. I guess I can count myself grateful that I wasn't also trying to walk through with a gun.
So, I thought I would take the opportunity, to explain to you what I intend to do with the samples I brought with me. The UK might pride itself on having such a thing as the National Health Service, but I know that America's Department of Justice puts far more funding into its investigative technology. The samples that are resting in dry ice as we speak are as follows: Excised skin and muscle tissue from Henry Mills' thigh. This is the most important sample, as it will allow me to examine the injection site far more closely, and will hopefully allow me to discover the exact angle at which the hypodermic needle pierced the skin. Sections of liver, spleen, kidney, heart and lungs. These will help me to ascertain just how static Henry Mills' body was. When a person is terminally ill, and especially if they are spending considerable amounts of time in bed, their bodies can go into a temporary stasis, with many bodily processes being in suspended animation. This can include anything from digestion to the workings of the liver and kidneys. This is only a hypothesis, and I won't know the answer until I've done some more tests, but it is just possible that Henry Mills might have died from an accidental overdose, rather than an intentional one. As a result of a temporary bodily stasis, his liver wouldn't have been metabolizing the morphine at the usual rate, meaning that it would take less morphine than prescribed to overload his system. But as I said, this is only a hypothesis. I also took several blood samples, just in case there were any underlying conditions resulting from the cancer that your state pathologist didn't look for. As I tried to explain to your client, anything is possible at this stage.
I realize that this may all seem a little too graphic for you, but that's the way it is with a case like this. Being in civil law, you may not have come across a case of this nature requiring your direct attention before. I don't know, I am simply guessing. If I find what I'm hoping to find, I'm going to need to present plenty of photographs and possibly histological slides at the trial, and I am not about to mince my words on the stand. People who die, deserve the truth to be told about them, whether this be in court or anywhere else. I am probably so vehement about this, as a few years ago I was unfortunate enough to work with a commonwealth's attorney who insisted on stipulating my reports on every possible occasion. He had the rather nasty habit of avoiding the less palatable details, in favor of focusing on points of law. I suppose I feel that if I'm not in the courtroom, then neither is the person whose body I have examined. In this case, Barbara would not get a fair hearing, if I couldn't show the jury everything I possibly can.
Talking of witnesses, I don't know if he's told you, but Professor Khan has found you a cardio thoracic expert, Tom Campbell-Gore. I've met him, and apart from being as arrogant as most other cardio thoracic surgeons, he's nice. That sounds dreadfully noncommittal, doesn't it, but I did only meet him for a few minutes.
That brings me very nicely onto first impressions. George, I had to let you find out about my slightly suspect publicity in the way you did, because I couldn't afford to give you a watered down version of the facts, and have you blame me later for not knowing everything. It is quite rare for a defense counsel back home to use my publicity against me, but that's probably because law enforcement has been hearing and reading less than favorable coverage about me for years. I would fully expect a British prosecuting counsel to make use of it, however, because if they can focus on sensationalism rather than the facts I may present, so much the better for them. I really wouldn't have blamed you if what you read about me had frightened you off, but it was nice to be given a chance to explain.
Well, I'll leave this slightly offbeat epistle here. You know how to contact me, and I'll let you know as soon as I come up with any results on the samples.
Take care,
Kay.
A few hours later when they touched down at DC airport, Kay got up and stretched, her muscles feeling stiff from hours of sitting. She felt crumpled, tired, and thoroughly out of sorts, and they still had the hour and a half's drive to Richmond. She first caught sight of Marino as she walked through the barrier, pushing a trolley containing her briefcase, medical bag and the sinister-looking box. "Oh, shit," Marino's gruff voice said in greeting. "You been carting body parts halfway across the world again?" "Nice to see you too, Marino, and yes, there are human tissue samples in this box, which is precisely why I asked you to meet me. I've had quite enough interrogation by customs officials already tonight, and I can do without the extra hassle of getting a connecting internal flight to Richmond." "How did it go?" He asked, enquiring about her fortnight away as they waited for her bags to appear on the carousel. "Oh, not bad," She said wearily. "Anything horrific happen while I was away?" "Nothing out of the ordinary," He said as they walked towards the exit. "Too many shootings, the odd drug bust, you know how it is." "And how's Lucy?" Kay asked, referring to her thirty-two-year-old niece. "I ain't seen her. She's been closeted up in the Big Apple for ages now. She might fly down and see us now you're back. So, get up to anything nice over there?" "Only the usual. Oh, and I'm going back in February." "That soon, why? You suddenly found yourself a man over there or something? Finally weaned yourself off Benton?" "No, I haven't," Kay told him sharply. "And I thought we'd agreed that all discussion of me and Benton, if there is a me and Benton, are closed. It's hardly my fault that he changed so much, and became a virtually different person whilst he was away playing the living dead." Marino stopped and turned to face her, absolutely stunned by her more than harsh words. "I'm sorry," She said quietly. "That was a bit uncalled for." "Hey, no worries," He said, not wanting to push any more of her buttons tonight. When they emerged into the car park, Kay smiled when she saw his blue pick up truck. It was just one of the familiar things about being back home. "I can't believe you drove your truck all the way to DC," She said with a smile as he opened the door for her, and they removed her bags from the airport trolley. "What else was I supposed to do?" He asked in return. "Break into your house and borrow the keys to your nazi-mobile of a Benz?" "I wish you wouldn't call it that," She said, knowing he was referring to her black Mercedes. But as they kept on fondly bickering, and as Marino carefully manoeuvred his truck through the DC traffic, Kay began to relax. She was back home again, back within the familiar surroundings and with the man she'd known for nearly half her life. As she filled him in on the case she'd become involved in, and why she'd brought samples of human tissue home with her almost like souvenirs, she couldn't help but smile. No matter how brash, disgruntled and to the point Marino was, he always managed to make her feel herself again. A good while later as they left the interstate, she decided that she would fax that letter to George, she would send it from home, as soon as she'd slept off the jet lag tomorrow.