Harriet Morgan had always been a headstrong woman.
After graduating from Boston Cambridge University with a master's degree in history, she had been offered the chance to complete her doctorate at Oxford. Her doctoral thesis had been published to critical acclaim and the faculty had asked her to stay on as a lecturer. She had then begun the journey to becoming one of the youngest professors in the country.
Her life had been everything she had planned, exactly the way she had pictured it.
Until now.
As Maura approached her, dragging her odd, tortoise shell suitcase through the concourse of Oxford train station, she felt relief rush through her body. Delicate arms were pulled around her and Harriet Morgan let herself sink into the warm embrace of her friend.
"Hi." Maura whispered, her thumb running a reassuring line back and forth over Harriet's shoulder. "Are you okay?"
Harriet pulled away and shook her head, absentmindedly bringing her hand up to wipe the tears that hadn't stopped flowing since the day before.
"I'm just so relieved to see you."
Maura took a moment to study her friend; a woman she had not seen in ten years or more. Harriet's dark eyes were still full of the same youthful determination Maura remembered from the last time they had met, but she could sense the sadness behind the façade. Her mousy hair was shorter than it had been, now sitting in waves that just brushed her cardigan-covered shoulders. As Harriet turned her head to wipe her eyes once more, Maura smiled as the light caught the silver stud pierced through the right side of her nose. The stud had taken the place of the large ring that had once sat there (a sign of defiance against her stuffy parents); Maura felt an odd sense of relief when she saw it. Harriet hadn't changed one bit.
"Maura? Do you need to freshen up first or are you okay to come with me to…"
"To the mortuary? We can go straight there if that's what you want." Maura searched Harriet's eyes for any indication that she needed a break, but her gaze was steadfast.
"They found her ID, but they need me to do a formal identification. Her parents are… well, it's just me."
The car ride was quiet. Maura gazed out the window, the famous dreaming spires dotting the distance as they drove away from the tourist-heavy city and out towards the suburban hospital mortuary.
"I don't know how you do it." Harriet spoke quietly. "I'm so scared."
Maura reached over, and grasped Harriet's shaking hand. "I'm here to help you, okay? We'll do this together."
Reaching into the pocket of her jeans, Harriet passed a red ten-pound note to the taxi driver as the car pulled up outside a dull-looking building so far removed from the picture-perfect Oxford city Maura remembered.
Still hand-in-hand, the women walked through the main reception area of the building.
"Harriet Morgan?" A tall, plump policeman in a grey suit stood as they approached. "I'm Detective Greenly. I'm sorry to have to ask you to do this."
Detective Greenly turned to Maura, looking her up and down. In dark jeans, a thin sweater and with her hair scraped back into a messy bun, she knew she looked completely different to her normal, put-together self. "And you are…?"
Taking the detective's outstretched hand, Maura took a deep breath and introduced herself.
"I'm Dr Maura Isles. I'm the Chief Medical Examiner for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. I'm here in a personal capacity to accompany Miss Morgan who is experiencing some discomfort and natural stress given the circumstances and purpose of our meeting. However, although I am sure your pathology team are perfectly capable of carrying out their investigations, I am happy to be of assistance if it is necessary."
Blindsided by her spiel, Detective Greenly quickly shook Maura's hand. "Pleasure. This way."
As they walked along a white-washed corridor, Harriet's hand quickly found its place in Maura's and squeezed tightly. Squeezing back, Maura hoped their contact would be enough to support her friend. Having been on the other side of the glass, as it were, for many identifications, she knew how emotionally painful the experience could be.
"Are you ready?"
As they stopped outside a nondescript, sterile door, Harriet nodded. "Okay."
The room was cold as they entered, their footsteps echoing on the tiled floor.
Detective Greenly waited in the doorway as the two women approached the wiry man stood behind the metal examination table.
"Doctor Prendergast, these two women are here for the formal identification of the Milton Hotel body."
"Rachel" Harriet murmured under her breath. "Her name is Rachel."
The tall doctor gently took the corner of the white sheet in his hand, watching Harriet's expression carefully as he pulled it back to reveal the pallid, purple-tinged face of her dead friend.
Releasing Maura's hand from her own, Harriet staggered forward and leaned down. A shaking hand reached out for Rachel's dark hair, but hovered just above her cold skin.
"It's her." Harriet said quietly, stepping away from the body and pressing herself against the white wall behind her, her hand over her mouth in shock. "That's Rachel. Oh God…"
"Harriet, why don't you step outside?" Maura asked, her voice quiet and calming. Harriet nodded and walked towards the door. Catching Detective Greenly's eye, Maura spoke firmly. "Detective, please ensure Harriet is given plenty of water and somewhere less… sterile where she can collect herself."
As the detective walked back down the corridor, Maura looked up at the pathologist. "I'm sorry, can I help you?" He asked, clearly unsure as to why this exhausted-looking woman was still in his room. Pacing around the body, Maura began to assess.
"Doctor Prendergast, when are you planning to begin this young woman's autopsy?"
"I… It's scheduled for tomorrow. I do have other bodies to attend to first, so if you'll excuse me."
Doctor Prendergast covered Rachel's face once more and wheeled the body backwards towards a series of cold storage lockers in the wall.
"I'm Doctor Maura Isles."
Before she had finished saying her name, the man before her froze. "I've read every forensic pathology paper you've ever published. I was planning on travelling to Harvard to hear you speak at the Pathology Symposium. I…. I can't believe…"
Maura cut the doctor off with a smile. "I would very much appreciate a copy of the autopsy report, Doctor Prendergast."
"You're more than welcome to observe" he invited in reply.
"Thank you, but I'm not here in a professional capacity. I should be spending my time supporting my friend. She has experienced a significant and traumatic loss and, as you can see, she is quite shaken. But, if I can, a copy of your findings would be wonderful."
As she left the room, Maura dropped her professional façade. Nervously wringing her hands around one another, she walked back down the corridor towards the reception area. Her mind was filled with the haunting image of Rachel Maloney's face. Her sallow cheeks and sunken eyes only exaggerated the depth of the purple colour of the large hematoma on her temple and the deep gouges scratched into the skin of her face and neck. In her professional life, she would be able to use the evidence to draw conclusions and bring justice to a young woman's loved ones. But from her place on the edge of the investigation, simply as a friend, her in-depth knowledge of forensic science left her with a question that sat, unpalatably present, at the forefront of her mind: Rachel Maloney had been poisoned. Why?