Ready. Set. Psycho.

Chapter Three: Clive

           

"A New York City coroner," Clive started, "sees everything. It's why I left Barts and London." He ashed his cigarette and then presented it to the young lady in the short skirt asking the questions. "Stressful as all get-out." He tossed the cigarette into the street and made his way back toward the door, holding it open for the young lady. "Want to see one?"

"An autopsy?" she asked.

"Yes."

Clive walked with the woman back to his office. There was a light oak credenza and a matching desk. "No chair?" the woman asked.

Clive shook his head but did not look up from his desk, where he was shuffling papers. "Never use it. Never here long. Let's see. Missing person, unsolved homicide? No. Not normal enough. Motor vehicle collision? Too normal. Murder. Murder. Murder. Traffic accident. Ferry accident?" Clive paused, picking up the paper. He looked back to the woman. "That's no fun. Oh, here's something!" Clive held up a picture of a dead woman's face. An X was tattooed on each eyelid. "It looks like she is a dead cartoon character! I wonder if that was her intent." Clive opened the file and read. "Manic behavior, synthetic drug use, and positional asphyxia? That's the one." He hit a button on a contraption sitting on his desk. "Linda, get Chan and prep the examination room." He paused. When no one called back, he hit the button again and repeated himself, loudly. When there was still no response, he yelled.

Linda came to the door. "That's the fax machine, Dr. Maguire. I'll get Dr. Chan."

"Good," Clive said. "And get this bloody fax machine out of here. Nobody uses fax machines anymore!"

***

Clive dressed in his green surgical gown while directing the journalist in how to do the same. When ready, they stepped into the examination room and toward the lone metal slab occupied by a white sheet pulled over a dead body. Dr. Chan was in the room shuffling surgical instruments, preparing papers, and adjusting the computer screen. Clive took a position on the side of the table opposite Dr. Chan. Clive nodded at the journalist and began. "The recorder, Dr. Chan."

Dr. Chan hit 'record.'

"Examination into the death of Vera Glenn. Family reports that she exhibited manic behavior for three weeks before her death. Reported illegal drug use, synthetic drug use. Cause of death indeterminate, presumed to be positional asphyxia. VG drug of choice known colloquially as 'bath salts,' available throughout metropolitan New York, more or less legally, at various stores for between $150 and $250 per gram. Dr. Schweinsteiger, pathologist, determined cause of death to be complications of drug toxicity. Dr. Schweinsteiger was unable to determine the precise cause of death, as death from overdose of this particular drug is so uncommon that there is insufficient medical literature on its effects. DAL unable to screen for this drug due to its relative novelty. Dr. Schweinsteiger notes that while 'restraint asphyxia' is technically cardiac arrest as a consequence of being restrained, it usually occurs in the presence of other risk factors including drug or alcohol intoxication, obesity, or chronic disease. He did state that in all likelihood, had VG not consumed 'bath salts' or Alpha PVP, she would not have died."

Clive stopped, turned to the journalist, and smiled. "Fun, no?"

"This wouldn't have happened in London?" she asked.

"No," Dr. Chan said. "British people are polite enough not to die mysteriously."

"What my glib friend means," Clive said, pulling back the cover and revealing Vera's naked body, gray, with a slick sheen, "is that when you are a pathologist, if you are not a pathologist in New York, you're a country bumpkin who just hasn't seen it all. And I wanted to see it all."