by Chris Taylor
“I’m sure Mom’s not planning to die anytime soon, Dad. She’s almost as fit as me. Is she still jogging around the esplanade every day?”
“Yes, of course she is. I’d never hear the end of it if she wasn’t well enough to do that! She says it’s the highlight of her day. Watching the freighters way out in the ocean and the people milling around on the shore… Depending on the season, sometimes she’s even spotted a pod of dolphins.”
“See, there you go! Does that sound like someone heading toward their grave?” Though Rohan spoke lightly, he couldn’t help but notice his father’s expression remained troubled.
“Wintertime is hard on old folks,” Bill murmured. “The cold seeps into our bones. We get aches and pains that we don’t even notice in the summer. This cough your mother has just doesn’t seem to want to go away.”
“When was the last visit to her doctor?”
“Earlier in the month. She was so breathless, I insisted she go and see him.”
“What did he say?”
“He said she had a bout of bronchitis and gave her a prescription for some antibiotics. She finished the course a week ago, but the cough hasn’t eased.”
“Perhaps you ought to take her back? Or phone for a repeat of the medication?”
“Yeah, I guess so. I just can’t help feeling there’s more to it. You know what I mean?”
Rohan stared at his dad and his gut slowly filled with dread. “What are you saying, Dad?”
His father held his gaze for a long moment and then lowered it and picked up a log. “Nothing, son. Forget I said anything. I’m sure you’re right. Your mom’s as fit as a fiddle. She’ll probably outlive me.”
Before Rohan could respond, Bill turned away and added the split wood to the stacked pile. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he pulled open the back door. “Let’s wash up for dinner and then go and enjoy your mother’s pie.”
Rohan stared after his father’s departing back. All of a sudden, eating pie was the last thing on his mind.
* * *
Samantha checked the toe tag against the paperwork in her hand and proceeded to pull the body off the wire shelf of the fridge where it lay. She rolled it onto the gurney. The blue plastic sheeting that covered most of what used to be Natalie Piccoli crackled with the movement. Positioning the body so that it wouldn’t fall, Sam hurriedly pushed the trolley out of the fridge.
It was a Saturday and she shouldn’t have even been working. The fact that she’d been called in put her out of sorts. She was rostered to work the weekdays, but the usual pathologists who covered the weekend were both off sick, including Richard. Staffing had phoned her in desperation, asking if she’d come in and deal with the backlog of cases. The day was winding down. Soon it would be dark and she still had another two cases to go, including Natalie Piccoli.
With a sigh, she wheeled the body to her usual workstation and quietly and efficiently prepared her tools. When all was as she liked it, she picked up a scalpel and turned to make the Y incision. A fresh surgical scar gave her pause.
In the notes Sam had scanned earlier, there had been no mention that the woman had undergone recent surgery in the hospital and yet it was obvious she had. Reopening the incision with her scalpel, she noticed the woman’s ribs had already been sawn through. Prising open the chest cavity, Sam did a preliminary search for Natalie’s organs.
Which weren’t there. At least, not all of them. The heart, lungs, liver, kidneys, intestine and pancreas were missing.
They’d obviously been donated. It had been a few weeks since Sam had autopsied a donor body. When she’d noticed the evidence of recent abdominal surgery, harvesting of organs hadn’t immediately come to mind. But now, there was no other explanation, though it was unusual for someone to donate almost every organ they had. Most chose to limit their donation to the heart and the lungs.
According to the report the police had prepared for the coroner, Natalie Piccoli’s suspected cause of death was a brain aneurysm. Sam hoped that the doctors who’d treated the woman were right because there was very little else for her to examine. Tugging off her gloves, she reached for the paperwork again.
Flipping through the pages, she searched for the consent form that was usually signed by the deceased’s next of kin, giving permission for the organs to be recovered. She couldn’t find it. Frowning, she went through the pages again, more slowly, and still she couldn’t locate it.
With an impatient curse, she went through the paperwork a third time. This time, she loosened the clip that held all the papers together and went through them individually, checking both the front and the back. The consent simply had to be there.
And yet, it wasn’t.
Perplexed, Sam took a moment to flip back to the start of the notes and looked for the doctor who had signed off on the death certificate. Her brother’s name and signature were there in bold black ink: Doctor Alistair Wolfe. He’d also done the organ recovery.
There was no surprise in that. He was the head of the donation for transplantation team. Much of the organ recovery surgery was carried out by him. His name had also been on the paperwork for the donor bodies she’d autopsied the previous month.
She checked for the letter of authorization that would have come from the coroner’s office and found it. A quick scan of its contents showed that Deputy Coroner Richard Davis had authorized the removal of the donor organs prior to the autopsy.
Again, there was nothing unusual about that. Richard must have taken Alistair’s call from the ICU, just prior to the patient’s death. It had happened before. In fact, she seemed to recall Richard had also consented to the last donor body she’d autopsied.
Perhaps the consent form had been misplaced or simply gone astray somewhere between the hospital and the morgue? It wasn’t unheard of. Though the morgue workers took care to ensure nothing was lost in transit, nobody was perfect. It could have happened.
Satisfied that was the only reasonable explanation, Sam made a mental note to speak with Richard about it on Monday morning and let him know that the consent form was missing. If the relatives of the deceased ever questioned the organ donation, the consent would become important. Besides, she didn’t like to think of any paperwork being mislaid.
Swallowing a sigh, she once again set the paperwork aside and pulled on another pair of latex gloves. If she didn’t get on with the PM, she’d be there half the night. Working quickly, she used the scalpel to make the incision, then peeled back the woman’s face. The Stryker saw made short work of the skull and a moment later, Natalie Piccoli’s brain was exposed.
It was immediately obvious the woman had suffered a severe bleed. The dark, clotted blood filled almost half of the right rear quadrant and left Sam in no doubt as to what had caused the woman’s death. After taking note of the size and position of the infarction and recording the weight of the brain, Sam returned the organ to its original location and fitted the skull back in place.
Returning to the woman’s chest cavity, Sam retrieved the few organs that were still present in Natalie’s abdomen and carefully examined, weighed and returned them to where they’d come from. With neat stitches, she sutured closed the woman’s chest and wheeled her back to the fridge where she’d soon be collected by staff from the appointed funeral home.
Sam cleaned up and headed to the tea room. Pulling open the door to the staff drinks fridge, she retrieved a can of Diet Coke. Taking a grateful mouthful, she sat and rested a moment. Conducting any autopsy was exhausting—both mentally and physically. It was essential she communicate with the body on the table and find the answers that had eluded the person’s doctors in life. If nothing else, it gave closure, and quite often peace of mind, to the relatives left behind—and to Sam that was important.
She prided herself on being thorough—and the fact the consent form hadn’t been with Natalie Piccoli’s other hospital papers had put her out of sorts. It was an irritation, like a burr under her skin, that wouldn’t go away and she was ann
oyed someone’s carelessness had ruined her Saturday evening. She just knew she’d be thinking about it all night, probably for the rest of the weekend.
With a heavy sigh, she finished her soda and tossed the can into the trash. There was one more autopsy to go. Hopefully, it wouldn’t offer up too many surprises. She’d had enough for one day.
A ding from the vicinity of her handbag snagged her attention. She stood and retrieved the bag from where she’d left it on the counter near the sink. Pulling out her phone, she checked the screen. There was a new message from her best friend, Hannah Langdon.
“Damn,” she muttered, remembering she was supposed to be meeting Hannah for dinner. With work commitments getting in the way of Sam’s social life, it had been the best part of a month since she’d seen her friend, but she’d been looking forward to catching up. Now, it looked like, yet again, work would interfere.
Finding Hannah’s number, she selected it and waited for it to dial out. It was answered by her friend in her trademark cheery voice.
“Hi, Sam. How are things? Did you get my text? I was just checking to see if you’re still right for dinner.”
Sam bit her lip, hating to disappoint her. “I’m sorry, Hannah, I’ve been called in to work. I still have one more PM to do before I can consider getting out of here.”
“Bummer for you! As if you don’t work hard enough during the week. Why were you the one to draw the shortest straw?”
“I’m not sure, but so be it. I’ve been here all day. I’m exhausted.”
“Why don’t I meet you at your place? We can order pizza and drink beer. That way, you don’t have to go to any trouble dressing up and heading back out.”
The idea was tempting. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I thought you wanted to check out that new bar in George Street?”
“I did, but we can do that another time. It’s been ages since we got together. I… I really need to talk to you.”
Sam frowned at Hannah’s somber tone, so different from her usual cheerfulness. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, of course. I mean… Why wouldn’t it be? It’s just that…I need someone who’ll listen when I whinge and whine about work. You’re the only one who understands.”
Hannah was an embalmer at one of the inner city funeral homes and not everyone understood her choice of occupation or her fascination with the dead. But Samantha did and she understood exactly where Hannah was coming from. Sam suffered from the same problem. The thought of a hot shower and a relaxed night on the couch, catching up with her best friend over beer and a pizza, sounded like heaven. All of a sudden, she couldn’t wait to finish up at the office and go home.
“I’m happy to listen for as long as you need, Hannah. I’ll be another hour or two here, if all goes well. How about I meet you at my place at eight? That should give me plenty of time.”
“It’s a date.” Hannah giggled and Sam couldn’t help but smile. “See you soon,” she said and ended the call.
* * *
The front doorbell rang and Sam hurried to open it. She’d showered and changed at work and not long ago had put a six-pack of beer in the fridge. Glancing at her watch, she noticed it was bang on eight. Hannah was punctual, as usual. With a quick check through the security keyhole, Sam spied her friend waiting on the other side of the door and opened it.
“Hi, it’s great to see you,” Hannah said and enveloped Sam in an enthusiastic hug.
“You, too,” Sam replied and meant it.
She’d met Hannah not long after she’d started at the Glebe Morgue. While the pair of them spent most of their waking hours working with the dead, it wasn’t actually work that had brought them together. Whenever Sam found the time, she liked to attend a yoga class, held at the University of Sydney. The college was within walking distance of Sam’s work and after a long and stressful day in the morgue, she liked to treat herself to a wind-down. It was at a yoga class that she’d met Hannah.
They found themselves lying with their yoga mats side by side on the floor. While Sam attempted the various positions, she couldn’t help but notice the girl beside her who seemed so graceful and at ease with the class. Tall and slender and at least five or six years younger than Sam, Hannah’s long, straight blond hair, held in a high ponytail, was just as elegant as her frame. Sam couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit envious of the girl and the kindness Mother Nature had bestowed.
But when Hannah turned and smiled at her, Sam forgot all about the green-eyed monster. The girl’s smile was warm and friendly and genuine kindness shone in her eyes. Sam couldn’t help but respond and before long, they were the best of friends. When they discovered they both had similar occupations, it seemed like fate had brought them together.
Now, Sam reached for the pizza box Hannah held in her hands and headed toward the kitchen. “Are you ready to eat now, or would you rather wait?”
“I’m starving,” Hannah answered, following her inside. “I got busy at work and skipped lunch. I figured since we were supposed to be going out to dinner, I’d work up an appetite.”
Sam turned and grimaced. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. We’re short staffed. I didn’t have a choice.”
“Hey, it’s no biggie,” Hannah smiled. “I know how it is. I’ve had to cover for more than my fair share of no-shows.”
Sam reached for the plates and set them alongside the pizza on the kitchen table. It was only big enough to seat the two of them, but as Sam lived alone, it suited her just fine.
“Help yourself,” she said and reached inside the fridge for two beers. Handing one to Hannah, she sat down across from her friend and took a grateful sip. “Ah, there’s nothing quite like the taste of a cold beer after a hard day’s work.”
Hannah grinned and opened the pizza box. The mouthwatering aroma of pepperoni, onion, olives and melted cheese permeated the air. Sam lifted a piece of pizza out of the box and took a generous bite.
“Mm, that’s so good. And still hot.”
“Yes, I just picked it up from the pizza shop on the corner. Giuseppe says hello, by the way.”
Sam laughed. “He laments the fact I don’t buy pizza often enough. I don’t have the heart to tell him my weakness for takeout is serviced by May-Ling’s Thai.”
“Oh, yes! She has the best Thai food in Sydney! It’s been ages since I ate there.”
“I was lucky enough to have lunch there with Alistair when he took me to May-Ling’s for my birthday.”
“I’m sorry I missed it. I was out of town.”
“No problem. I’m sure there will be others. At least, I hope so.”
Hannah smiled. “And how is the Sydney Harbour Hospital’s poster boy? I couldn’t help but notice the enormous billboard picture of him as I was driving down George Street the other day.”
Sam giggled. “It’s amazing what a little airbrushing can do! He looks younger than me!”
“He looks younger than me!” Hannah grinned. “It’s a good shot, though,” she added, “and it seems to be having an impact. The number of bodies coming through the funeral home with donated organs has skyrocketed and most of them are coming from the Sydney Harbour Hospital.”
Sam stared at her and her heart began to pound. “Really?”
“Yes, before the advertising campaign, we’d see three, maybe four a week. Now we’re seeing ten or twelve. I think there are more bodies coming into the funeral home with organs and tissue missing than those who’ve remained intact.” She shrugged. “I’m not complaining. It makes my job quicker and easier. There are far less body fluids to extract. In fact, there’s less leakage all round.”
Sam swallowed a smile. For anyone not comfortable with the messy side of death, the discussion, especially over dinner, would probably be distasteful. To the girls, however, it was like discussing the weather.
“This is really good pizza,” Hannah mumbled around another bite. “You ought to get takeout from Giuseppe more often.”
“And give up May-Ling’s Thai?” Sam
asked in mock dismay.
“Hey, there’s no rule against having both. Maybe you could alternate?”
Sam rolled her eyes and smiled, but her thoughts returned to Hannah’s earlier comment and she grew serious.
“It’s funny you mentioned the increase in donor bodies. I’ve noticed the same thing,” she said. “At least, it appeared that way last month. They seem to have gone back to their usual number of late, or maybe they’re simply not coming to me? Whatever it is, the extra donors are a good thing. More donors means more organs available for transplant and less time on a waiting list.”
“How’s your mom?” Hannah asked, aware of Enid Wolfe’s fragile health status.
Sam shrugged and blinked hard to ward off a sudden surge of tears. “She’s okay. Still getting treatment three times a week. Her kidneys are hanging in there, but only just. We’ve all had to accept that if she doesn’t get a transplant soon, it’s only a matter of time.”
Hannah’s eyes filled with sadness. “How old is she?”
“Sixty-nine.”
“Way too young to die.”
“Yep.” Sam drew in a deep breath and let it out on a heavy sigh. “But there’s nothing we can do about it, short of praying for a donor kidney to be found.” Silence fell between them as they concentrated on their food. Hannah was the first to break it.
“So, how’s your love life?”
Sam chuckled. “Wow, this conversation goes from bad to worse.” She cleared her throat. “To answer your question, my love life is non-existent. My last blind date was a disaster!”
“Did you meet him online?”
“Yes. His bio sounded so good and his photo was really nice. I finally scrounged up the courage to go out with him and it was the most uncomfortable couple of hours of my life.”
Hannah laughed. “What happened? It sounds hilarious.”
“Oh, yeah. Hilarious. Easy for you to say. You weren’t the one having to sit across from him and pretend you had even the tiniest bit of interest in what he had to say. To make things worse, he barely resembled his photo.”