Free Grave Situation by Alex MacLean

we’ll
need you or another close relative to come down to the medical
examiner’s office to make the identification official.”
    “Later. I can’t do it right
now.”
    “I understand.” Allan took out his
business card and gave it to him.
    Frank stared at the card with a
somewhat vacant look. “If you would kindly excuse us.” His hand
moved to the door in a gesture of dismissal. “We have a lot to deal
with right now.”
    As the door gently closed on him,
Allan turned away. With his head down he walked back to his car and
climbed in behind the wheel. For a long moment he just sat there,
numb, unable to move. When finally he reached for the ignition, he
glanced over at the house. In one tragic moment, he knew, the lives
of Brad’s parents had changed forever.
    Edging into the street, Allan
steeled himself for the autopsy ahead.

13
    Halifax, May 9
    10:57 a.m.
     
    The body of a still-clothed Brad
Hawkins lay on a dissection table in front of Allan. The paper bags
hadn’t yet been removed from the victim’s hands. The polythene wrap
and body bag lay on a counter to be later sent to the forensic lab
for analysis.
    The morgue was a windowless room
with a tile floor and cement walls painted dull beige. To Allan, it
always had the look and feel of one-part laboratory, another part
slaughterhouse. The harsh surgical lamps. The hanging meat scales.
The steel tables and cabinetry.
    The smell of disinfectant that
filled the room seemed to be as strong as the sense of
finality.
    Doctor Coulter and Lawrence Sodero
were dressed in green surgical scrubs, plastic aprons and latex
gloves. Glancing at the clock on the wall, Coulter said, “Right on
time. You’re a punctual man, Lieutenant.”
    Allan tried to smile. “I try to be.
Though I can think of better things to be doing with my time than
hanging out here.”
    Coulter chuckled. “Yes. I bet you
can. You’d sooner be out pounding the pavement for a suspect than
being down here in the dungeon with Doctor Frankenstein and his
sidekick, Igor.”
    Allan laughed. “Truer words were
never spoken, Doctor.”
    Behind him, Sodero pushed a steel
tray across the tile floor. On it laid a small assortment of
tools—scalpels, scissors, forceps, rib cutters, a bread knife, a
chisel, a Stryker saw.
    The examination began with a
thorough inspection of the clothing. With the overhead lamps
dimmed, Coulter moved a blue light over the entire body, looking
for the illumination of trace evidence. He was a cautious man. He
worked slowly and meticulously. Lacking an overhead mic, he stopped
periodically to take notes that he’d later transcribe to his
report.
    With Sodero’s help, he turned the
body over. Finding no trace on the backside, the lamps were turned
up again. Coulter then carefully examined the back of the jacket
where the blade had gone through, matching the hole with the
correlative wound underneath. Sodero took photographs
throughout.
    The two men rolled the body onto
its back again. Coulter removed the paper bags from the hands and
gave them to Sodero, who neatly folded them and sealed each one in
a separate evidence bag. Then, without cutting or tearing, they
began removing each article of clothing.
    Earlier, Allan thought, Brad had
started his day like anyone else. Got up, showered and dressed. Now
he was being stripped naked by other hands and laid on a metal slab
to be photographed and washed by strangers.
    Life is so uncertain.
    Coulter measured the body and then
weighed it on an overhead scale.
    “Height is one hundred sixty-nine
centimeters,” he said. “Weight is eighty-two kilograms.”
    He started the examination of the
body itself, inspecting the scalp for any injuries hidden by the
hair. He checked the ear canals for signs of bleeding, the eyes for
petechiae—broken blood vessels suggestive of strangulation or
asphyxia. He moved systematically over the face looking for bruises
or cyanosis, then into the mouth for foreign objects, damaged teeth
or cut