Mary’s confused condition made the ride to the hospital seem short. When they arrived, she asked the police officers if they intended to stay or whether she should take the baby seat out of the squad car. They reassured her that they had been instructed to escort her to the proper place in the hospital and wouldn’t leave without her. She expressed her gratitude and wrapped Tommy up in the receiving blanket and held him to her shoulder before she began walking between the two uniformed men to the elevator and rode down into the hospital basement. When they got out, they lead her a winding path through empty corridors roofed with green painted pipes and conduits until they reached the morgue. Although a four by twelve inch wood-grained, engraved plastic sign over the door clearly indicated what the room beyond the heavily locked door was, Mary hadn’t noticed.
Inspector Gates met them at the door, and left the two officers outside as he escorted Mary and the baby in himself. They walked through the chill air of the morgue straight back to the area used by the deniers. The Inspector opened a second door to reveal a white-tiled floor with inset floor drains and a work area which was populated with solidly mounted stainless steel tables with six-foot long and three-inch deep depressions to catch and drain bodily fluids while the cadavers were autopsied. The sharp, slightly-sweet, pungent tang of formaldehyde from innumerable necropsies mixed with biting, acid reek of chlorine-based disinfectants that the janitors swabbed the floor with each night to produce a carcinoginous vapor that lingered evilly in the air.
In the center of the room there was a large dialed hanging scale marked in kilograms hanging from the ceiling. A large stainless steel, scoop-like bucket hung by three chains from the organ weighing scale. Chain Mary shivered at the thought of what the scale must be used for. The sides of the room were lined with shimmering steel cabinets that matched the rest of the furnishings. Everything was immaculately clean. Aside from Xerox copies of standard operating procedures affixed to the cabinet doors and the inevitable clipboards full of forms to be filled out by the deniers hanging from hooks on the walls, one would think that work was never done in this room. Unfortunately, the coffee pot that sat on the counter underneath the cabinets at the near end of the room with the metal trash can full of empty paper cups positioned on the floor next to the pot belied the image of disuse. Those who died of crime or misadventure would come to the hospital’s morgue whether they willed it or no; because this room was for the County government, literally the dead end.
At the end of the room, were the stainless steel doored refrigeration units that housed the cadavers waiting for examination or deposition of the remains. After checking the name on the red cardboard label that rested in the plastic envelope that was glued to the door, the Inspector pulled on the handle to unlatch the refrigerator door. He halted in respect as Mary drew the blanket over the head of the baby in her arms protectively to shield his eyes. She didn’t want her baby to have any memory of what she was about to see. The Inspector nodded grimly as if agreeing with her decision to guard the innocent from the reality of human death. Then he opened the door fully and pulled out the long tray which held the remains of Mrs. Marge Burns. Her body had been covered with a long drape of hospital green so that only the vague outlines of the body that was beneath could be discerned. The Inspector pulled back the drape to enable Mary to view Marge’s face. He asked Mary in formal tones, “For the record, Mary Burns, do you recognize this woman?”
Mary only looked at Marge’s face a moment before she turned away and said, “Yes Sir, that’s my mother-in-law…I’m sorry, she was my mother-in-law,…No…I meant my ex-mo…”
Although Thomas’s head was covered by the receiving blanket, he had listened closely to what was going on and the positive identification of his mother as deceased caused him to begin wailing uncontrollably. The vast room’s walls were tiled half-way up the sides to make them easier to clean. They reflected his wails of sorrow perfectly. The room echoed with the distressed infant’s howls of ultimate loss.
“Don’t cry, baby! Momma’s here!”, Mary said soothingly, trying to quiet the screams of her son.
The Inspector put his hand on her arm sympathetically and said, “I understood what you meant. You’ve identified her and with the fingerprints, that’s enough. Please forgive me if I have to ask you to view another body. I want you to try to calm yourself now, if not for your sake, then for your baby’s sake. From his reaction, I know he’s attuned to your feelings. Please accept my apologies in advance. I know it’ll be difficult. We think that the body we have is your ex-husband’s body. I want to warn you that the truck that hit your ex-mother-in-law’s car ruptured it’s fuel tank and there was a fire. The body on the passenger side was badly burned. So much so, that we can’t get a sample of the fingerprints. The hands on the body were badly charred. Your identification of the body is crucial to conclude the accident investigation.
I’ve spoken to the president of your husband’s company and I’ve agreed to keep the oddities of your husband’s death from the press in order to preserve the company’s industrial secrets unless there are unforeseen complications that require further investigation. Your uncooperation might constitute such a complication. The president of your husband’s company tells me that you, as his sole beneficiary, would stand to gain tremendously by his death when the announcement of your husband’s discovery is made. Please understand, Mrs. Burns, I’m not accusing you, but we have to know who this individual is so we can lay the matter to rest.
Inspector Gates didn’t mention that the president of the company threatened him with prosecution under the Federal Industrial Secrets Act if he released information that would reveal the company’s plans about the youth formula prematurely. The president told him (and he believed every word), that if the secret was revealed, the company would put all of its resources into bring to justice the person who destroyed the value of their discovery and stock. Millions of dollars were more than sufficient to overwhelm the County’s legal resources. If they sued, he didn’t have a snowball’s chance in Hell of surviving the onslaught. His superiors would throw him to the wolves in a heart beat to save their own asses. If the Inspector was convicted of Industrial Espionage, he’d be facing five years in a Federal penitentiary. The lifespan of a Police Inspector would be less than a spring mayfly’s voyage from pupae to death in a correctional institution. The Inspector had lived a long time and come to feel that under certain circumstances, discretion was the better part of valor. As far as he was concerned, he planned to keep mum. Nevertheless, there was no reason he could think of to reveal his vulnerability to what might be (however improbable) a suspect.
The Inspector respectfully covered Mrs. Marge Burns face with the green drape and closed the long drawer, closing the door and snapping the latch firmly in place. Then he checked label on the compartment to the right of the one he had just opened and unlatched it. As he opened the door and began to pull out the drawer, he stopped dramatically, so as to make his final statement, “Again, Mrs. Burns, I truly apologize for this, but I must. It’s my duty. Please forgive me.”
The Inspector slide the long drawer about a foot and then stopped. The body contained within the drawer could not have been longer than thirty inches and was probably less, given the way that the drape fanned out from the top of the tiny covered feet.
As she looked down at the dead baby’s still face, lying wrapped in a hospital green surgical drape to conceal the worst of his injuries, she saw the face of Tom imprinted on the impact-bruised, grayed visage. The baby’s eyes were closed, but had they been open, she was sure that it wouldn’t have made any difference in her opinion. Miraculously, the baby’s hair was unburned, although a strong odor of cooked pork emanated from the refrigerated drawer. The chin and nose were obviously Tom’s, Mary was sure of that. Certainly, they were those that he wore as a baby, but there was no doubt in her mind that the body in front of her was Tom’s. After all, who else would look like her baby? The resemblance between father and son was unmistakable. Tom was dead. There was no question of it in her mind.
“That’s Tom,” Mary said with a note of finality, “I would know his face anywhere, even as a child.”
The baby in Mary’s arms began howling anew, screaming his objections to the misidentification of the body.
“You’re sure? You’re absolutely sure?”, the Inspector asked over the din to confirm the identification.
“Yes, I’m sure. You had him covered up so I couldn’t see his body. But did YOU look at the color of the plastic panties he was wearing? Did they survive the fire?”, Mary asked.
“Parts of his clothing survived,” the Inspector admitted reluctantly as he covered the baby’s face with the drape and closed the drawer again.
“Well then,” Mary said angrily, “Check the Daycare where we put the boys into this morning! The Daycare workers on duty will tell you what he was wearing! My son wore blue plastic pants while Tom wore aqua pants. What color of plastic pants was the baby wearing? If you want to ask them, the name of the facility is ‘Tiny Tots Academy’. Do you need their address and phone number? I have it right in my purse!”
“That won’t be necessary, mam. I’ll call the Daycare tomorrow as you suggest. I’m sure that their evidence will be enough to identify the baby here and wrap up this case,” the Inspector said with conviction, “Thank you. I think that we’ve asked enough from you for one night. The officers outside will take you and your son home. Frankly, I don’t think you should concern yourself about our investigation any further. I believe you and the facts fit the evidence. I want to tell you personally how sorry I am for your loss. Please understand that I was only doing my duty to identify the dead. Go home and get some sleep, Mrs. Burns. Spend some time with your son. After awhile, your memories of this night will all seem like a bad dream. Some officers will bring an affidavit to your home tomorrow attesting to what you told me tonight. If you have any problems with it, please call me. Here’s my card. If the affidavit is acceptable to you, then sign it and the investigation, at least your part of it, will be over.