The Second Mouse - Archer Mayor [48]
Because of a general backlog—along with the body’s condition—the autopsy was delayed for two days, creating the possibility that the pregnancy’s existence could have reached Medwed’s ear before she’d been opened up. The victim and her husband, after all, had been political allies of the medical examiner. A discreet phone call might have been made.
But Joe could find no record of any contact between widower and chief.
He extracted the autopsy report and pushed the rest of the file off to a far corner of the desk. It was typed and anointed with arcane language he could only just follow. He tried his best to accompany the narrator on this specialized tour of a human body, but when he finally did come upon the mention of a fetus in the first stage of development, he felt no particular elation. For while there was no allusion to Hillstrom’s connection with this case until a day later, the fact remained that her signature adorned the bottom of the autopsy report.
On paper, regardless of where he looked, it seemed that his friend Beverly had been the first to know of Judy Morgenthau’s impending motherhood.
Joe sat back in his chair to rub the bridge of his nose, letting his hands drop into his lap afterward. He stared sightlessly at what he couldn’t prove was a forged document.
And then he leaned forward, his eyes narrowing, not only seeing something he’d been staring at all along, but recalling, too, his own experiences visiting the Vermont ME’s office. Almost always in those situations, there had been at least one other person in the room with the doctor and the body, and sometimes more. In his myopic efforts to distinguish Medwed from Hillstrom, Joe had completely overlooked the documented presence of a third person: Susan Bedell, here listed as “lab assistant.”
Joe rose to his feet and pushed the button by the door. Barely two minutes later his exotic handler appeared, her eyebrows raised inquiringly. “You all set?”
“Almost. I need a favor. There’s someone mentioned as a lab assistant in the medical examiner’s office, named Susan Bedell. Is there any chance you could make your computer cough up anything on her? Like where she might be now?”
Jennifer Joyce looked thoughtful for a couple of seconds, and then conspiratorial. Her voice dropped as she said, “Come with me. We’ll make it happen.”
He followed her back to her special fishbowl and joined her as she dragged her guest chair around so that it nestled next to hers before the computer screen.
“Okay,” she said, settling down and wiggling her fingers as if preparing to play the piano. “Let’s see what we can find out. What’s this person’s name?”
“Susan Bedell.” He spelled it out.
“No birth date, I guess?”
“Sorry.”
Joyce was already typing. “Not to worry. It’s an unusual name and you know where she worked. What date, by the way?”
He gave it to her.
She straightened slightly in her chair, looking pleased. “Okay, got her. Now I copy down her PID, since names don’t count for diddly in this system, and . . .” She paused dramatically as they both waited for a new screen image to appear. “There you go. She retired four years ago.”
Joe squinted at the document before them. “Any idea where she might be now? I’d sure love to talk to her.”
The fingers resumed their skittering across the keyboard. Once again Joyce allowed for a triumphant smile, even adding, “Darn, too easy. I thought I’d be able to show off a little more than this.” She tapped the screen with a remarkably