The Sisterhood - Michael Palmer [56]
“Dr. Hadawi, will you please review for us your involvement in the case of Charlotte Thomas?” Dockerty asked.
Hadawi spread a few sheets of notes in front of him, then said, “On October third I performed a postmortem examination on the woman in question. The gross examination showed that she had a deep pressure sore over her sacrum, moderately advanced coronary artery narrowing, and an extensive pneumonia. It was my initial impression that she had died from sudden cardiac arrest caused by her infections and the generally debilitated condition resulting from her two operations.”
“Dr. Hadawi, is that your impression now?” Dockerty asked.
“No, it is not. The patient’s physicians, Dr. Wallace Huttner and Dr. David Shelton, were present at the autopsy. They requested a detailed chemical analysis of her blood.”
“Help me out here, Dr. Hadawi,” Dockerty cut in. “Don’t you do these chemical analyses routinely on each—er—patient?”
Hadawi smiled sardonically and folded his hands on the table. “I wish that were possible,” he said. “Unfortunately, the cost of postmortem examinations must be borne by the institution involved, and it is hardly an inexpensive proposition, what with sophisticated tissue stains, clerical help, and all else that is required. While we would never knowingly omit a critical stain or test, we of the pathology department must nevertheless temper our zeal with judgment that will enable us to stay within our budget.” He paused for a moment and gave a prolonged, hostile look at Edward Lipton III.
“Please proceed,” Dockerty said, scribbling a few words on the pad in front of him.
Hadawi referred to his notes. “Of the many chemical analyses that were done, two came back with abnormally high levels. The first of these, potassium, was seven-point-four, where the upper limit of normal is five-point-zero. The second was her blood morphine level, which was elevated far above that found in a patient receiving the usual doses of morphine sulfate for pain.”
“Dr. Hadawi, would you please give us your impression of these findings?” Dockerty’s voice was free of even the slightest hint of tension.
“Well, my impression of the potassium elevation—and please keep in mind that it is an opinion—is that it is artificially high, a reflection of events occurring in the tissues during and just after the cardiac arrest. The morphine elevation is an entirely different story. Without question, the level measured in this woman was critically high. Easily, although not necessarily, high enough to have caused cessation of respiration and, ultimately, death.”
Dockerty spent a few seconds distractedly combing his hair with his fingers. “Doctor, you imply that death was caused by an overdosage of morphine.” Hadawi nodded. “Tell me, do you think an overdose of this magnitude could have been accidental?”
Hadawi drew in a short breath, looked at the detective, then shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, I do not believe that is possible.”
There was not a whisper or movement in the amphitheater. For several seconds Dockerty allowed the eerie silence to hold sway. Then he said softly, “That, ladies and gentlemen, makes Charlotte Thomas’s death murder. And her murder is why we are assembled nere.” Again silence. This time, Hadawi shifted uncomfortably in his seat, anxious to be done with his part.
“Thank you for your help, Doctor,” Dockerty said to him. As Hadawi stood to go, the detective added, “Oh, one more small thing. You mentioned that the chemical tests were ordered by Mrs. Thomas’s doctors, ah”—he glanced at his notes—“Dr. Huttner and Dr. Shelton. Do you remember specifically which one of them actually asked for the tests?”
Hadawi’s dark eyes narrowed