In Silence

CHAPTER 17

The West Feliciana Parish Coroner's office was located in St. Francisville. An elected official, Dr. Harris served all the parish, one of the smallest in Louisiana. The coroner examined the circumstances of death, performed toxicology tests, called time and manner of death and signed the certificate of death.

Avery had learned all this from the man's wife when she'd called to make an appointment. She had also learned that Dr. Harris had served for almost twenty-eight years. His office employed two deputy coroners, both physicians, and handled an average of eighty deaths a year. If he determined an autopsy was required to establish cause of death, the body was transported to Earl K. Long Hospital in Baton Rouge. There, a forensic pathologist would perform an autopsy. Unlike big parishes in the state, West Feliciana Parish didn't have the funding to employ its own forensic pathologist. That had surprised Avery.

Dr. Harris was a charming sprite of a man, with a wreath of thinning gray nair an«a twinkle in his eye. Not what one expected from a parish coroner.

"Thank you for seeing me, Dr. Harris. I appreciate it." He smiled and she went on. "Your wife told me you've been the parish coroner for twenty-eight years."

"On and off. Took a hiatus to tend to my own practice, can't do it all, you know. Or so the wife tells me."

"But you came back."

"Being a perfectionist is a devil of a thing to be. Can't let go. Couldn't stand to see the job not being done right."

He leaned toward her, eyes twinkling with amusement. "They got a joker in here who called cause of every death cardiac arrest. Didn't look at medical records or any other circumstances surrounding the death. Several times the man had a nurse sign the certificates of death. Couldn't stand it. Agreed to come back. Twice."

He sat back, then forward again. "The thing is, ultimately we all have cardiac arrest, but that's not always what sends us off."

"Do things like that happen often?" she asked, thinking of her father. "Cause of death being miscalled because facts slip through the cracks?"

"Not when I'm in charge." He searched her gaze, then smiled gently. "How can I help you, Ms. Chauvin?"

"As I said on the phone, I'm looking into my father's death."

His expression puckered with sympathy. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you." She hesitated, searching for the right direction to proceed. "I learned from your wife that you handle about eighty deaths a year. And that you or one of your deputies go to the scene of every one."

"That's correct."

"She also told me that neither you nor your deputies perform autopsies, that those are done in Baton Rouge."

"Yes. By the forensic pathologist. Dr. Kim Sands."

"And you requested an autopsy on my father."

"I request one for every suicide. I have her report here."

"And she classified my dad's death a suicide?"

He nodded. "Her findings were consistent with mine."

Avery folded her hands in her lap to hide that they shook. "What did Dr. Sands call Dad's official cause of death?"

"Asphyxiation."

"Asphyxiation?" she repeated, surprised. "I don't understand."

"There's no reason you should," he said gently. "It's a little known fact that most victims of fire die of asphyxiation. In your father's case, with his first breath his airways would have filled with fuel vapors and flames. Death came quickly."

He crawled a couple feet toward the door. "Are you saying he died instantly?"

"Death is never instant. In forensics they speak of death coming in terms of seconds to minutes, minutes to hours, hours to days and so on. In your father's case we're looking at seconds to minutes."

She struggled to separate herself from her father's pain and focus on the medicolegal facts. "Go on."

"The presence of smoke and soot in the throat and lungs is one of the ways the pathologist determines the victim actually died in the fire."

"Or if he was dead before he was set on fire." "Exactly."

"And Dr. Sands found both in his throat and lungs?" "Yes." He reached for her father's file, flipped it open and read. "Yes," he repeated.

She cleared her throat. "What else would the pathologist look for in a case like my father's?"

"To confirm cause and manner of death?" She nodded. "Hemorrhages in the remaining soft tissue. Evidence of drugs or alcohol in the toxicology tests. We test blood, urine, bile and vitreous fluid. Each serves as a check for the other."

"And in my father-"

"We found trace amounts of the drug Halcion in his system. It's a sleep medication."

She straightened. "Sleeping pills? Are you certain?"

He looked surprised by her response. "You didn't know? I spoke with Earl, the pharmacist at Friendly Drugs in Cypress Springs. Your dad had been taking sleeping pills for some time."

"Who prescribed them?"

He thought a moment, then held up a finger, indicating she should wait. He referred to the file again. "There it is. Prescribed them for himself."

Avery didn't know what to say.

"Inability to sleep is not uncommon in people who are depressed."

She struggled to find her voice. He hadn 't been sleeping. Another thing she hadn't known about her father, his state of mind.

What kind of daughter was she?

"Why would he do that?" she managed to say finally. "If he planned to kill himself the way he did, why take sleeping pills before?"

"Pill," he corrected. "The level of the drug in his bloodstream was consistent with having taking a.25-milligram tablet at bedtime. Which, by the way, was the dose he'd prescribed himself."

"I still don't understand, then-"

"Why?" he finished for her. "We can't be certain, of course. Could be he wanted to take the edge off, dull his senses. Or that he decided to act after he'd taken it."

It appeared as if he crawled a couple feet toward the door.

"Ms. Chauvin?"

She looked up. He held out a box of tissues. She hadn't realized she was crying. She plucked a tissue from the box and dried her eyes and cheeks, working to pull herself together. "Was there anything…suspicious about his death?"

"Suspicious?" He drew his eyebrows together. "I'm not certain I understand."

"Anything that suggested his death wasn't a suicide?"

When he spoke, his tone was patient. "If you discount leaving a death unclassified, there are only four classifications of death. Natural causes. Accident. Suicide or homicide. We can eliminate the first two. That leaves suicide. Or homicide."

"I realize that."

He frowned slightly. "What are you getting at, Ms. Chauvin?"

I'm just-" She crumbled the tissue. "Frankly, I can't believe he did this. He didn't leave a note. In our conversations, and we spoke often, he gave no indication of being so depressed that he might take his own life."

Another man mighthave been offended, might have thought she was questioning his skill or professionalism; Dr. Harris was sympathetic. She suspected he dealt with grieving family members a lot.

"The Cypress Springs police did a thorough investigation. As did I. Dr. Sands is a top-notch forensic pathologist. Toxicology revealed nothing but the Halcion. I found nothing about the body to suggest homicide. Neither did Dr. Sands. Friends and neighbors described him as acting strangely for some time before his death. Reclusive. Depressed. That behavior seemed consistent with suicide. I understand, too, that your mother had died recently."

"A year ago," she murmured, shaken.

He got what he deserved.

You will, too.

Avery pressed her lips together.

He sat forward. "Is there something you think I should know? Something you're not saying?"

She met his eyes.What would he think if she shared her anonymous caller's message? Would he call it a sick joke-or a serious threat?

She shook her head. "No. Nothing."

"You're certain?"

"Absolutely." She stood and held out her hand. "You've been very helpful, Dr. Harris. Thank you for your time."

He followed her to her feet, took her hand. "If you need anything further, just call. I'm mostly here."

She started for the door. He called her name, stopping her. She looked back.

"I hope you'll forgive an old man for meddling, but I've done this job for a lot of years. Talked with a lot of grieving family members. I understand tow difficult it is to accept when a loved one takes their own life.The guilt you feel. You tell yourself you should have seen it coming, that if you had, your loved one would be alive.

"The ones who do the best get on with living. They accept that the act wasn't about them, that it wasn't about anything they did or didn't do." He paused. "Time, Ms. Chauvin. Give yourself some time. Talk to someone. A counselor. Clergyman. Then get on with living."

If only it were that easy. If only it all didn't feel so wrong.

She forced a small smile. "You're very kind, Dr. Harris."

"Just so you know, I intend to tell your sister the same thing."

She stopped. Turned. "Excuse me?"

"Your sister. She called after you did. She's coming at three." At her expression, he frowned. "Is something wrong, Ms. Chauvin?

"I don't have a sister, Dr. Harris."