Invasion

6

6:45 A.M.

It was one of those cloudless, crystalline mornings with the air so fresh it could almost be tasted. The most distant mountains stood out with shocking clarity. The normally dry ground was covered with a cool layer of dew that sparkled like so many diamonds.

Beau stood for a moment taking in the scene. It was as if he’d seen it for the first time. He couldn’t believe the range of colors of the distant hills, and he questioned why he’d not appreciated it before.

He was dressed casually in an Oxford shirt, jeans, and loafers with no socks. He cleared his throat. His cough was all but gone and his throat didn’t hurt when he swallowed.

Pushing off from the entrance to his apartment building he walked along the walkway, then up the driveway and into the back parking area. In the sand lining the far periphery he found what he was looking for. Three black mini-sculptures identical to the one he’d found in Costa’s parking lot the morning before. He scooped them up, dusted them off, and slipped them into separate pockets.

With his mission accomplished, he turned and retraced his steps.

Inside the apartment the alarm went off next to Cassy’s head. The alarm was on her side of the bed because Beau had a bad habit of turning it off so quickly that neither of them truly woke up.

Cassy’s hand snaked out from beneath the covers and hit the dream bar. The alarm fell silent for ten luscious minutes. Rolling onto her back, her hand extended toward Beau to give him a shove, the first of many. Beau was not a morning person.

Cassy’s exploring hand found empty, cool sheets. The searching arc was extended. Still nothing. Cassy opened her eyes and looked over at Beau, but he was not there!

Surprised by this unexpected turn of events, Cassy sat up and listened for any tell-tale noise from the bathroom. The house was silent. Beau never got up before she did. Suddenly she was worried that his illness had returned.

After slipping on her robe, Cassy padded out into the living room. She was about to call out his name when she saw him over by their fish tank. He was bending down, studying the fish. He was so intent he’d not heard her. While she watched he placed his right index finger against the glass. Somehow his finger concentrated the fluorescent aquarium light so that the tip of his finger glowed.

Mesmerized by this scene, Cassy just stood there continuing to watch. Soon all the fish flocked to the point where Beau’s finger touched the glass. When he moved the finger laterally, the fish all dutifully followed.

“How are you doing that?” Cassy asked.

Surprised by Cassy’s presence, Beau stood up, letting his hand fall to his side. At the same instant the fish dispersed to the far ends of the tank.

“I didn’t hear you come into the room,” Beau said with a pleasant smile.

“Obviously,” Cassy said. “What were you doing to attract the fish that way?”

“Damned if I know,” Beau said. “Maybe they thought I was going to feed them.” He came over to Cassy and draped his arms on her shoulders. His smile was radiant. “You look wonderful this morning.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Cassy said jokingly. She tussled her thick hair, then patted it into place. “There, now I’m ready for the Miss America Pageant.” She looked up into Beau’s eyes. They were a particularly effulgent blue, and the whites were whiter than white.

“You are the one who looks wonderful,” Cassy said.

“I feel wonderful,” Beau said. He bent down to kiss Cassy on the lips, but she ducked out from beneath his arms.

“Hold on,” she said. “This beauty contestant has yet to brush her teeth. I wouldn’t want to be disqualified on account of morning breath.”

“Not a chance,” Beau said with a lascivious smile.

Cassy cocked her head to one side. “You’re feeling chipper today,” she remarked.

“As I said, I feel great,” Beau said.

“That was sure a short course of the flu,” Cassy said. “I’d say you made a remarkable recovery.”

“I guess I have you to thank for hauling me over to the medical center,” Beau said. “That’s where things took a turn for the better.”

“But the doctor and the nurse didn’t do anything,” Cassy said. “They admitted so themselves.”

Beau shrugged. “Then it’s a new strain of a rapid flu. I’m certainly not going to complain about its short course.”

“Me neither,” Cassy said, starting for the bathroom. “Why don’t you make coffee while I take a shower.”

“Coffee is already made,” Beau said. “I’ll bring you a cup.”

“Aren’t we being efficient,” Cassy called on her way through the bedroom.

“Nothing but five-star service in this hotel,” Beau said.

Cassy continued to marvel at Beau’s quick turnaround. Remembering how he looked when she’d climbed into the car in front of the Anna C. Scott school, she never would have suspected it. She turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature. When it was to her liking, she climbed in. The first order of business was her hair. She washed it every day.

No sooner had she gotten her scalp full of shampoo when she heard knocking on the outside of the shower door. Without opening her eyes, she told Beau to leave her coffee mug on the back of the sink.

Sticking her head under the jet of water, she began to rinse. The next thing she knew was that Beau was in the shower with her.

She opened her eyes with disbelief. Beau was standing right in front of her in the shower fully clothed. He even still had on his loafers.

“What on earth are you doing?” Cassy sputtered. She had to laugh. It was such an unexpected, zany thing for him to do.

Beau didn’t say anything. Instead he reached out and hungrily drew Cassy’s wet, naked body to him while his lips sought hers. It was a deep, sensual, carnal kiss.

Cassy managed to come up for air, laughing at the absurdity of what they were doing. Beau laughed as well as the water flattened his hair against his forehead.

“You’re crazy,” Cassy commented. Her hair was still full of soap suds.

“Crazy for you is more accurate,” Beau said. He started to fumble with his belt.

Cassy helped by undoing the buttons of his soaked shirt and peeling it from his muscular shoulders. The situation might have been unconventional, especially for the normally neat and compulsive Beau, but for Cassy it was a turn-on. It was so wonderfully spontaneous, and Beau’s eagerness added additional spice.

Later, in the midst of their passion, Cassy began to appreciate something else. Not only were they making love in a unique circumstance, but they were making love in an atypical way. Beau was touching her differently. She wasn’t able to explain it exactly, but it was marvelous, and she loved it. It had something to do with Beau being more gentle and sensitive than usual even in the midst of his overwhelming ardor.

Reaching his hands over his head, Pitt stretched. He looked at the clock on the ER desk. It was almost seven-thirty and soon his marathon twenty-four-hour shift would be over. He was already fantasizing how good his bed was going to feel when he slid his tired body between the sheets. The idea of the exercise was to give him an idea of what it’s like being a resident, when shifts of thirty-six hours are commonplace.

“You should go down to the room where they found that poor guy from housekeeping,” Cheryl Watkins said. Cheryl was one of the day staff nurses who’d recently come on duty.

“How come?” Pitt asked. He remembered the patient very well. The patient had been rushed into the ER a little after midnight by someone from housekeeping. The ER doctors had started resuscitation, but had stopped after quickly realizing the patient’s body temperature was about the same as room temperature.

Deciding the man was dead had been easy. The hard part was deciding what had killed him other than the apparent seizures he’d had. There’d been a curious bloodless hole through his hand that one of the doctors thought might have been caused by electricity. Yet the history said he’d been found in a room without any access to a high voltage.

Another doctor noticed the patient had particularly, dense cataracts. That was strange because cataracts had not been noted on the man’s annual employment physical, and his co-workers denied he had any visual handicap. So that suggested the man had suffered sudden cataracts, which the doctors dismissed. They’d never heard of such a thing even when a powerful jolt of electricity was involved.

Confusion about the proximate cause of death led to wild speculation and even some bets. The only thing that was certain was that no one knew for sure, and the body was sent to the medical examiner’s office for the final word.

“I’m not going to tell you why you should see the room,” Cheryl said. “Because if I did, you’d say I was pulling your leg. Suffice it to say that it’s weird.”

“Gimme a hint,” Pitt said. He was so tired that the idea of walking all the way over to the hospital proper did not engender a lot of enthusiasm unless it was for something truly unique.

“You have to see for yourself,” Cheryl insisted before she headed off to a meeting.

Pitt tapped a pencil against his forehead while he debated. The idea of the circumstance being weird intrigued him. Calling after Cheryl, he asked her where the room was located.

“In the student overnight ward,” Cheryl called back over her shoulder. “You can’t miss it because there’s a ton of people there trying to figure out what happened.”

Curiosity overcame Pitt’s fatigue. If there were a lot of people involved maybe he should make the effort. He heaved himself to his feet and dragged his tired body down the corridor. At least the student overnight ward was close. While he walked he vaguely thought that if it were truly weird maybe Cassy and Beau would like to hear about it, since they’d just been there the previous afternoon.

As he rounded the final corner that led to the student infirmary, Pitt could see a small crowd of people milling about. As he came up to the room his curiosity mounted because whatever the situation was, it involved the same room that Beau had occupied.

“What’s going on?” Pitt whispered to one of his classmates who also worked in the hospital on a work-study program. Her name was Carol Grossman.

“You tell me,” Carol said. “When I got a chance to see I suggested that perhaps Salvador Dali had stopped by, but nobody laughed.”

Pitt gave her a quizzical look, but she didn’t elaborate. He pushed on, literally. There were so many people he had to worm his way through. Unfortunately in the process he was a bit too aggressive and managed to jostle one of the doctors enough to cause her coffee to slosh out of her cup. When the doctor angrily turned around to glare at Pitt, Pitt caught his breath. Of all the staff, it had to be Dr. Sheila Miller!

“Damn it,” Sheila snapped, shaking the hot coffee from the back of her hand. She was in her long white coat. Several fresh coffee stains graced the cuff of her right sleeve.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Pitt managed.

Sheila raised her green eyes to Pitt’s. She appeared particularly severe with her blond hair pulled tightly back from her face in a compact bun. Her cheeks were flushed with irritation.

“Mr. Henderson!” she snapped. “I hope to God you don’t have your sights on a specialty requiring coordination, like eye surgery.”

“It was an accident,” Pitt pleaded.

“Yeah, that’s what people said about World War I,” Sheila said. “And think of the consequences! You’re the ER clerk. What in God’s name are you doing forcing your way in here.”

Pitt frantically searched his mind for some reasonable explanation beyond simple curiosity. Simultaneously, his eyes swept the room, hoping to see something that might offer a suggestion. Instead what he saw stunned him.

The first thing that caught his eye was that the shape of the head of the bed was distorted as if it had been heated to the melting point and pulled toward the window. The night table looked the same. In fact as his eyes completed their circuit of the room, he noticed that most of the furniture and fixtures had been twisted out of shape as if they had been made of taffy. The window-panes, meanwhile, appeared to have melted, with the glass forming stalactite-like formations that hung down from the muntins.

“What on earth happened in here?” Pitt asked.

Sheila spoke through clenched teeth: “Answering that question is why these professionals are standing here talking. Now get back to the ER desk!”

“I’m on my way,” Pitt said quickly.

After one more quick glance at the strange transformation of the room, he retreated back through the crowd. He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of damage he’d done to his career by pissing off the Dragon Lady.

“I’m sorry for the interruption,” Sheila said. She was talking with Detective Lieutenant Jesse Kemper and his partner Vince Garbon.

“No problem,” Jesse said. “I wasn’t making a lot of sense anyway. I mean, this is a pretty strange situation, but I don’t think it’s a crime scene. My gut reaction tells me this was not a homicide. Maybe you should get some science experts in here to tell us if a bolt of lightning could have come in through this window.”

“But there wasn’t a thunderstorm,” Sheila complained.

“I know,” Jesse said philosophically. He spread his hands like a supplicant. “But you said your engineers ruled out building power. It sure looks like the guy got electrocuted, and if he did, maybe it was lightning.”

“I can’t buy it,” Sheila said. “I’m not a forensic pathologist, but I seem to remember that when lightning strikes an individual, it doesn’t make a hole. It grounds, usually coming out the feet, even occasionally blowing the shoes off. There’s no evidence of a ground in here. This is more like some powerful laser beam.”

“Hey, there you go,” Jesse said. “I never thought of that. Don’t you have laser beams here in the hospital? Maybe somebody shot one in through the window.”

“We’ve certainly got lasers in the hospital,” Sheila admitted. “But nothing that could make the kind of hole we saw in Mr. Arnold’s hand. Plus I can’t imagine a laser being responsible for these strange distortions that we see with the furniture.”

“Well, I’m plumb out of my league here,” Jesse said. “If the autopsy suggests we got a corpus delecti and a homicide, we’ll get involved. Otherwise I think you have to get the science guys over here.”

“We’ve put in a call to the physics department at the university,” Sheila said.

“I think that’s the best idea,” Jesse said. “Meanwhile, here’s my card.” He stepped over to Sheila and gave her the business card. He also gave one to Richard Halprin, president of the University Medical Center, and Wayne Maritinez, head of hospital security. “Any of you can call me anytime. I’m interested, really. It’s been a strange couple of nights. There’s been more weird stuff happening than in all the previous thirty years I’ve been on the force. Is it a full moon or what?”

At the very end of the show, the music reached a crescendo, and with a final clap of cymbals, the dome of the planetarium went dark. Then the general lights came on. Instantly the auditorium erupted in a smattering of applause, a few whistles, and a babble of excited voices. Most of the seats were occupied by elementary school kids on a field trip. Except for teachers and chaperones, Cassy and Beau were the only adults.

“That was really fun,” Cassy said. “I’d forgotten what a planetarium show was like. The last time I’d seen one was in Miss Korth’s fourth-grade class.”

“I liked it too,” Beau said with enthusiasm. “It’s fascinating seeing what the galaxy looks like from the point of view of Earth.”

Cassy blinked and stared at Beau. All morning long he seemed to have a penchant to pop off with a curious non sequitur.

“Come on,” Beau said, oblivious to Cassy’s mild perplexity. He stood up. “Let’s try to get out of here ahead of these screaming kids.”

Hand in hand they exited the auditorium and strolled out onto the expansive lawn that separated the planetarium and the natural history museum. From a pushcart vendor they purchased hot dogs smothered with chili and onions. On a seat in the shade of a large tree they sat down to enjoy their lunch.

“I’d also forgotten how much fun playing hooky can be,” Cassy said in between bites of hot dog. “It’s lucky that I wasn’t scheduled for student teaching today. I mean, skipping class is one thing, but skipping student teaching is something else entirely. I wouldn’t have been able to come.”

“I’m glad it worked out,” Beau said.

“I was surprised when you suggested it,” Cassy said. “Isn’t this the first time you’ve ever skipped class?”

“Yup,” Beau said.

Cassy laughed. “What is this, a new Beau? First you act like an amorous animal and jump into the shower with your clothes on and now you’ve willingly missed three classes. But don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining.”

“It’s all your fault,” Beau said. He put down his hot dog and pulled Cassy to him and enveloped her in a playfully sexy embrace. “You’re irresistible.” He tried to kiss her, but Cassy got her hand up and parried the move.

“Wait a sec,” she laughed. “I’ve got chili all over my face.”

“All the more spice,” Beau joked.

Cassy wiped her face with her napkin. “What’s gotten into you?”

Beau didn’t answer. Instead he gave Cassy a long, wonderful kiss. Just like in the shower, the impulsiveness of the gesture was another distinct turn-on for her.

“Wow, you are transmogrifying into a world-class Casanova,” Cassy said as she sat back, took a breath, and tried to collect herself. The fact that she could be turned on so easily in public in the middle of the day surprised her.

Beau happily went back to his hot dog. As he chewed he raised his hand to block out the sun while he looked in the sun’s direction.

“How far did they say Earth is from the sun?” he asked.

“Jeez, I don’t know,” Cassy said. Having experienced the stirring of desire, it was hard to change the subject, especially to something as specific as astronomical distances. “Ninety-something million miles.”

“Oh, yeah,” Beau said. “Ninety-three. That means it would take just a little over eight minutes for the effect of a solar flare to reach here.”

“Excuse me?” Cassy asked. There was another one of his non sequiturs. She didn’t even know what a solar flare was.

“Look,” Beau said excitedly, pointing up into the western sky. “You can see the moon even though it’s daylight.”

Cassy shielded her eyes and followed the line of Beau’s pointing finger. Sure enough, she could just barely make out the gossamer image of the moon. She looked back at Beau. He was enjoying himself immensely in an endearing, almost childlike way. His enthusiasm was infectious, and she couldn’t help enjoying herself as well.

“What made you want to come to the planetarium today?” Cassy asked.

Beau shrugged. “Just pure interest,” he said. “A chance to learn a little more about this beautiful planet. Let’s head over to the museum next. You up for that?”

“Why not?” Cassy exclaimed.

Jonathan carried his lunch outside. on such a day he hated to be in the crowded cafeteria, especially since he’d not seen Candee in there. Skirting the flagpole in the central quad, he headed over to the bleachers alongside the baseball diamond. He knew that was one of Candee’s favorite places to get away from the crowd. As he approached he could see that his efforts were to be rewarded. Candee was sitting on the top row.

They waved to each other, and Jonathan started up. There was a slight breeze, and it was snapping the edges of Candee’s skirt, revealing tantalizing glimpses of her thighs. Jonathan tried not to make it obvious that he was watching.

“Hi,” Candee said.

“Hi,” Jonathan answered. He sat down next to her and extracted one of his peanut butter and banana sandwiches.

“Ugh,” Candee said. “I can’t believe you can eat that stuff.”

Jonathan studied his sandwich before taking a bite. “I like it,” he said.

“What did Tim say about his radio?” Candee asked.

“He’s still pissed,” Jonathan said. “But at least he doesn’t think it was our fault anymore. The same thing happened to a friend of his brother’s.”

“Can we still get the car?” Candee asked.

“I’m afraid not,” Jonathan said.

“What are we going to do?” Candee asked.

“I don’t know,” Jonathan said. “I wish to hell my parents weren’t so tight-assed about our family car. They treat me like I’m twelve. The only time I can drive the thing is when they are along.”

“At least your parents let you get your license,” Candee complained. “Mine are making me wait until I’m eighteen.”

“That’s criminal,” Jonathan said. “If they tried that with me, I think I’d run away. But what good is my license without wheels? It’s so frustrating my parents won’t give me more credit than they do. I mean, I do have a brain. I’m getting good grades, I don’t do drugs.”

Candee rolled her eyes.

“I don’t consider that pot we tried drugs,” Jonathan said. “And how many times did we do it: twice!”

“Hey, look,” Candee said. She pointed at the receiving dock about seventy-five feet away where trucks made deliveries. It was on the basement level and was approached by a ramp cut into the ground just behind the backstop of the baseball diamond.

“Isn’t that Mr. Partridge with the school nurse?” Candee asked.

“It sure is,” Jonathan said. “And he doesn’t look so good. Look at the way Miss Golden is holding him up. And listen to the old windbag cough.”

At that moment an aged Lincoln Town Car pulled around the side of the building and descended the ramp. Behind the wheel Candee and Jonathan recognized Mrs. Partridge, whom the kids in the school called Miss Piggy. Mrs. Partridge seemed to be coughing as much as Mr. Partridge.

“What a pair,” Jonathan commented.

While Jonathan and Candee watched, Miss Golden managed to get the sagging Mr. Partridge down a half flight of cement steps and into the car. Mrs. Partridge didn’t get out.

“He looks sicker than a dog,” Candee said.

“Miss Piggy looks worse,” Jonathan said.

The car backed up, turned, and accelerated up the ramp. Halfway up it scraped lightly against the concrete wall. The grating sound made Jonathan wince.

“So much for the paint job,” he said.

“What in God’s name are you doing back here?” Cheryl Watkins demanded. She was sitting at the ER desk as Pitt Henderson dragged himself through the swinging doors. He looked exhausted with dark circles under his eyes.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “So I thought I might as well come back and try to salvage what I could of my medical career.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Cheryl asked.

“This morning when I went over to see that room you suggested, I committed a disastrous faux pas.”

“Like what?” Cheryl questioned. She could see he was troubled, and she was concerned. Pitt was well liked in the unit.

“I accidentally bumped into the Dragon Lady and spilled her coffee over her and her white coat,” Pitt said. “And let me tell you, she was royally pissed. She demanded to know what I was doing there and stupid me couldn’t think of a reason.”

“Uh oh!” Cheryl commiserated. “Dr. Miller is not fond of getting her white coat dirty, especially early in the morning.”

“As we all know!” Pitt said. “She was pretty blunt. Anyway I thought maybe by coming back I could at least impress her with my dedication.”

“Can’t hurt, although it is above and beyond the call of duty,” Cheryl said. “On the other hand, we can always use the help, and I’ll make sure our fearless leader hears about it. Meanwhile, why don’t you check in a couple of the more routine cases. We had a bad traffic accident an hour ago so we’re way behind, and the RNs are all tied up.”

Pleased to get a task, especially one that he enjoyed, Pitt grabbed the top clipboard and headed for the patient waiting area. The patient’s name was Sandra Evans, aged four.

Pitt called out the name. From the multitude of people impatiently waiting on the hard plastic chairs in the crowded room, a mother and daughter stood up. The woman was in her early thirties and rather bedraggled. The child was darling with tightly curled blond hair, but appeared sick and dirty. She was dressed in soiled pajamas and a tiny robe.

Leading the way, Pitt took them back to an examination bay. He lifted the child up onto the table. Her blue eyes were glassy and her skin pale and moist. She was sick enough not to be overconcerned about the ER environment.

“Are you the doctor?” the mother asked. Pitt appeared much too young.

“The clerk,” Pitt announced. Having worked in the ER long enough and having checked in enough pre-screened patients Pitt was not self-conscious about his status.

“What’s the trouble, sweetheart?” Pitt asked as he wrapped a child’s blood pressure cuff around Sandra’s arm and inflated it.

“I got a spider,” Sandra said.

“She means a bug,” the mother interjected. “She can’t get that straight. It’s the flu or something. It hit her this morning with coughing and sneezing. I tell you, it’s always something with kids.”

The blood pressure was fine. As Pitt undid the cuff he noted a colorful Band-Aid on Sandra’s right palm.

“Looks like you got a booboo too,” Pitt said. He got the body temperature instrument and was about to get a reading.

“A rock bit me in the yard,” Sandra said.

“Sandra, I told you not to fib,” Mrs. Evans said. It was obvious the mother was at the limit of her patience.

“I’m not fibbing,” Sandra said indignantly.

Mrs. Evans made an expression as if to say, “What can I do?”

“Have a lot of rocks bitten you?” Pitt teased. He got a reading. The child had a temperature of 103° Fahrenheit. He wrote it and the blood pressure on the chart.

“Just one,” Sandra said. “A black one.”

“Guess we have to be careful with black rocks,” Pitt said. He then instructed the mother to watch the child carefully until the doctor came in.

Pitt headed back to the desk and slipped the chart into the rack where it would be picked up by the next available doctor. He was about to go behind the desk when the swinging doors that led to the outside burst open.

“Help me,” cried a man who was carrying a seizing woman. He staggered a few feet into the ER and threatened to collapse himself.

Pitt was the first person to reach the man’s side. Without a second’s hesitation he relieved the man of his burden by taking the woman into his own arms. It was difficult to hold her because she was still locked in the throes of a seizure.

By then Cheryl Watkins had come around from behind the desk along with several of the ER residents. Even Dr. Sheila Miller had dashed out of her office at the cries for help.

“Into the trauma bay,” Dr. Miller commanded.

Without waiting for a gurney, Pitt carried the twitching woman back into the depths of the ER. With the help of Sheila, who’d positioned herself on the other side of the examination table, Pitt put the patient down. As he did so his eyes met Sheila’s for the second time that day. No words were spoken but on this occasion a completely different message was conveyed.

Pitt backed up. Nurses and doctors jumped into the breach. Pitt stood there and watched, wishing he were at a stage in his training where he could participate.

The medical team which Sheila commanded quickly terminated the seizure. But then while they were beginning the evaluation of what caused the seizure, the patient had another, even more violent one.

“Why is she doing this?” the husband moaned. Everyone had forgotten he’d followed the group inside. One of the nurses went over to him and motioned for him to leave. “She’s got diabetes, but she’s never had a seizure. This shouldn’t be happening. I mean, all she got was a cough. She’s a young woman. Something is wrong, I know it.”

A few minutes after the husband had been led out to the waiting room, Sheila’s head snapped up so she could see the cardiac monitor. A sudden change in the sound of the beats had caught her attention.

“Uh oh,” she said. “Something’s going on here, and I don’t like it.”

The regular heartbeat had become erratic. Before anybody could react, the monitor’s alarm went off. The patient was fibrillating.

“Code red ER!” blared out of the intercom system. More ER doctors flew into the cubicle in response to the cardiac arrest call. Pitt backed up even further so as not to interfere. He found the episode both stimulating and frightening. He wondered if he could ever learn enough to participate capably in such a situation.

The team worked tirelessly but to no avail. Eventually Sheila straightened up and ran her forearm across her sweaty brow.

“OK, that’s it,” she said reluctantly. “We’ve lost her.” For the previous thirty minutes the monitor had traced a monotonous straight line.

The team hung their heads in dejection.

The old spring-loaded scale squeaked as Dr. Curtis Lapree allowed Charlie Arnold’s liver to slosh into its basin. The needle jumped up the scale.

“Well, that’s normal,” Curtis said.

“Did you expect it to be abnormal?” Jesse Kemper asked. He and Detective Vince Garbon had stopped by to observe the autopsy on the dead University Medical Center housekeeping employee. Both policemen were dressed in disposable contamination suits.

Neither Jesse nor Vince were at all intimidated or sickened by the autopsy. They’d witnessed a hundred or so over the years, especially Jesse, who was eleven years older than Vinnie.

“Nope,” Curtis said. “The liver looked normal, felt normal, so I expected it to weigh normal.”

“Getting any ideas what killed this poor chap?” Jesse asked.

“Nope,” Curtis said. “Looks like it’s going to be just another one of those mysteries.”

“Don’t tell me that,” Jesse said petulantly. “I’m counting on you to tell me if this was a homicide or accident.”

“Calm down, Lieutenant,” Curtis said with a laugh. “I’m just pulling your leg. You should know by now that the dissection part of the autopsy is just the beginning. In this case I expect the microscopic is going to be more important. I mean on gross, I don’t know what to make of the hole in the hand. Look at it!”

Curtis held up Charlie Arnold’s hand. “The damn hole is a perfect circle.”

“Could it be a bullet wound?” Jesse asked.

“You can answer your own question,” Curtis said. “With all the bullet wounds you’ve seen.”

“True, it doesn’t look like a bullet wound,” Jesse said.

“It sure as hell doesn’t,” Curtis said. “It would have had to be a bullet going the speed of light and hotter than the interior of the sun. Look at how everything got cauterized at the margins. And what happened to the missing tissue and bone? You said there was no blood or tissue at the scene.”

“Nothing,” Jesse said. “I mean no gore. There was melted glass and melted furniture, but no blood and no tissue.”

“What do you mean, melted furniture?” Curtis asked. He wiped his hands on his apron after removing the liver from the scale.

Jesse described the room, to Curtis’s utter fascination. “I’ll be damned,” Curtis said.

“Do you have any ideas?” Jesse asked.

“Sorta,” Curtis admitted. “But you’re not going to like it. I don’t like it either. It’s crazy.”

“Try me,” Jesse said.

“First let me show you something,” Curtis said. He went to a side table and brought back a pair of retractors. Putting them inside the deceased’s upper and lower lips, he exposed the teeth. The dead man assumed a horrid, grimacing expression.

“Oh, gross,” Vinnie said. “You’re going to give me nightmares.”

“Okay, Doc,” Jesse said. “What am I supposed to be looking at other than lousy dental work? Looks like the guy never brushed his teeth.”

“Look at the enamel of the front teeth,” Curtis said.

“I’m looking,” Jesse said. “Looks a little messed up.”

“That’s it,” Curtis said. He withdrew the retractors and returned them to the nearby table.

“Enough of this pussyfootin’ around,” Jesse said. “What’s on your mind?”

“The only thing I can think of that can do that to tooth enamel is acute radiation poisoning,” Curtis said.

Jesse’s face fell.

“I told you you weren’t going to like it,” Curtis said.

“Jesse’s very close to retirement,” Vince said. “It’s not nice to tease him like this.”

“I’m serious,” Curtis said. “It’s the only thing that relates all the findings, like the hole in the hand and the changes in the enamel. Even the cataracts that weren’t seen on his last yearly physical.”

“So what happened to this poor slob?” Jesse asked.

“I know it’s going to sound crazy,” Curtis warned. “But the only way I can relate all the findings so far is to hypothesize that someone dropped a red-hot pellet of plutonium in his hand that burned through and gave him an enormous dose of radiation in the process. I mean a whopping dose.”

“That’s absurd,” Jesse said.

“I told you you weren’t going to like it,” Curtis admitted.

“There was no plutonium at the scene,” Jesse said. “Did you check if the body were radioactive?”

“I did, actually,” Curtis said. “For personal safety concerns.”

“And?”

“It’s not,” Curtis said. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be up to my elbows into it.”

Jesse shook his head. “This is getting worse instead of better,” he said. “Plutonium, shit! That would be some kind of national emergency. Guess I’d better get someone over to that hospital and make sure there’s no hot spots. Can I use a phone?”

“Be my guest,” Curtis said agreeably.

A sudden burst of coughing got everyone’s attention. It was Michael Schonhoff, a mortuary tech, who was over at the sink washing the entrails. The coughing went on for several minutes.

“Jeez, Mike,” Curtis said. “You’re sounding worse. And pardon my expression, but you look like death warmed over.”

“Sorry, Dr. Lapree,” Mike said. “I guess I got the flu. I’ve been trying to ignore it, but now I’m starting to get chills.”

“Clock out early,” Curtis said. “Get yourself home and in bed, take some aspirin, and drink some tea.”

“I want to finish up here,” Mike said. “Then I want to label the specimen bottles.”

“Forget it,” Curtis said. “I’ll have someone else finish up.”

“Okay,” Mike said. Despite his protestations to the contrary, he was happy to be relieved.