Scratchgravel Road (Josie Gray Mysteries #2)(22)

She knocked on a closed steel door with the words COUNTY CORONER painted in black block letters. She heard Cowan yell, “Enter,” and found him leaning over a body laid out on a stainless steel gurney. Josie stared at the opened head cavity a moment too long and turned her head, forcing herself to keep a passive expression over the revulsion she felt.

The room was constructed similarly to the jail’s kitchen. Both were outfitted with stainless steel cabinets and countertops with the equipment stored neatly away.

Cowan wore a white lab coat, plastic gloves, white mask, and blue surgical cap. He looked up at Josie over his reading glasses. “Stop!”

She stopped and raised her hands.

“No farther until you suit up.”

“What’s this all about?”

“I don’t like what I see.”

“The sores?” she asked.

“I have no idea what this is. It isn’t necrotizing fasciitis. Beyond that, I’m not sure. I’ve never seen sores like this.”

“Are they all over his body?”

“Both arms, and two spots on his head, which would indicate the sores were caused by exposure to something external.”

“Was the blow to the head what killed him?” she asked.

“I’m not ready to say, but it was obviously a brutal blow.”

“Intended to either kill him, or knock him unconscious to die of exposure?”

Cowan shrugged.

“It’s enough to officially rule this a murder investigation?”

“I would agree with that,” he said.

Josie thought about the information while staying twenty feet away from the body. “I came for fingerprints and to get the evidence. It is safe?”

“Suit up.”

Not looking forward to the task ahead of her, and now wishing she had not come, she walked over to a wall of stainless steel cabinets. Cowan asked her to wash up in the sink across the room, then directed her to the correct cabinet where she found gloves, a mask, and a cap and lab coat like the ones Cowan wore. She used her fingers to pull her hair out of her ponytail, then pulled it back up again into a messy bun that would fit under the surgical cap. If he had offered her a full-body hazmat outfit she would have gladly taken it.

As she approached, Cowan was bent over, examining a section of the man’s brain. “The cerebellum and hippocampus. They can clue us in to possible asphyxiation.”

Josie murmured a response and studied the open head cavity, slowly getting accustomed to the sight and antiseptic smell while willing her stomach to settle.

“I’ve cleaned the hands and prepared them for you. Feel free to jump in.” Cowan continued working as he talked. “Preliminary findings are, male, about sixty years old, five feet eleven inches, one hundred sixty-five pounds. No identification present on the body. Identifying marks are a dark brown birthmark on his left calf, approximately two inches long and a half inch wide. He has no hair on his head or his arms. It appears he may have received chemotherapy, although I’ve seen no evidence of any surgeries or cancer. It’s still early.”

“When do you expect to finish?”

“It may be tomorrow. The lesions are a continuing mystery. I’ll have fluid, specimen, and tissue samples ready for toxicology today, but you’re looking at seven to ten days for results.”

Josie had brought a small fingerprint kit with her and opened it on top of the counter next to the body. Cowan could have taken prints for her, but she typically took her own for a homicide. It was a good chance to talk with him about the body.

Trying to warm him up, Josie asked him, “How did you end up here? Weren’t you a family doctor in Presidio?”

Cowan pulled away from the body and rested his hands on the gurney, giving his full attention to the question. “In case you have not noticed, people skills are not my forte. I did not have the bedside manner people wanted. So, I found a way to practice without having to chitchat.”

“Smart move.”

“I am the primary care physician for the dead,” he said, and bent back over his microscope. “It is gratifying work.”

Josie nodded in admiration. Outwardly Cowan didn’t appear to be a happy man, but Josie suspected he led a very content life as a loner.

The body lay prostrate, covered by a blue disposable sheet. The head was uncovered, as were the arms, which were lying on top of the sheet. The open wounds were grotesque and Josie forced herself to focus on the hands, which fortunately were not affected. She held the hand, still cold from the cooler, and rolled each finger on an ink pad, then printed it on a card attached to a small clipboard. The process for both hands took about ten minutes. Cowan talked quietly to himself throughout the process, measuring areas of the brain with calipers, photographing and making notes in a tablet that lay beside him on a rolling table.

“Have his clothing and personal effects been cleared? I want to take them back with me to the evidence locker.”

He looked up and frowned. “Not until I get toxicology back. You’re welcome to pull everything out.” He pointed to a row of six lockers at the end of the wall cabinets. “His effects are in the top locker. Everything is stored in a plastic bag. Just keep your mask and gloves on as a precaution.”

Josie pulled the plastic bag out and laid it on a steel examination table to the right of the table Cowan was using. She pulled out a pair of black work boots, blue jeans, and a blue and white plaid Western-style cotton shirt. She also pulled out several other small plastic bags with evidence inside, and recognized Otto’s angular handwriting. He had written a brief description, the time, and the date on a white rectangular area on the outside of each bag with a black permanent marker.