THE MERCY MURDERS

                                                Prologue

            The old woman was on a mission as she walked down the Miami General hospital corridor.  Her gray-white scraggly hair was too tired to curl and, but for her horn-rimmed glasses, covered her face.  She was tall, or used to be before her bones slumped and gave her a rounded hump on her back.  Her  brown orthopedic shoes shuffled over the linoleum floor as she walked a slow gait assisted by a three footed cane.  Her hand gripped a small bouquet of cheerful yellow daisies.  No one paid her any mind as they rushed past on their varied missions of mercy.  

        Clarence Hill took up residence in the  room at the end of the corridor a few weeks ago.  This last stroke had robbed him of speech, movement, and thought.  His body breathed on with the help of the respirator.  Intravenous lines in both arms supplied fluids and medications to keep his heart and lungs functioning, while a Foley catheter drained out the waste.  A monitor next to the bed gave the faint beep of a steady heartbeat.  The room already had a slight odor of death and decay.  No amount of medical treatment or industrial cleaner could erase the inevitable scent.

        The old woman  walked in and stood at the foot of the bed studying Clarence.  He must have been a handsome man in his day, tall and strong in his youth, she thought, but now the victim of time and circumstance.  How he must hate this torture!  She placed the flowers on the bedside table and bowed her head to say a short prayer.  Clarence deserved better.

        She put on some gloves from a shelf above the sink, then removed a small plastic baggy from the pocket of her formless dress.  From within, she withdrew a small specially prepared cotton swab. Walking over to Clarence, she wiped the inside of his mouth with the moistened swab before replacing it back into the baggy.  Then, she placed the baggy back into her pocket and put the gloves into the red medical waste basket where she knew they would be incinerated.  Her mission was complete.  She left the flowers.

        The old woman walked back down the corridor with her shuffling gait.  Slow and easy.  Behind her,  the monitor began a frantic beat.  The alarms sounded and the staff ran to Clarence.  She could have told them,  it would do no good to try.

                                                ***

        Mary Tudor had been in the Lamont Nursing Center for two years.  During that time, she lost the last of herself.  Now the aides used a large syringe to push her dinner via a gastric tube placed through her abdominal wall and into her stomach.  Mary had forgotten how to chew.

        A young man walked briskly down the hall, his sneakers making little sound on the tile floor.  He was tall, straight and clean-shaven with shaggy brown hair. An old leather jacket covered his white tee shirt. Faded  blue jeans gave him a worn out look.  During visiting hours, there were a few other guests finding their way into different rooms.  But, Mary didn’t have any visitors.  Her husband died years ago and they were never blessed with children.  She was alone.

        When he entered her room, the young man looked around and was sad to see nothing personal.  He walked to the bedside and patted Mary’s hand before planting a kiss on her forehead.  He bowed his head and said a short prayer.  Putting on gloves from the bedside table,  he took out the baggy with the moistened swab.  He gently pried open Mary’s mouth and ran the swab around the interior.  Replacing the swab into the baggy, he dumped the gloves into the red trash bag and left.  Within minutes, Mary’s heart began to flutter and then to fibrillate.  Her death was quick, silent and painless.

                                                ***

        The janitor pushed his bucket and pail down the Lutheran Hospital corridor.  He was tall with a rounded belly, probably from too many beers, and his long salt and pepper hair was pulled back into a ponytail reminiscent of younger days.  His gray mustache desperately needed trimming and drooped over his upper lip.  

        “I have a mess in room 232.  Can you take care of it?”  the nurse’s aide asked.

        “Sure can,”  the janitor rumbled.  “Right after I finish in room 244.”

        “Thanks.”

        The Janitor entered room 244.  William Tyler slept in a drugged fog.  The cancer had spread throughout his bones.  Both legs had been amputated below the knee and chemo had failed.  His spine, ribs and femurs were riddled with metastasis.  His care consisted of trying to manage his pain.  He was a brave man, a veteran who had faced death in two wars without complaint.  He cried now.  William deserved better. The janitor looked around the room.  There were pictures everywhere...smiling family shots and homemade cards saying, “Grandpa, we love you”.  

        The janitor took out the baggy and put on some gloves from the bedside table.  He bowed his head, said a short prayer, and with practiced care, the swab was deployed.  Williams eyes opened for a moment and looked into the kind eyes of the janitor.

        “It’ll be better soon,”  the janitor whispered as he put the swab away.  Pushing his bucket and mop, the janitor left to clean room 232.  Behind him, William’s heart began to flutter, then fibrillate.  With a grateful sigh, his pain ceased.

                                                Chapter 1                                        

        Glory sipped her third cup of coffee as she shuffled through the day’s paperwork.  Her computer had a faint buzz that annoyed the hell out of her, but IT couldn’t seem to clean it up.  The county was too cheap to replace the old workhorse.  “Not in the budget,” was the predictable answer.  One would think being the Chief Medical Examiner would give her some leverage.  She was tempted to have an accident with her coffee, but an overactive conscience stopped her.  She still felt guilty about the nickel she took from Kathy Taylor’s desk in first grade.

        Looking out the window, Glory watched the sunset over the ocean.  The view from her office window was the biggest perk of her job.  She watched the sunsets every chance she got and never saw the same one twice.  Her chair creaked as she leaned back to enjoy the show with the last of her coffee.  She sighed.  This time of day was peaceful.  The office was empty, but for Glory, and she liked it that way.  The older she got, the more annoying people seemed to be.  Not that I’m old, she thought.

        “I better head for home,”  Glory said to her fern in the corner.  “I’ll finish up in the morning.”

        Glory picked up her purse and keys and headed to the parking garage.  Her 1966 Mustang fastback was her pride and joy.  The dark green exterior gleamed and the black leather interior smelled of the cleaner the detailer had used.  “Kate” was Glory’s reward for making Chief Medical Examiner.  Her friends thought she should upgrade her condo, but Glory said, “No, maybe later.”  She waved her fingers at Amos, the security guard, as she drove out of the garage and into traffic.  There was always traffic.  For her next vacation, she was going somewhere quiet...maybe a mountain cabin.  Change of scenery.  Glory got a few glances her way and smiled.  At her age, it was probably the car, she thought.

        Glory was a tall, lean, 40 year-old with short, no nonsense hair that accented her large expressive brown eyes. An athlete in her younger days, she still took the time for running.  Once or twice a year she ran a 5K race, but this year she may have to pass.  Her right knee was acting up and her orthopedist said it was time to stop.  She hated getting older...her body was supposed to do what she wanted it to do.  

        Darkness fell by the time she pulled into the condo garage.  She waved at the guard and drove into her parking spot.  Walking to the elevator, she put her keys through her fingers, a poor man’s brass knuckles.  A good punch with the protruding keys could do some damage.  Maybe she was paranoid, but after what she saw day after day, an ounce of prevention seemed a reasonable habit.  She pushed the elevator button for her floor and rode up to the music.  Why do they make elevator music so bland?  She’d prefer a little Queen.

        When she opened her condo doors, there was a chorus of welcoming meows.  Two Siamese Sealpoints greeted her at the door expecting their evening pats.  Glory dropped her keys in the bowl by the door, sat on the chair, and lavished attention on her babies.  Piwacket and Nemo were siblings Glory had raised from kittens.

        “C’mon babies.  Dinner time.”  The two followed her into the kitchen where dinner was served.  They ate before Glory. Too tired to cook tonight, she got out some leftover pasta.  She poured herself a glass of Merlot and collapsed into her recliner to relax with her dinner.  Another quiet night.  

        A random thought popped into her head.  Reports she had looked over during the last few weeks seemed to be circling around in her mind.  What was it?  She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something had her antenna up.  Maybe in the morning, when she wasn’t so tired, she’d look over everything again and inspiration would strike.  Right now, she wanted to relax in a hot bath and get a good night’s sleep.  So that’s what she did.

        The morning routine varied very little.  Wake up, brush teeth, drink the first cup of coffee, spoil the girls a little, get dressed and head to the office.  She avoided some of the early morning rush hour by leaving an hour early.  Getting to the office before everyone else gave her a few moments of peace to collect herself for the day...and a second cup of coffee. She worked until a rumbling stomach told her to pay attention.

        The cafeteria was crowded, but Glory went to the head of the line...another perk. “Chef’s salad and dinner roll, please.”  She headed for a table in the corner and joined the assistant district attorney, Claire Franks.  The two career women had formed a strong bond over the years, both very focused on their jobs and advancing up the ranks.  Claire was a graduate of Harvard Law and came to Miami as a public defender.  Soon after, she realized she was more suited to locking the scum away than with giving them their day in court.

        Claire and Glory couldn’t be more different in appearance.  Where Glory was tall and lean, Claire was short and reubenesque.  Glory was brown on brown, Claire had blonde hair and green eyes.  The coroner was a thoughtful woman of few words, the prosecutor was loquacious and had a short fuse. Their sense of humor however, was identical.  

        “How’s your day going?” Claire asked with a mouth full of french fries, her weakness.

        “Good enough        .  How’s the trial going?”  Glory referred to Claire’s latest high profile murder case.  A husband injected his terminally ill wife with enough morphine to kill her.  Claire said murder, the defense attorney said accidental overdose.  The husband testified the doses of morphine required to keep his wife’s pain under control kept increasing, and he just made a mistake.  Claire was going for murder, the defense was hoping for accidental death or manslaughter.

        “You think he did it on purpose?”  Glory said.

        “Sure do.” Claire added another squirt of ketchup to her fries.  There could never be enough ketchup...or salt.  “I don’t care if she was going to die anyway.  No one has the right to take a life.  And an interesting side fact is he gets her insurance...a nice little $200,000.  So I doubt his motive was just to ease her suffering.”

        “They Shoot Horses, Don’t They,”  Glory smiled.

        “Movies have  nothing to do with real life.”

        “Okay...okay, don’t get riled.  Only teasing.”

        “Sorry.  This case has me a  little hyped.  Think I’ll need a drink.  How about going to O’Malleys after work?”  Claire finished her last fry and wiped her hands.  Glancing at her watch, she jumped up.  “Gotta get back to court.  See you at 6?”

        “Sure.  Give ’em hell.”

                                                Chapter Two

        The tall scrub tech pushed the gurney down Miami General’s fourth floor corridor.  His hair was covered by a blue surgical cap and a mask hung loose about his neck.  Thick-framed black glasses and a small black mustache gave him a studious look.  He left the gurney outside room 402.  Inside, he found an elderly woman sleeping slumped over against the side rail.  After pushing her upright, he lowered the head enough to keep her from sliding against the rail again.  Her breathing became more labored.  He bowed his head for a short prayer, took the swab packet out of his pocket, and after putting on the gloves, swabbed her mouth.  The swab went back into his pocket.  Then, as her heart fluttered, he pushed the gurney back down the hall to the elevator.

                                                        ***

        “Good morning, boss lady. I’ve got fifty deaths last night,”  Casey said as she entered Glory’s office Wednesday morning.

        “Tell me and cut the boss lady crap,”  Glory said. Casey was going to take some breaking in.

        “Okay, Chief.  First, was a Phillip Carstairs, 38, killed in a motor vehicle accident... DUI.  Second, Timothy Carstairs, 6, also killed in the accident.  Third, Ann Pensacki, 42, probable suicide.  There are 12 heart attacks and 3 strokes. Two are homicides. Here’s the list.”

        “How many listed for autopsy?”  Glory said.

        “I think it was 10.”

        “What about this cancer patient with COPD, Melanie Harris, 80?”

        “She’s not listed.”

        “Put her on also.  Got a request from the family.  Assign Dr. Anderson to her.  We have a student who needs to observe and Anderson loves to teach.  She’ll be a good case. And Casey, no Chief either.  It’s just Glory.”

          Time for another cup of coffee.  The rest of the day Glory was buried in paperwork.  There was an inquest to prepare for and the monthly statistics report on deaths in her jurisdiction was due.  By the time she finished, the sun set.  Glory stood and did a few stretches to get the kinks out her shoulders.  

She dumped a glass of water into her fern and turned the lights off.  

        “Good morning, Phil,”  Glory said as she entered the lab two days later.  “You about ready to start the case?”

        “Yeah...just give me a minute.”  Dr. Phil Anderson signed off his computer and rose to shake Glory’s hand. “Haven’t seen you in awhile.”

        “You’re not going to O’Malley’s much anymore.”  Glory smiled as they put on the exam gloves.

        “No.  My fiance is not real fond of bars, so …”  Phil shrugged.

        “Keep her happy, Phil.  She’s a nice lady and more than you deserve!”

        “Thanks for the first and I’ll ignore the second.”

        “Where’s the student?”

        “Men’s room,” Anderson said.  They both looked up as an earnest young man walked into  the lab.

        “Sorry,” he said blushing.  “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

        “Joe Thomas, this is Glory Vandenburg, our Chief Medical Examiner,” Anderson said.

        “Thank you for permitting me to observe, Dr. Vandenburg.”

        “You’re welcome, Joe.  I hope I selected a good case for you.  You’ve had your normal anatomy. This case will show you advanced diseased states, especially the effects of emphysema and lung cancer on lung tissue.”

        Melanie Harris was already lying on the exam table.  Dr. Anderson adjusted the microphone he wore to record his findings.  The first step was to examine the body externally.  Phil always approached an autopsy as a clean slate.  He carefully cleared his mind of any preconceived notions as to cause of death.  Everything, to the smallest detail, was described for the recorder.  Lesions were measured, swabbed if appropriate, and photographed.  In Melanie’s case, there were needle marks from injection and intravenous sites, and a few bruises from blood draws.  Phil compressed her chest and inhaled near her nose to check for any odor.  He opened Melanie’s mouth and noted the inflamed mucous membranes.

        “Look at this.”  Phil motioned Glory to his side.

        “Looks a little red,”  Glory said.  

        “Yeah,”  Phil said.  “was she intubated?”

        “No,”  Glory said after checking the admission sheet. “Well, I have to get to a hearing, so I’ll let you get back to work.  Call me if you find anything of interest. Nice meeting you, Joe.”

        A few hours later when Glory returned from the hearing, she stopped by the lab to talk to Phil.  He was cleaning up and the body was already back in the cooler.

        “Find anything?”  Glory asked.

        “About what you expected.  Her lungs were full of cancer and fairly advanced COPD.  Not sure how she lived as long as she did.”  Phil finished washing his hands.  

        “What was the cause of death?”

        “Cardiovascular...in the end.”

        “I think the family is trying to make a malpractice case.  Delayed diagnosis or something.  How did Joe do?”

        “Only threw up once.  Asked a lot of pretty good questions, though.”

        “Then he did better than I did. Thanks for your help.”