transfixed upon the body. Ben was suddenly embarrassed. He should’ve had enough sense to send Nat home as soon as he’d unzipped the bag. This was not something a twenty-two-year-old needed to watch, regardless of his chosen occupation. When Karen Banks had agreed to allow Nat to volunteer at the CO, she had done so with an implicit understanding that Ben would watch out for her son’s physical and psychological welfare, and he regarded the trust and deference Nat’s parents had extended to him seriously. During his time at the CO, Nat had taken part in scores of autopsies, in cases ranging from the ravages of metastatic cancer, to self-inflicted gunshot wounds, to the death of young adults involved in motor vehicle accidents. He had even assisted during pediatric autopsies – cases of SIDS and child abuse. The boy was no novice at witnessing some of the trauma and unpleasantness that could descend upon the human body. But this … well, this was a different matter altogether.
‘Listen, Nat. Why don’t you let me finish up here,’ he said. ‘It’s late, and I’m going to need you in the office early tomorrow to help Tanya man the phones. From the look of Brady Circle out there, I don’t think the press is going to give up that easily, and I imagine that Sam Garston from the Sheriff’s Department will be stopping by bright and early looking for the coroner’s report. The rest of this stuff I can just take care of by—’
‘Umm … Dr S?’
‘What is it, Nat?’
‘This case here is the most interesting, most important thing we’ve had come through these doors over the six years I’ve been workin’ here.’
‘I know. It’s pretty—’
‘And if you think … if you think I’m goin’ home in the middle of the autopsy just because some nutjob lopped off the guy’s wiener and chucked it into the woods, well … you can forget it.’
‘I wasn’t trying to—’
‘You wanna weigh all them organs by yourself, type the report and spend another forty minutes cleanin’ up afterward?’
‘I think I can handle—’
‘How many hours you wanna be here tonight anyway, Dr S?’
‘It’s not about—’
‘No way. Discussion over. I’m stayin’. Or … or you can find yourself another assistant.’
Nat stood across the table, arms crossed, glaring defiantly back at Ben. The two considered each other in silence, neither flinching, for perhaps twenty seconds. Apparently, Ben realized, his assistant was quite serious. He considered his short list of options: send Nat home and risk losing him as an assistant, or allow him to stay, thereby rendering himself at least partially responsible for the possible long-term effects the experience could have on the boy’s psychological well-being.
‘How do you know?’ Ben asked. He was buying time while he tried to make up his mind.
‘How do I know what?’
‘How do you know the assailant chucked his wiener, as you like to put it, into the woods?’
‘Oh. Cops found it at the scene. Fifty yards away from the body. Police canine actually tracked it down. It’s in a Ziploc bag taped to his right ankle.’
‘I … see,’ Ben said.
The two men stood there for a while longer, neither speaking, as they surveyed the mutilated body.
‘Well, what’s it gonna be?’ Nat challenged, impatient for a decision.
‘I don’t know,’ Ben sighed, tapping his fingers on the table. ‘I’m trying to decide whether I want to be responsible for further corrupting your already quite tenuous psychological stability.’
‘Too late, Dr S! I hang out in a Coroner’s Office. My psychological stability is already all blown to hell. Now gimme that scalpel. I’m gonna slice-an’-dice this turkey like a Thanksgiving dinner.’
Ben looked at him incredulously, shaking his head. ‘That’s so inappropriate I don’t even know where to begin.’
‘How ‘bout you begin by pluggin’ in that Stryker saw for me, will ya?’
‘Riiigghht.’
‘Okay. I’ll do it myself.’ Nat bent over and plugged the instrument’s umbilical cord into the outlet on the floor. ‘You want the chest opened, right? The usual?’
Ben said nothing.
‘Great.’ Nat nodded, as if he’d been given the green light to proceed. ‘Now step back, boss. I don’t wanna get shrapnel on your pretty white apron there. You jus’ leave this part to me.’
He picked up the bone saw and went to work.
It was nearly 2 a.m. by the time Ben pulled the Honda back into his driveway and set the parking brake. The rain had tapered to a thin drizzle, and the town seemed to have finally resigned itself to sleep. The interior lights of most of the houses Ben passed on the way home had been extinguished, and a fitful state of quietude had settled upon the neighborhood like a fine layer of fresh snow. Ben’s own house sat mostly in darkness, except for the exterior motion-sensor light near the front door, which snapped dutifully on as he approached the dwelling. He turned his key in the door lock, hearing the reassuring click of the dead bolt sliding back within its housing. Placing his hand upon the cold brass knob to which the evening’s precipitation still clung, he opened the door and stepped inside.
The front foyer sat mostly in shadows, and he snapped on a small lamp that rested atop a wooden cabinet to his right. The Stevensons’ massive harlequin Great Dane, Alex (‘Alexander the Great,’ as Joel lovingly referred to him with reverent, exaggerated bows), ever present at the front door to greet new arrivals, nuzzled Ben’s hand for affection, tail whipping ardently back and forth. True to his typical style, Alex stepped heavily and obliviously onto Ben’s left foot and, as the dog leaned into him, Ben was forced backward against the front door. At 180 pounds, the domesticated Goliath didn’t find it necessary to wait to be petted – he simply stood next to the closest person and leaned. The affection lavished upon him was merely an act of self-defense.
Ben ruffled the side of the big dog’s head as Alex buried his face in Ben’s leg. Ben placed his keys on the wall rack and took off his coat, listening to the subtle sounds of the house. The kitchen refrigerator hummed softly, warm air blew steadily from the wall vent to his left and the grandfather clock in the living room down the hall ticked quietly to itself, keeping its own perpetual rhythm. But it was more than these simple, mechanical sounds that he heard. On a deeper level, the house seemed to breathe of its own accord, shifting slightly as it continued to settle, growing more comfortable and more secure upon the foundation on which it rested. Both practically and figuratively, it held within it the very core of the family that lived here, providing warmth, refuge and an irrefutable sense of home. In doing so, it seemed infinitely stronger than the material from which it had been constructed. No matter what transpired during the course of the day, coming home to this place filled him with gladness, and helped to put the day’s events in better context. Alexander the Great wagged his tail contentedly from side to side in complete
