1 The Question of the Missing Head by E. J. Copperman Read Free Book Online

without protective clothing and equipment,” I agreed. “But that’s not all that indicates there was another person in the room.” I stopped and looked at the three of them. A long moment passed before they realized why I wasn’t continuing.
    Someone had to ask the question, and it was Ms. Washburn who understood first. “What other evidence is there, Mr. Hoenig?” she asked.
    I looked at her with a grateful expression, or at least that’s what I intended; I’m not always sure whether I accomplish the proper outwardly appearance. “The cylinder that held the nitrogen, and Ms. Masters-Powell’s head, was behind the body,” I explained. “Even if it had been possible for Dr. Springer to carry the cylinder before it suffered a breach, and even if she had begun to fall forward, the notion that she could have tossed it over her shoulder to land behind her is virtually an impossible one.”
    Detective Lapides’s mouth was open, but it wasn’t moving. He shook his head back and forth a few times but did not speak.
    “You weren’t in there very long,” Ackerman said to me. “How did you see that all in such a short time?”
    I suppose I blinked once or twice, but I don’t remember. “It doesn’t take long to see something,” I told him.
    Lapides then seemed to regain the power of speech, but his voice was higher than before, and his face reddened. “You’re taking him seriously ?” he shouted. “That’s all guesswork and tricks! I’m telling you, that woman had a heart attack—I’ve seen them before and I know what they look like!”
    “Will there be an autopsy, detective?” Ms. Washburn stepped in between the two men and seemed to want to defuse the situation. I admired her ability to read the emotions of the people in the room and take action so quickly; it was something I would not have been able to do.
    It appeared to work—Lapides’s face became less angry as he pondered the question. “Any time a death occurs when no one else is present, there’s an autopsy,” he said, puffing out his chest just a bit. “But the results won’t be public for a while. Dr. Ackerman, did she have any family we can contact?”
    “I don’t know,” Ackerman answered. “I’ll have to check …”
    He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence because Commander Johnson, breathing heavily and sweating profusely, made his way past the two uniformed officers at the door and confronted Ackerman.
    “What happened?” he demanded. “I told you we should have called the police before!”
    Ackerman’s face paled; Lapides’s head swiveled toward Ackerman as soon as Commander Johnson’s words were out of his mouth.
    “Called the police before about what ?” he demanded. “Did you know about this earlier?”
    Even Ms. Washburn couldn’t step in and make this situation any easier.
    “No, detective. There was … an incident here at the lab, but I thought Commander Johnson and his staff could handle it internally,” Ackerman said.
    “What kind of incident ?”
    “Before he begins,” I began, “there is something I need to address.”
    Lapides regarded me with a cocked eyebrow. “What’s that?”
    “May I go to lunch with my mother now?”

seven
    Ms. Washburn barely spoke as she drove, which was perfectly fine with me. A person who is comfortable with silence won’t require conversation, and those of us with Asperger’s Syndrome are more at ease when we don’t have to worry about saying something inappropriate or overemphasizing a topic we find fascinating that others, we eventually discover, do not.
    “I’ll drop you off at your mother’s, and then I’ll head for home,” she said. “I wasn’t planning on being involved in a murder investigation.”
    That stunned me a little. I didn’t think I’d missed any signals from Ms. Washburn indicating she was upset or frightened by the events at the Garden State Cryonics Institute. But I answered her as I would have even if such signals had been