day they brought up twenty-six bodies. The
objective of the special emergency team that had been assembled, of which
McCarthy was a member, was to make a visual examination of the body, dictate
the details of observable injuries to a partner, catalogue personal property,
label and bag the bodies, and then accompany them to the Medical Examiner's
office where the team was to assist in identification and notification of the
next of kin.
Identifying the males was a simple process. Men normally
carried wallets that contained their IDs. The females were more difficult
unless a handbag was recovered in the vicinity of the body. If they had some
identifying object on their person, like an engraved ring or a charm with their
name or initial, it could be checked against the passenger manifest or, if
possible, against the seating assignments. Many females had never been
fingerprinted. Visual inspection by the next of kin was the swiftest and surest
method of female identification.
By the fourth day the bodies of more than half of the
people missing were recovered and fully identified. On that day a white female
had been deposited on the ribbon bridge. Nothing on her person gave a clue to
her identity, and a handbag had not been brought up with the body. Apparently
the woman had not been securely belted, and the impact of the crash had sent
her body hurtling through the fuselage. Assessing her, McCarthy dictated the characteristics
of her injuries, including physical markings that would be useful. Clutched in
her hand, inexplicably, were the remains of what looked like a flower, perhaps
a rose. When he looked at it more closely and touched her fingers, it slipped
from her grasp. A gust of wind carried it to the river where it sank below the
surface. Not important, McCarthy told himself as he continued his dictation.
"Age about thirty. Brunette. About one hundred and
twenty pounds. Blunt force trauma. A Casio wristwatch stopped at three-twenty
P.M., almost the recorded moment of impact. Front of skull caved in."
Kneeling, he had looked up and watched Charlie, his partner, turn away,
fighting the temptation to gag.
"Just bag her," he muttered.
"Looks like instant death. Not drowning like some of
the others."
"Lucky bitch."
"Lucky?"
At the Medical Examiner's office, partial autopsies were
made of every victim, personal property was assembled, and forms and
inventories were filled out and filed alphabetically. Polaroids were taken of
the face and body, and then the corpses were filed on trays in the Medical
Examiner's refrigerator.
Southair, reacting quickly, set up headquarters in a nearby
Marriott Hotel and took rooms for the relatives awaiting the news. After a body
was processed, the next of kin were brought in to the Medical Examiner's office
for a visual identification, and the body and personal property were released
to the relatives.
By the evening of the fourth day the woman's body had not
been identified. Her fingerprints had come back negative, which meant that she
had never been printed. Two sets of relatives with potential victims of the
same age and sex were brought in to view the body, also with negative results.
Relatives at the hotel had been questioned.
Since nearly half of the passengers were still to be
accounted for, McCarthy was not concerned. The lady would be identified by a
process of elimination. She was labeled Jane Doe and placed on a tray in the
refrigerator.
On the fifth day the weather was so severe that the divers
could not go down safely and operations were suspended, leaving the Homicide
division to concentrate on sorting personal property and cleaning up paperwork.
By then more than fifty bodies had been accounted for and claimed. Only Jane Doe
remained unidentified.
Because of the lull, McCarthy was able to pursue the
identity of the young woman. He matched all the known next of kin with the
various deceased yet to be recovered. There were a number of women in her age
category still on the
Learning to Kill: Stories