The Absence of Mercy by John Burley Read Free Book Online

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.
    â€œListen, 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—”
    â€œUmm . . . Dr. S?”
    â€œWhat is it, Nat?”
    â€œThis 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.”
    â€œI know. It’s pretty—”
    â€œAnd 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.”
    â€œI wasn’t trying to—”
    â€œYou wanna weigh all them organs by yourself, type the report, and spend another forty minutes cleanin’ up afterward?”
    â€œI think I can handle—”
    â€œHow many hours you wanna be here tonight anyway, Dr. S?”
    â€œIt’s not about—”
    â€œ 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.
    â€œHow do you know?” Ben asked. He was buying time while he tried to make up his mind.
    â€œHow do I know what ?”
    â€œHow do you know the assailant chucked his wiener, as you like to put it, into the woods?”
    â€œOh. 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.”
    â€œI . . . see,” Ben said.
    The two men stood there for a while longer, neither speaking, as they surveyed the mutilated body.
    â€œWell, what’s it gonna be?” Nat challenged, impatient for a decision.
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œ 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.”
    â€œHow ‘bout you begin by pluggin’ in that Stryker saw for me, will ya?”
    â€Riiigghht . ”
    â€œOkay. 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.
    â€œGreat.” 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