“The father is a drunk and has been a drunk since the Bennet Shoe factory closed,” Bob said. “So, he’s not capable of pulling off anything like this. And the mother is the quintessential grandmotherly type who wouldn’t be capable, either.”
At that point Melanie returned. “No problem with our pharmacy,” she reported. “There wasn’t even any evidence of someone trying to get into the room. And I looked around a bit more in the waiting room and the exam rooms. I don’t see any evidence whatsoever of anyone being in here.”
“Do you want to put off doing the autopsy on the body that is still here?” Laurie asked. “We don’t care when we do it, do we, Jack?”
“Actually, I do have a preference,” Jack said. “I’d like to do it this morning since I don’t know what time Warren and his girlfriend might arrive. I’m assuming it’s going to be this afternoon, but I want to be available and at the house.”
“Good point,” Laurie said.
“I’d like to get it done as well,” Bob said. “Particularly withpatients scheduled to start at one thirty. But let me first make a quick call to Bill Hargrove and report we had a body theft. I’d also like to check whether or not anything at all out of the ordinary was seen last night. I know he has his team check on the clinic every night. My sense is that the police need to be involved because this unexpected body disappearance must have some overarching significance that we’re completely missing, especially with it happening in the middle of these confusing and rapidly progressive dementia cases.”
“Do you think they are related?” Laurie questioned.
“I’ve no idea,” Bob admitted. He threw up his hands in frustration. “Something like this is not supposed to happen here in our isolated Shangri-la. Let me apologize to you guys. I’m sorry! Truly I am.”
“Don’t be silly,” Laurie said. “We certainly don’t blame you, and we’re perfectly happy to take it in stride.”
“Besides,” Jack admitted. “I kinda like conundrums, and this has the makings of a good one.”
Chapter 15
Thursday, July 24, 10:41a.m.
Essex Falls, New York
“Please accept my apologies yet again for this strange situation,” Bob said as he, Jack, and Laurie stepped out of the changing room back into the autopsy room. Finally, they were about to commence the autopsy on Stanley Kramer, and all four of them were suited up in surgical gowns with overlying yellow, impermeable aprons, surgical gloves, and face shields. Bob put his single lens reflex camera on the dissecting table.
“No need for apologies,” Laurie assured their host. “As chief medical examiner in NYC, I am no longer surprised by the strange snafus that can occur in and around morgues.”
“But here in Essex Falls?” Bob questioned with a definite sense of disbelief.
“Anywhere!” Laurie assured him. “I’m convinced it goes with the territory. There’ll be an explanation, despite how incomprehensible it seems at the moment.”
“And the explanation will come as a surprise, something you never thought about,” Jack added.
“I hope you are correct,” Bob said. “And I hope the reveal happens sooner rather than later because I’m going to lose sleep over this.”
Melanie, who was equivalently outfitted, brought the gurney with Stanley Kramer’s body out from the cooler. She removed the sheet and then positioned the gurney alongside the autopsy table. Bob went to the head and Jack to the foot. On the count of three, they lifted the corpse onto the table, while Melanie wheeled away the gurney. The body was a strikingly pale fifty-year-old man about six feet tall with a few extra pounds around the midriff but otherwise in reasonably good physical condition, with defined musculature of his arms. When Jack commented on this, Bob agreed.
“He was quite active, seemingly healthy, and reasonably athletic,” Bob said. “Prior to this terminal event, I’d only seen him once professionally and that was years ago. He even very occasionally showed up at our pickup basketball games and would have been a better player if he’d come more often. But he was a hard worker before this sudden episode of rapid cognitive decline.”
“What kind of work did he do?” Jack asked as his trained eye took in all the details that were apparent, the mermaid tattoo on his left forearm and mild varicosities on his lower limbs.
“A plumber who’d learned his trade in the US Navy,” Bob said. “He’d worked for the Bennet Shoe factory up until the day it closed, but then was one of the few people able to start his own business in town and remain living here. As such, he’s been a distinct asset in all regards. We are going to miss him on multiple levels.”
“And as the only doctor in town, I’m assuming you’d seen him as a patient when this current problem arose,” Laurie said.
“Of course,” Bob responded. “His wife, Darlene, brought Stanley in almost two weeks ago.”
“It was more like a week and a half ago,” Melanie offered.
“Whatever,” Bob said with a bit of apparent frustration at being corrected. But then he quickly apologized. “Anyway, she’d found him wandering in their backyard confused and seemingly lost.”
“Whoa!” Jack said. “So, the problem of cognitive decline started like a bolt from the blue?”
“Well, not exactly,” Bob said. “When Darlene brought him, she said she’d been noticing mounting problems for about a week with Stanley, but the symptoms were initially rather subtle, such as difficulty sleeping, irritability, and forgetfulness. But on that particular day it had become undeniable that something was definitely wrong, and whatever it was, it was getting worse.”
“So, what did you do?” Jack asked.
