This doesn’t mean you won’t have to read about more, the ones in the middle…You should.
Sid wondered just why the prosecutor wanted him to come up to the courthouse. The message had come a couple days before, so he cleared out a couple of the early afternoon slots. Was he in trouble?
He parked the old ’54 Chevy in the lot. The Hilux had rusted away, but he still used it for dump runs. When he struggled with buying a new truck Martha had looked at him with wonder. “What have you always wanted?”
A new 4WD Toyota would be cool and practical. But he’d remembered the old 1953 Chevy his grandmother had. Four speed gearbox, steady engine. He’d told her he wanted it when he’d helped her move from the old place into town.
“But Jason said he wants it.” The truck was worn but in really good shape overall.
Jason was his cousin’s husband. “He’ll take good care of it. You should give it to him It’s a beauty. He’ll take good care.”
Then, on a later visit, he’d seen the truck gliding through the little Eastern Oregon hamlet. The side was caved in and the muffler blasting. It was beat to shit.
“Gramma, did you give that truck to Jason?”
“No, Honey. I sold it to a guy here in town. He was going to use it to get wood. I didn’t want there to be no bad blood between you two.”
A gem trashed to preserve nothing. Sid knew this sentiment, this insidious peacemaking.
But he’d found an old truck and fixed it up and now, in his later years of practice, he had some pride in it. It glowed in the lot.
He’d even taken it on coroner calls. Folks recognized him rolling up. Sometimes, at least. Once on the highway east of town, called to a motor vehicle death, he’d passed around the line of cars a deputy was holding. Sid could see the frown from a distance as he rolled up. “You’re supposed to stay in line.” The deputy had barked at him.
Sid smiled and looked down. “Sorry, but I’m the coroner.”
The deputy smiled back and said to come on.
As he strode up to the steps, he was again wondering just what mistake he had made.
The prosecutor met him in the hall. “Good, you’re here. We’re all here.” He said to a young woman who went into a room behind him.
“What’s this about?”
“I haven’t had time to brief you on this.” He held a folder. “We’re meeting with a family who had a child die a few years back. It seems the child’s death was declared a natural death by the coroner at the time, but they have found that such was not the case. I apologize I couldn’t get these documents to you earlier to review, but the medical records are all here.”
Sid looked at the manila folder. It was thin. That’s good. “What’s going on here?”
The prosecutor took a deep breath and launched in. “They have legitimate grievance. We are trying to assure them such an injustice would not happen again.”
“Injustice?”
The prosecutor handed Sid the folder. “Why don’t you look through this. When you’re done, come on in.” He went through the door and Sid opened the folder.
The top sheets were an autopsy report for a 9-month-old child from the big city in a neighboring state. They described the cause of death as injury to internal organs from blunt trauma. The manner of death was listed as homicide.
The next few pages described the hospital course for the infant before the autopsy was needed. Sid scanned them, knowing the pathways taken.
There were police reports after that, usual observations, nothing glaring.
The last page was the official death certificate. So familiar, he had done so many of these. But the coroner had put ‘pneumonia” as the cause of death, and “natural” as the manner of death. Sid couldn’t clearly read the coroner’s signature, but he knew of this guy.
This county had elected doctors to be coroners forever. That’s why he was currently serving. But doctors aren’t always honest, Sid knew. And Sid knew more.
This doctor had left town under a cloud. He had been a member of a prominent conservative church, but his sexual orientation was not accepted by their dogma. Sid just knew rumors of this history. But here’s his name, and here’s this death certificate.
Sid went into the room.
There was a big Formica table and about ten people seated around it. Sid only knew the prosecutor and two others. They were an older couple he had seen in the clinic with some of their many children. He knew them to be of the same faith as the former coroner, the fugitive doctor.
“And this is Doctor Hawthorne, our county coroner.” The prosecutor intoned.
Sid nodded to the couple. He knew them from clinic visits.
The prosecutor continued. “You have read the reports. This family is here today to get our assurances that such a miscarriage of justice will never happen again.”
Sid didn’t speak. They needed to.
The story came out. The day care providers were trusted church members. The coroner also was of their faith, though, they acknowledged, he had lapsed. They believed what they had been told. But then when autopsy results were revealed…. Tears flowed. They felt a deep wound.
And so did Sid.
But inside he felt some relief. It was not his fuck up. He slowly grasped just who was around this table. There was probably an agent from the county’s insurance company and at least a lawyer or two representing their interests. And since this had occurred in the city, Sid imagined some lawyers from them were here. He looked down at the folder. He looked across at the sad couple.
The baby was dead.
“I wish I could assure you.” He placed the folder on the Formica.
“I have done my best to insure good investigations of childhood deaths. I have instituted child death investigations in this county. Whenever a child dies, the death is reviewed by a panel. Our state is the only state in the union that does not have a statewide review, but we do this here in our county. I cannot assure you that such will be the case in the future. The county coroner is an elected position. The voters will make this call. I am so sorry for this. I wish it had been done differently.”
Sid left the basement room and got into the 54 Chevy pickup. He sat a bit before turning the key and stomping the starter button.
The next day he found the phone number of the former coroner.
It was a brief conversation.
That night he replaced the coil on the old pickup in his cold garage. He tried to keep things running. It brought him peace.