This call came right after dinner. Martha would wrangle the little girls to bed, I could go do the coroner business and keep being a doctor in the morning. I was chipper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I didn\u2019t have to go far. It was dark, still late winter but not snowy or icy. We were in a thaw that teases the trees and bushes about spring.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This is a small town, and this scene was just about two miles from my house. The roads were wet but no ice. It was just off the two-lane highway heading to the eastern county and four blocks or so off the north south highway. These are two lane roads, no interstates in this country. But they were highways, nonetheless.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Martha and I used to live over here when I was trying to get into medical school. This is some thirty years back. I didn\u2019t know much about this house where I was going, though. We had known some neighbors, but not here.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This area was called \u201cSwede Town\u201d by the old timers. Frame houses 80 years old, some without foundations. Great for renting to students, back when such housing was affordable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I wasn\u2019t looking for the shiny thing when I decided I wanted to be a doctor. I truthfully, had no idea of the incredible income of physicians. A high school girl friend had a doctor as a dad, and they were sure better off than we were, but not lavish. Then I learned more in medical school, and still. Maybe shiny things draw us. Even when we don\u2019t look to the shine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I must have looked away from it. I chose the lowest paid specialty in the medical field, though I had all the credentials, scores, recommendations for the top paid ones. Sometimes that shiny thing repulses us. Sometimes it draws us to it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Our old Swede Town house had wool carpets that got moths in them, and in the winter the walls dripped condensation behind the posters we put up. When it got real cold the electric wall heaters ran nonstop. We loved that place. Our first little baby was born into that hovel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We liked the little home, and the rent was what we could afford. It was a happy time in our young married life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This house looked like a rental too as I parked. I found a spot in the alley behind a patrol car. There were two, both city cops here in town. A patrolman was by the door. The house had a board porch, soft and rotting I could feel, and the paint was peeling. But with some work it could have been nice. It seemed to have a foundation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDetective Frye is inside.\u201d I went in past the uniform at the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
All the lights were on, and the unkempt home gritted under foot. The linoleum crackled, though the floor didn\u2019t seem springy. I saw two uniforms in the main room and Detective Frye talking with them. He turned as I came in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSorry to get you out this evening.\u201d He smiled. He and I went way back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI wasn\u2019t doing anything. What have we got?\u201d We become four men, listening to one tell the tale.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThe deceased is in the basement.\u201d He gives me the name and age. \u201cSeventeen-year-old male.\u201d I don\u2019t know him, at least by his name. But neither could I remember the names of most the patients I had seen today in the clinic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I think I decided to forget names early in this small-town practice so that uncontrollable reaction of recognition wouldn\u2019t betray me in idle or stupid conversation. Maybe that\u2019s just my excuse for bad memory.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My medical school board scores refute that. I can remember long lists of nerves, muscles, bones and body parts and I can tell you just how they are connected. But I can\u2019t, or don\u2019t remember the names of the patients I see. I need analysis.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt seems there was some partying here tonight. There were four, maybe five people here. They have all corroborated the story. We\u2019ve gotten their statements.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cFour or five?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYeah, it seems one person left before this went down. We have her name. We\u2019re tracking her down.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou know these folks?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His thin-lipped smile again. \u201cYeah.\u201d And nods.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSo, this is a party house.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He shifts. \u201cKinda. We haven\u2019t gotten anybody out of here for selling, but we know these folks use. And we know the deceased from prior interactions.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat are they using?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The smile again. \u201cLots, doc. Mainly meth, but marijuana and some heroin. Pills. You name it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My old neighborhood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He pauses. I appreciate when someone is trying to develop a narrative. It can\u2019t always be done.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWell, they were partying here. There were the three folks who live here, maybe about 6 o\u2019clock. The deceased came in and they all described him as kind of jittery, anxious, high strung. They smoked some dope to try to mellow him out and he seemed to relax they said. Then the girl came in.\u201d He gave me her name, but I didn\u2019t know it, or remeber it either.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThey were all talking and being friendly, but the kid started bugging the girl and she ran out.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWas she his girlfriend?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNot according to the three guys. We haven\u2019t talked to her yet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The weak couch is behind us, dirty and saggy. The corner has a lamp and there is a low cheap coffee table strewn with life and death and garbage. There\u2019s a dirty soft chair in the corner, and another chair, not very comfortable against a wall. I can kind of see the scene.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSo, what happened?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Detective Frye winces. Like his narrative might be weakening. We all wait. \u201cThe guys say he seemed to snap. He grabs the gun\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat gun?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOh yeah, I forgot to say. They all described that they, one of the guys, had a gun he kept on the coffee table there.\u201d He gestures toward the strewn low table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSo, he grabs the gun?\u201d
\u201cYeah, he grabs the gun and runs down the hall.\u201d He gestures again, to our right. \u201cThey all thought he was pulling his usual drama and kind of laughed about it. Then they heard the shot in the basement. And called us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThey didn\u2019t go down there?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Detective Frye nods, acknowledging he has pushed the narrative. \u201cYeah, one guy went down and looked at him and that\u2019s when we got the call.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLet\u2019s go look.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He leads me down the hall and down the stairs. Few houses in Swede Town have basements. This one was small and dank, as might be expected. It\u2019s wet outside, and the ground is not fully frozen. But there was no water to walk in down here, no pools, just the damp smell of wet concrete below grade.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was a bathroom down here. The original builder must have seen some value in excavating so far down. For the deceased young man was sitting on a toilet seat, lid down, in a dank well-lit bathroom, now splattered with his brains and blood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A large caliber shiny revolver laid on the concrete floor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He was reclining back toward the toilet tank, his arms relaxed by his sides, like he might be at peace, except the top of his head was gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked closely at what was left. It looked like he might have had curly blond hair, since the front of his scalp remained. The eyes might have been blue, though the lids were half down. Around his mouth there were short, linear lacerations radiating outward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I turned to Detective Frye. \u201cHow do you read this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He shrugs. \u201cHe came down here and shot himself.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cCan you see that he put the gun in his mouth?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He leans in and looks closely. \u201cYeah, I can see it. There\u2019s that hole back there in the back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cCan you see the stippling around the entrance wound? That\u2019s from the powder from a near contact wound.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He looks at me and looks onto the open mouth again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSee the splits on his lips? That means he closed his mouth around the barrel and when it fired, they were blown outwards.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He looks again and nods.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Might as well share what I have learned. It\u2019s not shiny or bright, this business of investigating death. The revolver sure was, there on the cement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou can clear that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The detective has his vinyl gloves but looks up. \u201cI\u2019ll have to go get an evidence bag.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I shrug.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A patrol officer had followed us down. He moves behind and points to a defect in the lousy tile above the toilet. \u201cI think I can get the slug out of here. See, I think it\u2019s imbedded.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Detective Frye tells him to do his best, then heads up to do his business. I stand upright.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m not sure what that slug will tell you. I can call it. We\u2019ll get blood for tox, but I don\u2019t see the need for an autopsy. I\u2019m going to go now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The shiny revolver lays on the damp floor, splattered with just a bit of blood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYeah, doc, you can go.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Cause of Death: Gunshot wound to the head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Manner of Death: Suicide<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
This call came right after dinner. Martha would wrangle the little girls to bed, I could go do the coroner business and keep being a doctor in the morning. I was chipper. I didn\u2019t have to go far. It was … Continue reading