"The Transgenic Falcon"

Houston exists inside the boundaries of Harris County. In that county, deaths of an unknown cause are investigated by the Institute of Forensic Science. Except if you are the carved-out enclave of Gen-Tech, then you have your very own facility attached to the internal hospital to do the job for you. That was where we went next.

It was just Johnny Round and myself, Belinda had been looking a little green at the idea of actual smelly, squishy bodies, so I took pity on her and asked if she could get me a handheld and load it up with everything Johnny’s people had so far, then meet me outside the hospital. Too bad I couldn’t assign some other errand for myself.

The G-T medical examiner was a short, portly, grandfatherly man who was far, far, to happy to get to use all the bright shinning equipment in the ME’s cubby. Dr. Mel Simpson bustled around his domain with the energy of a toddler, but there was something forced about his manner. I’d bet a c-note to a box of Krispy Kremes that it was his way of dealing with working on someone he knew.

Doc Simpson had met us at the big positive pressure door of the morgue with a box of gloves in one hand. I took a moment to pull a pair on and got an approving look from the chief sawbones at the smoothness which I had done so. There’s no trick really, it just takes practice, but there is no mistaking someone who hasn’t done it much. It’s the little things that make you rise or fall in someone’s estimation. I’d just climbed a rung with Simpson.

Now that I was protected from any creepy-crawly nastiness I offered my hand to the stout man.

“Eamon Hunt, Doc” I said introducing myself. “I’m working with Johnny here to find out what happened. Truth be told, I’m hoping you can fill in a bunch of pieces.”

“Good to know you, Hunt” Simpson said, giving my hand a single up and down, then dropping it. “My team and I have been working on it since we received the body this morning.”

“You have a team? Are there that many deaths here that you need a team?” I asked.

“Oh, no,” Simpson said, with a twinkling in his eye, “I hardly ever get to do my actual job, but I given that I got a call from Mr. Johnsons office explaining everything was on a get-it-done-yesterday basis, I used that clout to pull some staff from other departments.”

“I hope you didn’t pull in anyone from Cho’s teams!” I said in a hurry. Talk about contaminating evidence. Simpson laughed at that.

Johnny leaned in and said sotto voce, “Dr. Simpson was the Chief Medical Examiner for Chicago and Cook County for twenty years, I think he’s pretty good on evidence procedure.” I took a long breath in and pinched the bridge of my nose, it was about the only hope I had to keep my cheeks from burning.

“Sorry Doc, this is the first time I’ve worked with here, and I don’t have all the CV’s memorized.” I said.

Simpson nodded his acceptance and led us inside and down a short hall to a set of swinging double doors. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Hunt. I’m glad to see you are taking this whole thing seriously. May I ask you a question?”

I shrugged and nodded.

“What would have been the penalty for the person you lost the bet to? I figure it has to be epic given that you have to wear that shirt”

I shot Round an accusing glance, but my old friend was suddenly very interested in the ceiling tiles. I gave Simpson a long look, then said, “He had to date my sister. She’s getting a little long in the tooth and we’re all worried about her. Too bad the coin flip came up heads.”

Simpson had been trying to hold his laughs in, but the counter wiseassery burst the dam and he laughed with a sound like someone beating a bass drum. It looked like I made it up another rung.

The joke cracking grandpa disappeared as soon as we broke the plane of the double doors. From then on it was all professional medical examiner. The man was in his element and he was a master there.

Constantine Cho lay on a wheeled metal table. His chest was cut in the distinctive Y incision. The cut was not yet stitched close, but the chest was fitted back together already. A sheet was draped over his groin and upper thighs. It was incongruous to me, that the same people who had sawed this man open, lifted out, weighed and sampled his organs, perhaps the most intimate thing one can do to another human, still felt the need to cover his genitals from view. Then again, thinking about it, it might not be so strange. Cho had no choice in what had been done to his body, so maybe this little gesture to privacy was the difference between investigation and callousness.

I stood over the dead body and looked at Simpson. “So, what can you tell me, Doc?”

Simpson picked up a handheld and tapped it a couple of times. A projection rose above the little unit, and he looked over his report.

“Not as much as I’d or you’d like, in all probability. Let’s see, we estimate the time of death to be between midnight and 2AM, last night. Cause of death was massive degeneration of the tissue of the heart.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“You’ve seen his eyes?” Simpson asked pointing to the still open orbits filled with bloody gel. I nodded. “The same kind of thing happened to his heart and his testicles as well. Basically his heart came apart and he bleed out internally.

“There were no signs of struggle. From the position of the bodies, this all happened too fast for anyone to react. What can do that?”

“Well, there are any number of things that can pulp a heart like what we see in this case, but none that I know of which can do it internally. As for the speed of death, it’s not unreasonable to assume the aorta failed very early in the process. Once that lets go, its like pulling the plug on the circulatory system, blood rushes away from the brain and you keel over where you are. Shock sets in instantly. You never even know you hit the floor.”

“And the eyes and testicles, they show the same signs?” I asked.

“Yes, cells ruptured all through both.”

“What about the rest of his organs? Any signs of the same kind of damage?”

Simpson shook his head slowly, “No, none. In fact, except for the ruined organs, and the damage the blood caused, Dr. Cho was in rather excellent health.”

“Yeah, except for that Mrs. Lincoln, how’d you like the play?” I muttered to myself. “I assume you’re doing lots of blood work, do you have any results yet?”

“Some, the basic screening is automated and very quick these days. For the more exotic things, it takes a little longer. He was negative for toxins, including industrial ones that might be found here. There was some residual THC, but Dr. Cho was known to prefer marijuana to alcohol for recreational use.” That got my attention. The Feds had long since given up on pot prohibition, but some states, like Texas, still had laws against recreational use.

“G-T believes adults should be able to use any non-harmful intoxicants they like. We grow and sell a nice selection of cannabis for our citizens who like to indulge.” Johnny put in.

I guess inside this acrology ‘party store’ has a wider meaning.

Doc Simpson went on like Johnny had not spoken. “The other blood tests all indicate good health at the time of death. Cholesterol levels, blood sugar and such are all with in the primary range. Testosterone was a little high for a man his age, but again inside the range, if at the top end. Antibody tests show that he had contracted gonorrhea twice and had it treated.”

“You can tell that?” I asked.

“Yes, we took some white blood cells, cloned them then exposed them to various antigens to get a picture of his history of infections. There were two distinct cases, at least fifteen years apart.”

“Is that standard testing?”

Simpson smiled and looked like a proud grandpa again, “Oh no! It’s a nice perk of working in a genetic engineering company! Though, I am writing up an article on the process. Not only could it help with autopsies, but it could also help when getting a full medical history is impossible! Right now the machine is too big and expensive, but really it’s just a matter of time before it becomes practical.”

Oh joy, soon not only will your blood rat you out for being somewhere, but will also spill the beans about every infection you’ve ever had. What a lovely future Gen-Tech is bringing us.

“Does any of it give an indication what caused this?” I asked, hoping to get back on track.

“I’m sorry, no, it doesn’t. We have looked for a wide range of known toxins and their decay chemicals, but so far no luck.”

“Heart, eyes and testicles,” I mused, “Doc am I missing some connection there?”

“Not that I know of, Mr. Hunt. Those are three very different systems, though everything works together at the organism level.”

I nodded; it was probably too much to expect there was a connection between them. “What about the Eolin-I, did their autopsies show the same damage?”

Simpson winced a little at the question. “Ah, actually I can’t tell you,” he said.

“Why not?” I asked stunned.

I heard Johnny mutter “Fucking Simone” behind me.

Doc Simpson nodded and said, “Dr. Ferguson has insisted that no one outside her team have access to the bodies. I have been too busy with Dr. Cho to fight the issue.”

“Well, as the Chief of Police here, I give you full permission to do any tests or autopsies you feel are warranted, Dr. Simpson.” Johnny said angrily, “I can’t believe I need to say that; you’re the medical examiner.”

“And as Dr. Ferguson pointed out, the Eolin-I are not human nor citizens. Which effectively puts them outside my prevue.” Simpson said primly.

“At least tell me you kept a hold of the bodies” Round said.

“Of course, Chief Round. They might not be human remains to certify but they are definitely evidence in a possible homicide, so I stored them, but waited until I could get you to intervene. I had sent a message to your office explaining this problem…”

Johnny sighed, “Sorry for jumping on you, Mel, its been a hell of a day for all us”

“I understand, Johnny, no offense taken. Though I would appreciate it if you would explain to Dr. Ferguson what we’ve agreed.”

Round looked like he’d been nominated to dive into a pool full of razorblades, but he nodded his head in agreement. This is why I don’t look for power; it comes with really unpleasant responsibilities.

“I’ll do it. And I’ll make sure they give you access to all the medical records for the ’lin-I while I’m at it. That will be her next tactic.”

“Thank you, Johnny,” Simpson said, “The Eolin-I might not be human, but they are animals and at least superficially they show some of the same symptoms.”

“How long do you think it will take, Doc?” I asked, already thinking of my next steps.

“I should have some results by this evening.”

“Great, you can call me at this number when you’re done or if you find something that shouldn’t wait,” I told him fishing out a business card.