Autopsy of a Mind

Chapter 109: Accidental Death

My coursework was done and I had been putting in more hours at the station. Detective Nash had been nothing but charming in my time there. Sebastian had been buried head deep solving cold cases in the makeshift office that was given to him while I went around talking to victims of crimes: arson, robberies, trespassing. I had seen just about everything at that point. What made me glad was the lack of murders in the city. 

Until one Sunday afternoon, a call came into the station. 

"Evie, we need to go to the site!" Nash called over. 

"What do we have today?" Hopefully, a family dispute that we could talk out.

"Demolition workers went inside an abandoned house to check the premises and found the body of a boy." I stiffened. 

"What does that mean?" I asked. 

"They called the emergency services but the child had been long dead before the workers came in."

"Were there signs of trauma or anything?" I asked as he hopped into the car. 

"No, they found blood on the corner of his lips trickling down. No visible sign of trauma. They've preserved the scene as best as they could but there are people from all over the neighborhood flocking to the site. The medical practitioner is coming to the scene, too." I nodded. 

As we entered the society, I realized that it was one of those tightly-knit neighborhoods where everyone knew their neighbors and the kids played together. There were elderly couples lounging on the porches and women with strollers walking on the streets. 

The yellow tape marked the boundary between the crime scene and the world. The location was a poorly preserved house, it hadn't been painted in a while or occupied for that matter. I looked around the faces in the crowd and stopped over the irate woman who was kneeling on the floor. 

"That should be the mother," I told Nash. He glanced over and nodded. 

"Let's head in. We can talk to her after inspecting the site." We bent under the tape and were greeted by officers with pen and paper. I smiled at them politely and went in. 

Dust particles flew in the air but from the floor, you could see signs of use. Not estranged footprints from the scene but well used. I kneeled down beside the body of the boy. No more than five years of age. His pale skin told me everything I needed to know. He'd been dead for a while now. 

"Estimated time of death should be sometime around this morning," I whispered. 

The medical practitioner had already arrived. 

"Hi guys," the female said. She knelt down, fully in gear and taking pictures. "Time of death is today... preferably six to eight hours ago." It was five in the evening. So before noon. 

"You really are a ghastly presence, aren't you?" Nash commented. I looked at him passively. The woman looked over at her, eyeing her with keen eyes.

I stood up and looked around the room carefully. 

"No signs of poisoning or use of force. Looks to be accidental," she commented. Really, there was no sign of struggle in the room. No sign of scuffle or the boy being dragged into this location. On a day like this when the neighborhood was buzzing with activity, no one would be able to inconspicuously go in and out of the building.

But how had this boy ended up on the floor of an empty house? 

"I suspect it is an accidental death," she said. I looked at her. 

"It does look that way, doesn't it?" Nash sighed. "Poor kid," he stared at the boy.

Nash had a young son as well, a little older than this boy. I patted his back and he shook his head. "We'll know more if we open him up, right?" he asked. 

We didn't want any bases to be left uncovered.

"Okay, we need to transport the body to the morgue. I'll start on the process." I stopped her short. 

"I'll talk to the mother. We can ask her for permission." It would be hard. No mother would want their little boy to be cut open. But I felt my gut scream. This was not an accidental death. What could have caused it?

I got rid of the gloves and scrub shoes and went over to the boy's mother. 

"Ma'am," I called her, placing a hand on her shoulder. I didn't call her too loudly. She looked up, her eyes bloodshot from tears.

She sniffled as she tried to say something. "Are you with the police?" she asked. I nodded and kneeled down beside her. "My poor boy. My Patrick!" she sobbed, hiding her face in her hands. 

"I'm so sorry for your loss," I offered. I had always hated how the police spoke to victims. Making them feel like they were being apprehended at the time when they were grieving. It bothered me so much that I refused to use the same method.

A floodgate seemed to open. "He just didn't come home! He went out to play with friends and never came back home. My neighbor came to me and told me Patrick was hurt. So, I ran here but... when I saw him... god, he was so pale. My little boy... Bloody and pale..." She wailed. 

I couldn't imagine. A mother who had lost their child. No amount of consolation to diminish the pain. "I knew he was dead." Her body wracked with sobs. I patted her back, offering what little support I could. 

As if considering me a source of comfort, she leaped forward and hugged me. I stiffened under her tight grip and awkwardly looked around the crowd. Most of them looked on in pity. Some watched in fascination as the scene played out, while the others looked away, eyes red with unshed tears. 

Nash kept his distance and let me do what I could. It took a while for her to calm down. 

"Do you mind talking to me for a bit? I know this is a bad time, but I would love to know more about Patrick." I told her. I couldn't voice that I suspected foul play but I had to get as much information as possible. We finally got her away from prying eyes. This time, Nash was right by my side. 

"What happened to him?" she choked. I offered her my handkerchief, one I had come to always keep in my pocket to offer to the victim and their family. "Thank you," she muttered in a small voice.

"We are still looking into all options. It would be great if you would let us perform an autopsy on him," Nash said softly. 

"An autopsy?" she repeated, horrified. "You'll cut up my poor boy?"

"Not if you don't want to," I assured her. 

"Is there something suspicious? He was bleeding. Why was he bleeding?" she gasped. 

"We don't have any clue as of yet, but we will let you know if we find something out," Nash promised. "The bleeding was from him biting his lips, ma'am," Nash informed her. I turned to look at him and realized that the medical practitioner must have informed him of this while I was inspecting the scene. 

He bit his lips so hard that he bled... more than a bitten lip produces. 

"I... I don't want him to be cut up," she said softly. I looked on helplessly. No sign of force or trauma, just a bitten lip. How did this child die? Nash finally gave up. 

"If you change your mind, please let me know," he said. 

As we walked away, Nash whispered to her. "We have four days for her to change her mind." Yes, after four days, the funeral would take place. If Patrick's mom let them perform an autopsy before that... That would be great.

Indeed, half a day passed and we were on the verge of declaring it an accidental death when his mother called. Her husband and she kept dreaming about their little boy and they couldn't not know how he died.

The medical practitioner was brought in immediately. It took a few hours and I waited outside for the result.

The result came out. Nothing was amiss. Cause of death? Lack of air. How? Probably the dust in the air induced an asthma attack. 

Unfortunate, they said. 

The parents cried when they heard but there was nothing we could do. I made a copy of the case and kept it close to me. Something about this was not right.

The parents were sweethearts and called us to the funeral. Out of respect, Nash and I went. I found myself looking at home videos and of kids playing in the garden. Only four and a half years of age. A life extinguished. The community mourned the death of such a bright boy. And I sat at the back, observing everyone.

Nothing was amiss. Everything was perfect. Two perfect. 

It felt like someone had concealed themselves so well that I couldn't find them. The feeling was uncanny. I hated it. I hated not knowing. The case had been ruled an accidental death, the higher authorities demanded it. 

The death of a child always made the news and the police never wanted such cases to be dragged on. They wanted confirmation and in this case, they thought there was no foul play. So I remained shut and watched in horror as someone got away. 

I was sure. Someone had got away scot-free. A little boy would have no enemies and he had gone out to play alone that day. No one had seen anyone enter the house apart from him. Then how did this boy die? 

Asthma attack? I refused to believe it.