All the talk about brothers reminded me mine was doing things that were probably bizarre or dangerous and maybe both, so I distracted myself by heading to the hospital to check on our two victims. I was surprised to see Morningstar at the nurses’ station, and veered her way.
“Things slow at the morgue, Doc? You must be here two hours a day.”
“I make it up at night. At least until I—”
We heard a crash from Brian Caswell’s room and ran the hall. I entered with drawn weapon, finding Caswell up and shuffling through the bedclothes, the IV rack tipped over on the floor. He looked at us with wild eyes. “I can’t find my clothes. I’ve got a show to do and I can’t find my clothes!”
He was having some form of episode. He eyes fell to my Glock and he shrieked. I’m surprised the window didn’t shatter.
“Easy, Brian,” I said, holstering my weapon. “I’m a cop, she’s a doc. We’re here to help you.”
“Then you can start by finding my fucking clothes,” he demanded, lifting a pillow and looking beneath. “Someone stole them.”
“Look around, bud. You’re in a hospital room.”
He didn’t seem to hear, bending to check beneath the bed. “I’ve got a fucking performance. I’m doing Ivana Tramp tonight.”
“It got cancelled,” I said, going with the flow. “You’re on next week.”
He peered at me over the bed. “Really?”
“Cross my heart.” Which I did.
He looked around and seemed suddenly perplexed. His knees began to buckle and I vaulted the bed to catch Caswell before he fell, laying him back on the mattress. Two nurses hovered outside the door and I waved them away, under control.
“Shitarooni,” Caswell said, like seeing the surroundings for the first time. “It is a freaking hospital. I, uh, why?”
Morningstar uprighted the IV rack, the tubes still running to Caswell’s thin arm. “Thanks, hon,” Caswell said to Morningstar “God, you’re cute. Great eyes.”
“You woke up earlier, Brian,” I said. Talked to a nurse, remember?”
“Uh … kind of. Big freckly girlie with—” he bounced invisible breasts. “bodacious breastage?”
I’d seen the woman a time or two in the hall, hard to miss, easy to remember. “That would be her,” I acknowledged.
“What happened to me?”
I looked out the door. No sign of Costa. “You were drugged after a performance, bud.”
“I did a show? How were the reviews?”
I did a thumbs-up. I didn’t mention the show was over a week ago. He rolled his head, arched his back, frowned. “I ache. And unless I’m wrong, someone’s been knocking on my back door.”
“Uh, yes. You were assaulted.”
He shifted on the bed, winced. “Gawd, tell me about it. I hope the bastard practiced safe sex.”
“We know he’s not positive,” Morningstar said. HIV status had been checked along with the DNA.
Caswell sighed. “At least there’s that, fair lady. You … the pensive fellow with the sexy frown. Did you catch the monster?”
I realized he was addressing me. “We’re trying, Brian. It’d help if you could tell us what you remember.”
He closed his eyes and searched for memories. “I’m sorry, your detectiveness, all I see is me at home getting ready for a performance, packing my dresses, accessories … after that it’s like a switch goes off. Click.”
“No weird pictures, stuff like that?”
“I see pieces of things, shapes. But mainly, it’s like I fell asleep and woke up here. Listen, I gotta get home, get a couple vodka tonics in my tummy and some ice on my chundini. Can you make that happen?”
“You gotta stay here, Brian. The toxins may take a while to clear. I’ll have a nurse bring some ice.”
“Send the one with the big bosoms. Maybe she’ll give me some seeds.”
“Seeds?”
He winked. “So I can grow a pair like that. Woo-woo.”
“He’s a piece of work,” I smiled as Morningstar and I retreated to the elevator, buoyed by Caswell’s recuperation.
“I think he’s the type who has to keep talking,” she said as the door rang open and we stepped inside. “If he stops, he’ll think about what happened. It’s a protective mechanism.”
I smiled as the door shut. “Protective mechanism, Doc? Maybe you should add psychoanalysis to your pathology duties.”
“It would be easy to make my folks lay on the couch. But this would be a good time to tell you: I won’t have path duties much longer. I’m leaving the department.”
I turned, trying to keep my jaw from dropping. “You’re going to another city?”
We stopped and the doors whisked open. Morningstar stepped into the lobby. “I’m going into taxidermy and specializing in mice,” she smiled over her shoulder. “You spend less money on filling.”
“Mice? I called after her, caught flat-footed and running to catch up.
She stopped in the center of the lobby and laughed. I’m not sure I’d ever heard her laugh before.
“Actually, I want to work with living bodies for the rest of my career. In a hospital instead of a morgue.”
“This idea just hit you?”
“Last year a friend was in a car accident, hospitalized for a month. I spent a lot of time in the hospital during her recovery. I started talking with the hospital staff, getting interested in cases. I saw the body’s incredible ability to sustain injury and yet, with care and the latest in medical science, regain health and wholeness. It was inspiring and I wanted to be a part of it.”
“You’d not seen such things during your training?”
“My late father was a pathologist. My aunt still is, up in Atlanta. When I went into medicine, my world seemed preordained.”
“But that’s changed.”
A nod. “The people in the morgue come to me in past tense. I can usually determine why they died, but that’s all I can offer. I want to work in present tense.”
An orderly rolled an exiting patient between us and Morningstar disappeared behind a bobbing wall of helium balloons. On a job she could be near tyrannical. But temperament aside, Morningstar was one of the best I’d worked with, a consummate pro. I expected she’d be the same among the living.
The balloons floated past and we stepped together. “When’d you give your notice, Doc?” I said.
“Almost two months back.”
It took me aback. “That long?”
“Everyone in the department knows, almost no one outside of it. I’ve already started some of the re-training.” She grinned. “And doing observations at hospitals.”
Suddenly things made sense. “You haven’t been shirking your morgue duties. You’re already entering the new world.”
A nod. “A couple of retired paths came back to fill in my schedule. I’m doing my observations, studying, and basically considering what specialty I’ll ultimately go for.”
“You don’t have to train a successor?”
“Roland Espy is stepping in as acting director. He’s from Tallahassee, an interim administrator. We just hired a forensic pathologist from Chicago. She’s worked in Indiana and then, for the past seven years, put in her time in Cook County as an assistant director.”
“Chicago? She’ll know gunshot wounds.”
“She wants a position a little closer to the sun.”
“A seamless transition. Espy takes over, you stuff mice.”
Morningstar made a scissor motion with her fingers. “You use tweezers and pack batting in their tiny bungholes. I’ll mount them holding cocktail umbrellas and make a killing selling Geisha mice.”
I laughed. She had a weird sense of humor, a hidden side. I decided to try something considered but never explored during our working tenure.
“It’s Friday. Can I take you to a celebratory dinner tonight, Doctor? To celebrate your big jump?”
It was a long shot into total darkness. I held my breath until she responded with light.
“What a lovely thought. Of course.”
I stared. “Uh, really?” was all I could say.
“I’m thinking supper club, Detective Ryder. Drinks, dining, and dancing.” She turned and started for the door, her smile a thousand watts of sunshine. “Sounds like fun, no?”