Dark Web by T. J. Brearton Page B

woman had been woken up in the middle of the night to be informed of the death of her son. She couldn’t imagine a moment more tragic than this, a more horrific way to deliver such terrible news. Some part of the woman’s mind must believe she was still dreaming, and soon she would awaken and the nightmare would be over.
    The woman’s name was Callie Simpkins. She was being comforted by two state troopers, one male and one female. The female trooper looked up and her gaze met Janine’s through the glass that separated them, an unanswerable question blazing in her eyes.
    The body lay behind Janine on the table, covered in an evidence sheet.
    No way was Janine going to perform the autopsy with the mother watching. Simpkins was beyond grief; she was hysterical. Yet she refused to leave, and the troopers were pulling their hair out trying to figure out what to do with her. What the woman needed was a crisis worker, a mental health therapist from the County, who was supposedly on the way. Janine wanted to know who the hell had made the call to let the woman ride in the van in the first place. Simpkins had just spent forty minutes driving from New Brighton to Plattsburgh with her dead child in a body bag. She was out of her mind. Her eyes were locked on the body in the next room. Her mouth was open in a yawing, soundless scream, giving her face an eerie misshapen look. Her eyes were haunted.
    Janine turned her back on the viewing room. It was supposed to be there so that medical students and law enforcement officers could observe the autopsies. Janine did work with the college, but she also had her own practice in anatomic, clinical, and forensic pathology. Most of the referrals she got came from law enforcement, and sometimes medical students and criminal justice students were permitted to observe, depending on the circumstances. In fact, the local state university had just recently dispatched several students to witness a perinatal autopsy, during which two of them abruptly left. Imagine a bereaved mother witnessing her own flesh and blood child undergoing a postmortem examination. Even seeing the external examination would be devastating. She needed the troopers to get that woman out of the room.
    The lead investigating officer was John Swift, a man she had known for many years, ever since she had been a medical student. She’d gotten his number from the female trooper and was now ringing him, keeping her back to the woman. God help him if he was the one who’d let the woman ride here with her dead child.
    Janine put the phone to her ear.
    After a couple of rings, he picked up. “Swift.”
    “Detective Swift. This is Doctor Poehler.”
    She heard some noise at his end, as if his phone were being jostled. “Yes, Doctor Poehler. How are you?”
    “I’m in a bit of a situation?”
    “Yeah, this is one for the books alright.”
    She glanced at the body on the table. “That it is. Very, very unfortunate.” Then with emphasis, “Made more unfortunate by the presence of the victim’s mother.”
    Swift hesitated. “I appreciate you responding so quickly, Doctor.”
    “I’m an early riser,” Janine said, letting it pass for the moment. “Autopsies are best performed within twenty-four hours of death. Organs deteriorate, embalming interferes with blood cultures and toxicology. But, Detective, I’ve never had to perform an autopsy with the family looking over my shoulder.”
    He was silent for a moment. She heard a door open and close at his end. Then he spoke, his voice low. “I know. This thing went off like a daisy-cutter. I made the call and let her go; she was so volatile . . . I’m sorry. I’ll have my troopers get her out of there right away.”
    “Anything I’m looking for?”
    “What’s your initial perception?”
    “I only glanced. Nothing obvious. No bruises, no blood. Normally developed white male measuring sixty-two inches and weighing a hundred and eighteen pounds and appearing generally