Golden in Death (In Death 50)

Morris removed the headgear, placed it in a tub. “There were several tests to run—protocol again—before I could take a look inside.”

As he stripped off the rest, Eve noted rather than one of his excellent suits, he wore a T-shirt, sweatpants. He’d drawn his long, dark hair back in a tail.

“You’ve been here all night.”

“Controlled area,” he repeated. “I keep clothes on hand for such events. Protocol also requires a two-hour break for sleep. A slab’s comfortable enough with a gel mattress.”

He smiled at them, but his eyes looked tired.

“I’ll be glad for a shower, some decent coffee, some breakfast.”

“Peabody.”

“On it.”

“Oh, don’t bother with that,” Morris began, but Peabody was already out the door. “Well, I appreciate it.”

“I’ve had plenty of all-nighters, but didn’t grab a nap on a slab.”

“It is my home away from home, after all.”

Now Eve walked to the body—closed now with Morris’s long, precise stitches. “What can you tell me?”

“The lab will tell you more, but the good doctor suffered a painful death—quick and painful—via a toxin I’m unable to confidently identify. There’s no evidence he ingested it, or that it entered his bloodstream through injection or through touch. He inhaled it—it was airborne. And that, of course, added time to the control protocol.”

Morris gestured to a counter where sealed, labeled containers held various internal pieces of Kent Abner.

“I believe you have a nerve agent. His nervous system was destroyed, as were his lungs, his kidneys, his liver, his intestines. He suffered a massive stroke, internal burns as well as the burns on both thumbs. His esophagus was scorched from the inside.

“He might have had seconds, ten, fifteen, of awareness, and as he was a medical doctor may have realized he’d been exposed to a toxin. But he wouldn’t have had time to do anything but die. Minutes of agony—three or four, I’d say, given his height and weight. Perhaps five, as his muscle tone indicated superior fitness, but his internal organs were so compromised I can’t tell you if they were healthy prior to the exposure.”

“I’d say they were, from the evidence we have. He worked out regularly, was a runner. You said you can’t confidently ID the poison. You’ve got a guess, an opinion.”

“We want an expert on toxins and biologicals here, Dallas.”

“And we have them. I’d like your take first.”

He sighed. “I would have said sarin—which is extremely worrying. But my equipment and my observations don’t give that a hundred percent. He was exposed in a closed home—doors, windows.”

“It was hours before he was found.”

“Even with that, there should have been trace—enough to set off the special team’s alarms. And on the body itself. You, though sealed, handled the body, as did his unsealed spouse. But neither of you showed any sign of contamination.

“A sarin derivative, maybe. Though there’s a possibility of sulfur trioxide. His eyes, his skin, the burns there.” Morris shook his head. “The best I can conclude is a combination of agents and poisons, somehow released in vapor form, causing death within minutes, and clearing within hours—or less.”

“Somebody would have to know what they were doing, how to handle deadly toxins.” Eve walked around the body. “To know how to keep it contained, to set it up to release when and how they wanted. Somebody who works with hazardous materials, handles poisons. A medical who knows how they work, a researcher, a chemist, lab rat, military.”

“It’s doubtful your average Joe or Jane would know how to access or create something like this, and know how to disburse it without exposing themselves—or others. A package through a delivery service, for God’s sake. If it had leaked … I believe this was a small amount, and still, I would say it would have killed any living thing within twenty or thirty feet. And not yet knowing how long it would take to clear the air? Hundreds could have been exposed.”

“He didn’t want hundreds,” Eve murmured. “Just Kent Abner.”

Peabody came in carrying a surgical tray. On it coffee steamed beside a plate of bacon, eggs, hash browns.

“Food, too?”

“You said breakfast.”

“This is … That’s real bacon. Those are actual eggs. Food fit for gods.”