Blindsight

Having had a similar case recently, Laurie had instructed the medical investigator to go to the woman’s apartment and bring back any personal electrical appliances found in the woman’s bathroom. Sitting on Laurie’s desk was a cardboard box with a note from the medical investigator, saying that the enclosed was all she could find.

Using her thumbnail, Laurie broke through the tape sealing the box, lifted the flaps, and peered inside. The box contained a blow dryer and an old metal curling iron. Laurie lifted both devices from the box and laid them on her desk. From the lower right-hand drawer of the desk, Laurie lifted out an electrical testing device called a voltohmmeter.

Examining the blow dryer first, Laurie tested the electrical resistance between the prongs of the plug and the dryer itself. In both instances, the reading was infinite ohms or no current flow. Thinking that perhaps she was again on the wrong track, she tested the hair curler. To her surprise, the result was positive. Between one of the prongs and the casing of the curler, the voltohmmeter registered zero ohms, meaning free current flow.

Taking some basic tools from her desk, including a screwdriver and a pair of pliers, Laurie opened the hair curler and immediately found the frayed wire that was making contact with the device’s metal casing. It was now clear to Laurie that the poor flight attendant was the victim of low voltage electrocution. As was often the case, the victim had been shocked but had had time to put the offending device away and walk from the room before succumbing to a fatal cardiac arrhythmia. The cause of death was electrocution and the manner of death accidental.

With the hair curler “autopsied” on her desk, Laurie got out her camera and arranged the pieces to show the aberrant connection. Then she stood up to shoot directly down. As she peered through the viewfinder, Laurie felt pleased about the case. She couldn’t suppress a modest smile, knowing how different her work was from what people surmised. She’d not only solved the mystery of the poor woman’s untimely death, but had potentially saved someone else from the same fate as well.

Before Laurie could take the photo of the curler, her phone rang. Because of the degree of her concentration, the ringing startled her. With thinly veiled irritation, she answered. It was the operator asking Laurie if she would mind taking a call from a doctor phoning from the Manhattan General Hospital. She added that he’d requested to talk with the chief.

“Then why put him through to me?” Laurie demanded.

“The chief is tied up in the autopsy room, and I can’t find Dr. Washington. Someone said he’s out talking with the reporters. So I just started ringing the other doctors’ numbers. You were the first to answer.”

“Put him on,” Laurie said with resignation. She sank back into her desk chair. She was quite confident it would be a short conversation. If someone wanted to talk with the chief, they certainly would not be satisfied talking to the lowest person in the hierarchy.

After the call had been put through, Laurie introduced herself. She emphasized that she was one of the associate medical examiners and not the chief.

“I’m Dr. Murray,” the caller said. “I’m a senior medical resident. I need to talk to someone about a drug overdose/toxicity DOA that came in this morning.”

“What is it that you’d like to know?” Laurie asked. Drug deaths were a daily phenomenon at the M.E. office. Her attention partially switched back to the hair curler. She had a better idea for the photograph.

“The patient’s name was Duncan Andrews,” Dr. Murray said. “He was a thirty-five-year-old Caucasian male. He arrived with no cardiac activity, no spontaneous respiration, and with a core body temperature that we recorded at one hundred eight degrees.”

“Uh huh,” Laurie said equably. Holding the phone in the crook of her neck, she rearranged the pieces of the hair curler.

“There was massive evidence of seizure activity,” Dr. Murray said. “So we ran an EEG. It was flat. The lab reported a serum cocaine level of 20 micrograms per milliliter.”

“Wow!” Laurie said with a short laugh of amazement. Dr. Murray had caught her attention. “That’s one hell of a high level. What was the route of administration, oral? Was he one of those “mules’ who try to smuggle the stuff by swallowing condoms filled with cocaine?”

“Hardly,” Dr. Murray said with a short laugh of his own. “This guy was some kind of Wall Street whiz kid. No, it wasn’t oral. It was IV.”

Laurie swallowed as she struggled to keep old, unwanted memories submerged. Her throat had suddenly gone dry. “Was heroin involved as well?” she asked. In the sixties a mixture of heroin and cocaine called “speedball” had been popular.

“No heroin,” Dr. Murray said. “Only cocaine, but obviously a walloping dose. If his temperature was one hundred eight when we took it, God only knows how high it had been.”