a voice panel before the door clicked open. Inside, the foyer was dark and silent, reception desk empty. At half-past eight on a Saturday morning I figured cranky-pants was probably home in bed.
‘This way, officers,’ a voice called from behind us.
We swivelled around to see Matthew Briggs, the forensic technician, standing at the end of the foyer, beckoning us to a doorway. An overhead light silhouetted his lean frame against the dark hallway behind. He wore a green medical gown and white gumboots and his pasty face glowed in the light, like a ghost.
I thanked him for his help in having Boyd’s autopsy rescheduled, but he walked ahead without reply, probably still annoyed. We went past the coronial library, down another hall and through a set of sliding doors, where a harsh smell of disinfectant filled the air. At the end of the corridor Briggs opened a door and gestured for us to enter.
The room was carpeted, with a table and chairs in the centre and two viewing windows on each wall. Through the glass was an autopsy suite similar to a hospital operating theatre. On the other side of the window, Dr Julie Wong, wearing a green hospital gown and white gumboots like Briggs, held an X-ray slide up to a viewing box. Wong was a gentle woman of Singaporean descent; I’d known her since my time in the former Drug Squad when several criminals – and some cops – had ended up on this very table. Her accent had an American hint to it, a product of an affluent upbringing and education in the US.
Behind her, a body lay on a stainless steel table, covered in a blue sheet. I tapped on the glass and nodded when she turned around.
‘Morning, officers,’ she said, her voice robotic through the intercom. Setting the X-ray down on a counter, she lifted her facemask. ‘You know the drill. Take a seat at the table and watch, or grab yourselves a gown and boots if you want to come inside.’
I looked at Cassie and raised my eyebrows. She shrugged indifference, so I leant into the microphone and told Dr Wong we’d come in. After we’d gowned up, Briggs ushered us into the autopsy room. The musty smell of cold flesh, formaldehyde and disinfectant assailed us. I took slow breaths, getting used to it.
‘I’ve just finished the prelim on your boy,’ Wong said, then looked at Cassie. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.’
I introduced Cassie, and there was a brief moment of confusion when she went to shake Wong’s hand but stopped when she saw the blue gloves. Instead they just nodded to each other.
‘Will that be all, doctor?’ Briggs asked from the doorway.
‘Oh, yes. Thank you, Matthew.’
When Briggs was gone I asked what his problem was.
‘He’s been here all night working on this,’ said Wong. ‘We’ve both worked hard to get the prelim done by today. Shall we get on with it?’
Cassie opened her notepad, and so did I. ‘Thank you, doctor. We appreciate it.’
‘Well, as you know, overdoses like this rarely raise any eyebrows, but your list of anomalies intrigued me and I cancelled two social appointments. I don’t normally do that.’ She waited a beat to emphasise her point. ‘Tox screens normally take up to three weeks. Lucky for you, my husband is the chief pathologist here. He had them put through blood samples late last night. No urine, but I had initial results waiting on my desk when I arrived at five this morning. I’ll get to those in a moment.’
Again she paused. This was the game. They fed you pieces at a time, keeping you interested, making you hang on every word.
‘After seeing as many ODs as I have, you tend to get an idea about the typical victim. This boy doesn’t quite fit.’
‘How do you mean?’ Cassie asked. ‘He was a street kid.’
Dr Wong gestured to the body. ‘Not all of them end up in here, detective. Those that do are generally of a specific profile. Above the age of twenty-five, mostly hard-core users with all the physical signs of addiction and the lifestyle it carries. I’m not saying this boy didn’t die of a drug overdose. There are indications of haemorrhaging around both the left and right ventricles, indicating cardiac arrest.’
I nodded.
‘Heroin, like any opiate, is a depressant, in that it slows the central nervous system. This boy’s slowed down so much he eventually ceased breathing and his heart literally stopped beating. This is consistent with