AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I am a human being. Humans make mistakes. Ms. Sanderson’s death was complicated, and I was still new to my position. A mistake was made.”
“So then it leads to the possibility that Ms. Palenti’s report mayalsocontain mistakes?”
The jurors shuffle in their seats, nervously fidgeting as they look amongst themselves. The courtroom. The defendant, sitting in orange and too fucking confident considering his gaunt, sickly appearance.
“There are no errors in Mrs. Palenti’s death certificate or the corresponding report,” I snarl. “You’re comparing a first-year medical examiner with someone who, soon after this very case, was promoted to chief. Ms. Sanderson’s report was amended almost immediately. The correct processes were followed, which is why we have those processes in place at all. This is not a mistakeyoufound, Mr. Gibbons. It was an errorIcaughtmyself, fixed myself, and ran up the chain of command to ensure accountability. And you may call me Doctor Mayet. As is my title.”
He tsks, pleased with himself for pissing me off. “My client is on trial for murder,DoctorMayet. It would be a miscarriage of the law not to ensure the elimination of human error.” He gestures toward Anthony Palenti. “He has served almost eighteen months behind bars already. Where is the accountability when your report is proven inaccurate?”
“My job is not to sentence a man, Mr. Gibbons. My job is to study a body and document what I see.”
“And what, precisely, did you see, Doctor? Suzanne Palenti sustained a broken neck after a serious fall. According to your report, that was the cause of her death.”
“Mrs. Palenti’s spine was severed between the C2 and C3 vertebrae, a result of trauma that aligns with a serious fall.”
“She was also an alcoholic,” he announces coldly. “Found at the bottom of her stairs amidst the stench of cheap whiskey and with burns on her skin indicative of landing on her lit cigarette. This is a tragedy, I acknowledge. And my client is a widow in mourning. But this is not murder.”
“Objection!” the prosecutor snaps. “The purpose of today’s trial is not to pass judgment on Mrs. Palenti’s lifestyle choices. Mr. Gibbons intentionally muddies the waters and casts doubt over the victim’s character.”
“Retracted,” Gibbons smirks. His eyes bore into mine. “As a medical examiner, you cannot say with certainty my client in any way caused harm to his wife prior to, or during, her fall. This was an accident.”
“Your client was with the decedent in the moments leading up to her death.”
“My client was married to the decedent! They shared a home. Of course he was with her.”
“Testing proved your client’s DNA was under Mrs. Palenti’s fingernails at the time of her death.” I look at the prosecutor. “Mr. Palenti’s arrest files clearly show scratch marks on his neck and shoulder.” Finally, I bring my eyes back to the rodent. “These are defensive marks that prove Suzanne and Anthony were engaged in a physical altercation in the moments leading to Suzanne’s death. My reports will also show postmortem bruising that was not evident until approximately twenty-four hoursafterMrs. Palenti’s death. Your client physically assaulted his wife, which led to her falling down the stairs, which resulted in a fatal injury. That is your cause of death.” I sit back and place my hands in my lap. “My report is accurate and without mistakes.”
“That was pretty slick.” Harrison strides by my side the moment I exit the courtroom. I need sunlight. I need vitamin D and fresh air. “He was trying to make you look incompetent, and in the end, you made him a fuckin’ simp.”
He stops. Clears his throat. Then grins. “Excuse my language, Doctor Mayet.”
“Excused. His first mistake was violating the privacy of a woman who has absolutely nothing to do with this case. His anonymous tipper, when I figure out who they are, will need a doctor, too, once I’m done with them. His second mistake was to imply I’m stupid because of an administrative mistake I made when I was brand new and too eager to please. Humans mess up sometimes, but that’s why they have superiors checking their work. Ms. Sanderson’s report was rectified, and Ms. Palenti’s report was certified. Both are accurate andwillstand up under scrutiny.”
“She scratched at his face because he was hitting her?”
“She swung out when he pushed her and grabbed on to the only thing she could:him. But it’s up to the jurors to do their jobs now. My job is done.”
“Do you wait around for the ruling?”
Curious, I rub my hands together and look up at the man who is entirely too invested in this case. “No. Why would I?”
“Don’t you care?” He leads me to a black Lincoln when it pulls up at the curb, one hand hovering at my back while the other goes to the door handle. “You’ve been working these cases for years, and you just schooled that asshole when he tried to make out you were incompetent. Now you won’t even stick around to see the judge say guilty or not?”
“No. That’s not my job.” I slide into the car and spy the driver allocated exclusively to me since I arrived in New York. “I work the body, Mr. Harrison. I write the report and document my proof. Anything after that is noise.” I scoot across the seat, fixing my belt while he follows me in. “I would get nothing else done if I spent my time following court cases. Please take us to the house,” I tell the driver. Then to Harrison, “Can you organize my flight home? I’m ready to leave.”
Unimpressed with my disinterest, he firms his lips and reaches into his pocket for his phone. “I don’t know how you can let that asshole talk to you that way, and then not care about the outcome. It would send me nuts.”
“You’re taking it personally. He doesn’t know me. I don’t know him.” Ifollow suit and snag my phone, then jumping to the text thread, I drop a rock into Archer’s inbox.
Then the words:I’m coming home. See you soon.
“Gibbons doesn’t know me on a personal level,” I continue. “His task is to find a hole in the prosecutor’s case. Mine is to ensure my expert evidence has no holes. It’s a game.” I shrug. “The most convincing asshole wins in the end.”
“I’m gonna watch the news and wait for the verdict,” he decides, bringing the phone to his ear. “I’ll let Mr. Malone know, so he can pass the message on to you.”
Because texting me directly would be inappropriate.
Thank goodness for mafia propriety. Less small talk for me to endure.
