Outbreak in New Orleans: Dr. Mohr's Outbreak, #2

By Elle Harris

A prominent Medical Examiner raises the alarm when strange things start turning up in her New Orleans morgue. When a hot-headed local detective comes in to ask about the unexplained death of a former CIA operative, she begins to piece together another similar unsolved case. As the world begins to unravel in a bizarre viral outbreak, she soon discovers a shocking reality behind the origins of the virus. Will she be able to stop this madman before the world falls apart? Or is it too late?

 

This four-star author offers a book that enthralls with a thriller pace, plenty of spice and a strong science fiction plot. The first two books in this series can be read independently. Both books take place at the onset of a worldwide viral event. Spice is unusual in the post-apocalyptic genre. However, these books also feature a solid plot.

 

ARC reader reviews:

"This is the best book yet from this author. I'm so lucky she picked me for her advanced reader copy team." Anonymous 

"This book is really spicy, but I still enjoyed reading it." Phil 

"The series makes me wonder if something like this could really happen. It's unfortunately plausible. I had trouble sleeping after I read the second book." Betsy 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elle Harris
• Release date: Jan 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215481820

Book preview

I would like to thank readers who wrote reviews urging me to keep writing. I would like to thank my son for his invaluable insight on the post-apocalyptic genre. If it weren’t for him, these books wouldn’t exist.

Dear Reader,

First and foremost, thank you for your support. If you’re a UK reader, I apologize in advance for the Americanized grammar in this series. (Seems the British readers do not care for Americanized grammar, and that’s completely understandable.) Since I am unable to become a Brit and learn their grammar conventions, this will have to do for now. Someday we hope to fund a British editor for British editions of the books, but for now there isn’t room in the budget. I’d say I’ve still spun a decent yarn with this one. As always, feel free to contact me on social media or send me an email. We are actively begging for reviews. Well almost begging. Definitely praying. Doing rain dances. Charging our magical rocks by the light of the full moon. Just in case you weren’t aware, it takes about 50 reviews on a book before the algorithm on the book retailer begins to take note of particular book. So please post your honest review. Let other readers know what you liked and didn’t like. FYI, in case you aren’t aware, on Tiktok’s book community, booktok, Book fairies are a thing. It’s where you post a book wishlist on your bio, and readers are randomly chosen to receive free book mail. Who doesn’t love free books?!?!?!? So follow me and other independently published authors on Tiktok. Also a few times a year all the indies join together for a massive listing of free books all on the same day. It's worth checking out booktok.

Best wishes, 

Elle

Outbreak in New Orleans

Dr. Mohr’s Series, Book two.

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Chapter 1

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Claire

The blaring alarm woke Claire with a start. She lay drenched in her own sweat. It was mid-summer, and the New Orleans air had taken on a palpable soup-like texture. She stretched and hopped out of bed. Padding barefoot on the cold marble floor, she went to the thermostat. 82 degrees. She lowered the temperature and went out the double doors to her small balcony. It wasn’t much, but it overlooked Bourbon Street. She loved hearing the hustle and bustle of the city at night. She realized it might be too hot now to continue sleeping with the doors open. She inhaled the fresh morning air and listened to the crickets chirp for a few moments. It was still pitch black with only the gas street lights on. The sun had yet to rise.

She made her way groggily into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. She clicked on the news while it brewed and watched in complete shock. Philadelphia was under some sort of quarantine for a viral outbreak. They’d barricaded the entire city and deployed the military. Images of fighting, fires, looting, and soldiers in gas masks flooded the screen. She tapped her chin. Something about this was not right. It was unlikely a naturally occurring pathogen that would cause such a panic. She watched as the soldiers patrolled the quarantine zone border in their yellow suits and gas masks. As a forensic pathologist, she suspected foul play. She’d seen her fair share of unusual deaths, working as a medical examiner in New Orleans. In fact, her office oversaw all cases where a cause of death could not be found in other morgues throughout the state. The coffee pot rumbled in the kitchen as it finished percolating.

She went back to the kitchen and poured coffee into her travel mug, along with cream and sugar. She clicked around, changing the channels. Every single channel seemed to be playing the same footage. All of it is the Philadelphia situation. She opened a box of stale donuts on the counter and took a bite. It was totally inedible, as was likely everything in her kitchen. She was never home. She opened the fridge and took stock. There was creamer, some black and moldy bagged lettuce, and a curdled carton of milk. A review of the pantry yielded similar results. A few cans of outdated tuna and a box of cereal. She was unprepared for any sort of quarantine. Maybe I should hit the grocery store after work, just in case. She thought. She turned the TV off and headed to the bathroom.

She showered hastily, dressed, and combed her poker-straight shoulder-length hair in the mirror. It was a rather unremarkable shade of mouse-brown and her round brown eyes were the same color. She rubbed some moisturizer into her hands and face and put some lip balm on. She checked her phone, 7:05. If she hurried, she could be at the morgue by 7:30. She pulled her gym shoes on, grabbed her purse, and ducked out of her apartment. She took the stairs and hustled out to the street.

The first rays of the morning sun were just beginning to shine, and the birds had started their early morning song. The street was a bit emptier than usual, but everything looked completely normal. It reminded her what a unique group of people the Louisianans were. Resilient, tough. No deadly virus in Philly was stopping them at this point from business as usual. She stopped at her favorite café. It was just a few blocks from the house and only a block from the morgue. She bought a coffee for her boss and a box of beignets. They topped her coffee off, and she grabbed a newspaper. Wondering quietly if there was any new information about the story unfolding in Philly in print. She folded the paper in her oversized purse and headed down the street.

The morgue was in a nondescript brown brick historic building on a side street. Bars covered the windows, and last year they were forced to move all of the HVAC units and refrigeration units to the roof on an addition in the rear. Despite the care taken to make the addition blend in, it stood out like a sore thumb. She glanced around the back, noticing her boss's car was already there. She paused a moment to read the plaque at the entrance. The plaque was weathered and aged by the southern air and the sea spray. But still mostly legible.

Erected in 1876 as the first hospital in New Orleans.

The James was originally a hospital, then a tuberculosis ward,   an insane asylum, and finally, in 1970, became the city morgue.

Several sentences followed this in French, and sadly despite living in New Orleans for two decades, she still didn’t speak a word of it.

She keyed a code into the entry pad and the door unlocked with a metallic buzz. The lobby was empty, but the news was on TV. She noticed that the young man who normally worked at the front desk was not in. His chair in the reception area sat empty behind the bullet proof glass. She glanced at the time on her phone. 7:30 on the nose. It was going to be a long day with no one up front. She sighed with resignation and then swiped her badge at the door that led back to the morgue.

She heard her boss’s favorite soft jazz playing as she hurried walked down the hall. Her gym shoes squeaked on the freshly waxed floors, announcing her arrival. She tapped her pin into a keypad and swiped her badge again before gaining access to the lab.

Dr. Alphonse Beauregard sat on a stool, hunched over the body of an elderly woman. He was fully suited up with a face mask, clear face guard, and surgical gown. She was laid out on the stainless steel table, naked except for a paper towel that Dr. Beauregard had draped over her pelvic block. He had a special magnifying tool out, examining the victim’s eyes.

Good Morning Doc! She yelled out cheerily. He jumped, nearly dropping the magnifying glass.

Jesus Claire, I didn’t hear you come in.

It’s that vivacious soft jazz you’ve got playing boss. Plus, you seem engrossed here in Mz. Leibovitz. Do you see the petechiae in the sclera? It’s ever so faint, but definitely there.

Yeah, I hate to say it, but Mz. Leibovitz did not die of natural causes. Between this finding and her tox screen, no way this was an accident.

I was very surprised they missed this up in her parish.

Well, a lot of the old school ME’s don’t use these new magnifying lenses that are lighted. They don’t analyze the victim either under UV light. We have more tools here at our disposal to analyze the body.

That makes sense. I think that ME is in his late 70’s isn’t he?  I mean, no offense. You’re quite virulent and sharp, but I didn’t get the impression he was spry from his morgue assistant about up north.

You’re correct. He’s not spry or current, but the issue is no one wants to become an ME anymore. All these kids going to medical school want to make the big bucks in cardiology. They have no one to replace him, so in the meantime, we are his backstop until they get someone. Speaking of which, we may be getting a resident.

That’s good news, Doc!

Well, with this viral outbreak and what not, the state said we needed more hands. This is a little dark, but they are also going to send us a mobile crematorium.

You’re kidding.

Nope. Also, a contingency of national guard troops to help with the crematorium.

"Well, that’s pretty telling, isn’t it?’

Yea. I don’t know what the scoop is with this virus, but I’ve got a friend from college in Philly, and I haven’t heard from her in 2 days. Not a peep.

You don’t think....

Just say it, Claire. She’s probably dead.

They did say the hospital was overrun. Out of PPE, just a really ugly situation.

He stood up for a moment and closed his eyes. His bushy eyebrows pulled together. He exhaled slowly and then looked her straight in the eye.

I told Nicolai not to come in until things blow over. We will have to close the lobby to the public indefinitely. There are no viewings, only photos of the deceased and reports for the families.

Claire felt dread rising up from the pit of her stomach. Something was really, really wrong. That much was for sure. She locked eyes with her boss.

Well, boss, we can’t do anything about what’s happening right now. One foot in front of the other? She asked. Her eyebrows raised.

You’re right. Suit up girl, and let’s finish this report. We’ve got 3 more coming in today.

Chapter 2

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Dr. Mohr

Dr. Mohr sat at his desk fidgeting. He gazed outside at the turbulent ocean, waves pounding the beach relentlessly. Sheets of rain from the latest tropical storm lashed against the window. Finally, the video chat screen popped up. His crypto-zoologists fresh, chubby-cheeked baby face graced the screen.

Good Morning Dr. Mohr. Thank you for taking time out of your day to discuss the reaper colony research.

Good Morning Dr. Stone. Dr. Mohr took a swig of his coffee, offering nothing more. His cup shook as his anger rose steadily as the seconds ticked past. Another face finally popped up on the screen. An aged Indian woman, the world-renowned micro-biologist and reproductive endocrinologist Dr. Johnson. He smiled at her pointedly. He loved her cold approach to their work.

Morning, Dr. Mohr. We have news on our crypto-zoology project, unfortunately.

Oh really, what news might that be? He decided not to pull any punches.

Our latest reaper that was collected died... Just as all the rest did. He was completely healthy, according to all of the tests we’ve run, and he passed at some point this morning. Around 6 AM.

The same as the others, Dr. Johnson? Just boom, they expire without warning?

Yes. And this issue, I must say, despite their incredible genetic profile and talents, is problematic. If we were to successfully create any genetically modified embryos, it’s likely the resulting infant could pass unexpectedly as well. Or at some point during their adolescence. Unless we can figure out why they die, all of our research is pointless.

Dr. Stone, what is your take on this from a cryptid standpoint? I mean, this is the 3rd time we’ve harvested a live reaper for it to die for no reason while in captivity. Not to mention the logistical nightmare involved with obtaining a reaper. Each time we pick up, they kill off multiple members of our extraction team. Highly trained people who are hard for us to replace.

According to various interpretations of the Welsh writings on the stones we’ve found, when one passes, another one takes on the lead role. Now interestingly enough, all of our collected reapers have been male. However, some interpretations of the writings on some of the stones indicate that there are female reapers.

Dr. Johnson, do you believe it’s possible that we would have better luck picking up a female, and then harvesting her eggs?

Definitely. A female should be easier to handle as well in the lab. You know the last 3 males were very difficult to deal with after we brought them into their cells in the lab. Dangerous.

Dr. Stone, do you have any leads on other reapers we can pick up?

Of course. There were several newspaper clippings regarding infants left at various orphanages around the US that were tattooed with the mark of the reaper. This happened back in the ’70s. We had a large cluster of such happenings in the American South, specifically New Orleans. We discovered that recently one of them, a medical examiner, has been organizing get-togethers for all the tattooed orphans. There was even a news story about her. Seems she has established herself as their de facto leader of sorts.

How could their be an entire colony of Reapers if one dies, and then another takes that one’s spot?

We think they are sort of like sleeper cells. Who activate when one needs to be replaced.

Can we safely harvest this medical examiner? 

Maybe, if not, I’m sure she must have access to a list of these people who bear the mark of the Reaper. Theoretically then we could pick up the entire colony to study it.

Hmmm. Dr. Mohr tapped his temple.

An ME, anyone want to bet she’s going to need a resident or an assistant of some sort with this viral outbreak that’s starting up? He threw his head back and laughed.

That is a wonderful idea, Dr. Mohr. That way, if she’s too old for me to harvest her eggs, we can look for other females to pick up. Also this particular ME is somewhat of a legend in ME circles. I research determined that she’s extremely gifted. Dr. Johnson was smiling and practically purring.

Dr. Mohr, there is one last thing. We did uncover some other information from a cave in Vancouver. It was early Welsh, just like the stones. We are still working to decipher the cave drawings and the words, but we’ve made some progress. It seems to indicate not all people with this tattoo are reapers. Some can do other things, and by other things, I mean extraordinary things. I would sure love a specimen to test. Regardless of whether or not it carries this warrior DNA like the reaper colonies.

Great, Dr. Stone. I guess you might be useful after all. Please send me that research, please.

Right away, sir. It is preliminary, however. To connect the dots on these cave drawings, I’m really going to need live specimens from the colony. 

We will do what we can. Dr. Mohr sipped his coffee and smiled.

Gee, Dr. Stone, isn’t it great that you won’t be joining our test group of specimens for splicing? He watched gleefully as all the color drained from Dr. Stone’s baby face.

What, why the long face Dr. Stone? You know everyone has a useful place in the New World order, right? After this viral outbreak, we likely won’t require a crypto-zoologist anymore since the virus should wipe out all species we don’t specifically elect to vaccinate.

You know you are a bright man Dr. Stone. The new world order will need more bright men like you for our genetically edited embryos. You know, for the sake of science and genetic diversity. Dr. Stone’s jaw dropped open.

You may not know this, but I also have some living chimeras. Adults spliced with swine DNA material. The perfect food source. Bright enough to take care of themselves, but their sense of free will has been removed. Can you imagine farm animals who care for themselves and even lay right down on the slaughter table for you when the time comes? Hell, at some point, maybe I can teach them to slaughter themselves! He threw his head back and laughed. He watched as Dr. Stone vomited in a trash can on the video chat.

Dr. Stone, in all seriousness, though, good luck with your research on the Cryptids. Hey, Dr. Johnson, I heard pork tenderloin is on the menu today in the cafeteria.

My stomach is already grumbling, boss. Meet you down there at 11?

Sure. Why not chow down early.

Hey, one more thing Dr. Johnson, I have an idea. Why don’t we send the the body of the latest failed harvest to the ME? We can send her the new medical assistant with the body. Maybe during the autopsy she will shed some light on his death, and then our mole will pass that along?

That should be no trouble, boss. Can’t hurt to try. I can get the body on a plane today, and we have a full list of superb residents from the New World order who we can send. They are all vaccinated, of course.

Great. Pick the best one and get him enroute asap.

Will do, boss. Talk to you soon. Dr. Johnson ended the chat, and Dr. Mohr spun around in his desk chair. As he studied the surf pounding the beach, he realized he’d made a huge mistake by not harvesting more of the reapers. He should have done that before he unleashed the virus. He was irritated with Dr. Stone and felt he held back information. Was it intentional? What else is he hiding? He wondered, his rage escalating.

He decided to switch gears, and he fired off an email to Dr. Stone, requesting the entire complete list of potential reapers he’d compiled. He would send extraction teams to try and pick them all up. Some they’d have to use this medical examiner to find, but no reason not to get a head start. With any luck, soon he’d have a lab full of those weird killing machine bastards, and it made his heart sing. They would be the perfect super race to keep the remaining humans in check after the outbreak. The most invincible army that ever walked the face of the Earth. He threw his head back and laughed until he couldn’t laugh anymore.  

Chapter 3

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Claire

Claire was analyzing a sample under the microscope when she heard the buzzer at the rear of the building. She jerked her head up. Dr. Beauregard was in the middle of removing the brain and brain stem from another cadaver. This was a delicate situation that needed to be attended to carefully.

I got it. She hopped up off her chair, and carefully removed her gloves, and dropped them into a red bio-hazard bag. She washed her hands hurriedly and made her way donw the hall. The buzzer rang again. Someone’s awfully impatient.

She hurried down the hall, past the refrigeration units, through the last secured door. She yanked open the heavy back door in agitation. There stood a balding county sheriff with a massive paunch. Behind a gurney with a black body bag stood a small, thin man in coke bottle bottom glasses, swimming in a white lab coat. He had a collared dress shirt with a neon blue bow tie with flamingos, khaki pants, and neon blue gym shoes. The man’s eyes seemed amplified several times their normal size, and she realized he must be horribly far-sighted. The frames on the glasses were chunky and bright blue. Somehow he pulled off his garish glasses, neon bowtie, and bright gym shoes. He looked, well, eclectic and unusual instead of tacky. A few awkward minutes passed, and then she realized she was staring. Few things surprised her over the twenty years since she’d started working in the morgue, but this young man definitely did. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the sheriff cock his bald head ever so slightly sideways. He squinted at her as if giving her a moment to take it all in. Finally, the young man in the lab coat cleared his throat.

Good Morning. You must be Dr. Doe?

Yes, call me Claire. I’d shake your hand, but I know we’ve got some weird virus going around. Please come in. She gestured behind her and opened the rear doors wide so they could get the gurney in.

Are you our new resident?

Yes, the state health department should have sent my resume over to Dr. Beauregard. I’m Dr. Jude Klein.

Oh, well, that explains it. Dr. Beauregard is great in the lab but is perpetually behind on his emails. This morning we talked about the health department sending us a resident, but I had no idea it would be happening so quickly.

Well, Doc, I hate to say it, but they are scrambling with the situation in Philadelphia. Preparing for worst-case scenarios.

She felt a chill run down her spine. They walked down the long hall with the gurney until they’d made it to the initial prepping and storage area for new intakes. She swiped her badge and opened the large door. The resident wheeled the gurney in, and the Sheriff got out his clipboard. He glanced nervously around the morgue. She noticed a bead of sweat was now running down his forehead. He mopped at his brow with a handkerchief.

She signed the sheriff’s clipboard, and then they moved the body into a refrigeration unit. She grabbed a fresh intake form and began filling it out. The Sheriff handed her a carbon copy from his clipboard. She gave a cursory glance over the sheriff’s report and realized the entire section at the bottom was empty. The section where it lists why the body was being sent to the elevations lab for the cause of death. There was also no ME or previous county listed. She popped her head up and turned around.

Sheriff? She yelled. But he was gone. She looked to the new resident, Dr. Klein. He looked to be preoccupied with his phone.

Did you see him leave?

He looked up from his phone. No, did he leave?

She ran down the hall and out the backdoor, just in time to see the ambulance that delivered the corpse pulling out onto the street. It had no county name, no city name, nothing. It wasn’t her first ditched body, but it was the first time a county sheriff ditched one at the morgue. They would have to file a report. There would be an investigation. There would be no one to send their report to for the cause of death after they completed the autopsy. A huge mess.

Hmmm. That’s going to be a problem. She chocked it up to the viral outbreak. She shook her head and went back inside to round up the resident.

Let’s go meet Dr. Beauregard.

She authenticated at the door and let Dr. Klein into the main part of the lab. Dr. Beauregard sat hunched over the microscope, studying a sample. As the door closed, he looked up, surprised.

Doc, meet Dr. Jude Klein. He tells me he’s our new resident? She was asking as much as telling. His eyebrows shot up. He hopped up off his stool.

I’d shake your hand, young man, but if you knew where it’s been today, I think you’d pass. They both laughed.

In all seriousness, though, they really got you out here quickly. This virus business must be serious.

Oh yeah. It’s got to be. I did my thesis on ebola and how it could damage a metropolitan area. It’s shocking, really. How quickly things can fall apart.

Claire made a mental note to research what was happening today if she had a chance. She felt she needed to reach out to some of her colleagues in other cities to see their thoughts.

I did grab a newspaper Doc on my way in. It’s over on my desk if you want to read it. By the way, the drop-off today was a drop and run.

He dropped the report he was reading on his the table and locked eyes with her.

You’re kidding me.

No, I’m not. And it was a Sheriff that brought it in. He handed me the form, and I signed it, and then when he handed me the carbon back, I realized it was blank. We have no idea who this person is or why his death investigation has been elevated to us.

Her boss's bushy gray eyebrows scrunched together. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head.

You’re telling me a cop dropped off a body and just left.

Yeah, pretty much.

Maybe it’s this viral outbreak. It’s got people on edge. Dr. Klein suggested.

It’s usually something really shady when a body is dropped off here like that.

Or weird, right Claire? Remember that one woman a few months back?

Oh yes. The woman with a tail. Not just any tail, a hairy tail, like a cat.

I thought, uh, that people with vestigial tails had hairless tails. Dr. Klein stammered.

It wasn’t a vestigial tail, Claire stated. She noted Dr. Klein’s expression seemed blank as if he wasn’t surprised. A tail on a corpse was always a surprise. Even here.

It was an ocelot tail. Claire clarified.

Welcome to New Orleans, Dr. Klein. And Dr. Beauregard laughed a deep, hearty rumble. Yes, it was an ocelot tail. It had full blood supply on a human host and a well-formed set of nerves tied into the woman’s spine. It was as if she were born... part cat. Dr. Beauregard eyed Dr. Klein suspiciously.

Can I ask one question? Although I have quite a few. Dr. Klein looked down sheepishly at his shoes. Grinning boyishly.

Why an ocelot, why not a cheetah or a leopard?

To be candid, I think it was a length issue. I mean, if you were to somehow splice a feline tail onto a human, you wouldn’t want a 3 footer. Claire stated.

And how exactly did you determine it to be ocelot vs. house cat? Dr. Klein asked, his tone markedly less playful.

That’s a good question, Dr. Klein. It wasn’t cut and dry, that’s for sure. After we sent samples off for outside testing, they came back inconclusive. So Claire started testing different samples, and that’s when she got close to the truth with stem cells from the upper portion of the spinal column near the brain stem. You see, in embryonic development, brains and tails form from the same stem cells at roughly the same time. When humans are born with vestigial tails, we do know definitively it has something to do with this particular period in development. It seemed to Claire that Dr. Beauregard was testing Dr. Klein somewhat. Testing his capacity for weirdness. But the truth was this was New Orleans, and they did indeed get a lot of weird stuff.

And? Dr. Klein asked. An awkward silence ensued. Claire looked to her boss. He held his hands up and shrugged.

And, I think someone spliced a human with a CRISPR-like device with ocelot DNA. A minute amount, and then we ended up with a human who had an ocelot tail. I mean, I have no idea what the point would be of a human with an ocelot tail, but someone somewhere was very pleased with themselves, I’m sure.

How do you know all she inherited was a tail?

That is the million-dollar question, Dr. Klein. We do not. She was already dead by the time she ended up here. A few odd things, though, were in her police report. I’m not sure if they told you this or not in regards to our lab, but we only get escalated cases from other morgues, so we always have access to the report and any forensic information that may have been gathered.

Actually, they did mention this residency would be unique.

Claire nearly choked on her coffee.

That’s one way to put it.

As I was saying, there were some weird things in the homicide detectives report. A neighbor reported a bad smell, and when the police broke down the door to her apartment, they found her dead. No signs of struggle. They ended up checking her fridge to see if maybe she had food poisoning, and they found package after package of fresh fish and poultry. Her entire freezer was also full of fish and poultry. She had 3 different cages full of live rats of varying ages.

So the long and short of it, we don’t know if she had any other talents like a cat might, but she definitely had a cat’s appetite.

What was her cause of death?

That’s where it gets even weirder. The local ME couldn’t determine the cause of death, so they sent the body to us. After we were unable to determine the cause of death, we started testing her for animal diseases. At best, it was a hail Mary, but then Claire hit paydirt with feline immune deficiency. The woman had cat leukemia.

Ok, so close contact with cats. Were there cats in the apartment?

No, actually. Not a single one.

Here’s where it takes a really weird turn. She worked at a large animal sanctuary up north; you’ve probably seen ads for it on TV. The one where you can drive through in your car, and you get to feed a lion? Claire saw realization wash over Dr. Klein’s face.

Oh, Gross. FIV is often spread by sexual contact.

Yes. It can be. We were never able to determine if she was engaged in inappropriate activity with the large cats at her job but lemme tell you, it grossed us out.

To add a wrinkle, as I’m sure you’re aware, humans cannot contract cat leukemia. So then it had to be reported to the CDC as a possible zoonotic transmission. Dr. Beauregard explained the cat lady's demise as if he were explaining a simple heart disease death. The paperwork was terrible. I could’ve used 5 residents that week, and we still wouldn’t have made a dent in that process. Someone from the CDC came down here, took samples, and then had the body shipped out to their lab.

Ok, Claire, we’ve got a big day. I’ll take Dr. Klein and show him the ropes. I’ve got this report nearly done, so I’ll walk him through our process. Why don’t you get started on our mystery drop-off in lab 2? 

Sounds good, doc.

Chapter 4

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Claire

Claire suited up in PPE, head to toe. Out of an abundance of caution she included a respirator, and double gloved her hands. She placed her hand on the cold handle of the forensic locker. She opened the small door and slid the mystery body out. It was still in the black body bag, zipped up. She pulled the metal gurney alongside the cadaver, and carefully rolled lifted first the lower end with the feet to the gurney, and then heaved the upper body over. The cadaver was very large and still quite limber, so she was sure this person hadn’t been dead too long.