Until Judgment Day Read Online Free Page A

opened into various autopsy suites. Each suite was, she knew, equipped with an autopsy station that comprised slanted stainless steel tables, scales, sinks, and sluices enclosed in booths so the pathologist could dictate notes.
    One of the doors stood open. Inside, lying on its back on the table, she saw a sheet-draped body that she assumed had once been Reverend John Thompson. She diverted her eyes and knocked on Nelson’s office door.
    â€œC’mon in, Kate.”
    Not much bigger than a walk-in closet, the room contained a desk, a bookcase full of dog-eared medical references, and wall shelves stuffed with diplomas, awards, newspaper clippings, and forensic journals. One shelf held specimen jars filled with human brains and tissue samples preserved in formaldehyde.
    Nelson sat at his desk wearing freshly laundered surgical scrubs.
    â€œYou X-ray the body yet?” Mackay asked.
    â€œYep, the diener just finished.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œBullet’s lodged in the brain, probably a small caliber. The slug from a larger weapon would’ve exited and taken the back of the head with it unless it was loaded with wadcutters or dum-dums.”
    â€œLoaded with what?”
    â€œWadcutters are flat-nosed target ammo with low muzzle velocity. Dum-dums are soft bullets designed to flatten and fragment on impact, causing extreme internal damage. We’ll know for sure after I open the head.”
    Nelson glanced at his watch, a stainless Oyster Perpetual Rolex that, along with a new BMW, were the only luxuries he indulged. “Where’s Dave?”
    â€œChecking in with his detectives. He’ll be here soon.”
    â€œWe’ll wait.”
    She smiled. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”
    Several years before, Granz was almost killed by a serial killer the press had dubbed the Gingerbread Man. That experience triggered a fresh appreciation for the tenuousness of life that, for him, a trip to the morgue invariably threatened.
    â€œHow’s he feeling?” Nelson asked.
    â€œHe swears he’s fine.”
    â€œMaybe, but he’s got to have an MRI, Kate. Is he having headaches?”
    â€œHe says he’s not.”
    â€œEven so, onset of noticeable symptoms from a serious head injury often takes weeks or months. By then it could be too late. I don’t mean to scare you unnecessarily, but you need to be damn sure he has that MRI.”
    â€œYou know Dave when he makes up his mind.”
    â€œTry, Katie. Try hard. His life could depend on it.”
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    When Granz arrived, Nelson slid on latex gloves, pushed a black plastic brick-shaped block under the corpse’s head to hold it up for examination, switched on two intense white overhead lights and a camera, pulled down a microphone, and started dictating.
    â€œThe body is that of a well-developed, well-nourished Caucasian male, late fifties to early sixties, seventy-six inches in length, weighing about two hundred forty-five pounds. Rigor mortis is absent. Hair is medium-length gray. Nose and ears are unremarkable.”
    He lifted the upper and lower lips. “Teeth normal.”
    He rolled the body from side to side to examine the back of the torso, then lifted each arm and leg to check underlying tissues. He looked into the ears, nose, mouth and eyes, then visually inspected the other body openings.
    â€œChest is symmetrical, abdomen flat,” he dictated in a soft monotone. “External genitalia normal, upper and lower extremities show no deformities. Hands and nails clean and evidence no injury. No visible scars or tattoos.”
    Then, Nelson directed his attention to the head. “A single contact gunshot wound displaying black soot outside the skin, lacerated skin that has been seared by the weapon’s discharge gasses, and lack of powder stippling. Entry wound is in the center of the forehead, five centimeters below the