Beneath the Cracks (7 page)

"Oh boy," Tony said.  He pushed the
heavy fire doors open that would reveal the long corridor to the
autopsy bays.  We could hear the shouting the second the crack
between the heavy metal barriers separated.  "Guess that
explains why Howdy Doody and his partner out there look like they
could spit glass."

The voice was Maya's, louder than I imagined
she could muster from her petite stature.  While the words
were too muffled to distinguish, the tone was unmistakable. 
She was enraged.

"Should we wait, or knock?" Crevan
asked.

"For God's sake.  This is Maya. 
Even on her worst day, she's still my friend."  I reached for
the door, but Briscoe gripped my wrist.

"You might think that estrogen gives you
some sorta armor against that woman, Eriksson, but I know
better.  You ain't seen her this way.  I guarantee."

The door to the bay flew open and almost
smacked me in the shoulder.  Red-faced, Billy Withers flew out
the door punctuating muttered words with unmistakable statements
like
resignation
and
bullshit
and
abusive
all
the way to the locker room.

"See what I'm sayin'?  She ain't been
here all that long, but I can tell you this much.  Winslow
looks after Billy like he's some sorta stray cat that wandered into
her house.  No way does she rip him like that."

I pushed the door open and stepped
inside.  It hadn't occurred to me that the yelling hadn't
stopped until I saw her standing by the autopsy table.  Maya
keeps a wide step stool handy because her stature makes it
difficult to clearly visualize bodies on a table that is hip high
for me.  She was still standing on her stool, precariously
close to the edge while one finger stabbed into Ken Forsythe's
chest.  Still, it was the angry words doing the most damage,
battering him past the point of no return.

"Maya!"

Her finger froze mid-stab.  "What are
you doing here?" she snarled.

Forsythe, to his credit, didn't back away
when I gave him the golden opportunity.  Instead, he took
advantage of the valley in her tirade.  "When you can discuss
this like a rational professional, give me a call.  Until
then, I've had enough.  And if you can't reach that point on
your own, perhaps I'll have to call the county supervisor about
this,
Dr.
Winslow."

He nodded and muttered, "Morning, Eriksson,"
on his way out the door. 

My cowardly compatriots hadn't followed me
into the room.  It was a good thing.  Maya crumpled
before my eyes.  She sank to sit on the stool her feet vacated
and sobbed into her hands.

"Maya, what on earth is going on here?"

Her shoulders shook with the effort she made
not to wail loudly.  "Are you alone?"

"Briscoe and Conall are out in the
hall."  I walked briskly across the room and squatted in front
of her.  "Honey, what's wrong?"

Maya peeked over the tips of her
fingers.

"Did someone screw up the evidence?"

"No."

"Are you frustrated because this case hasn't
progressed at all?"

"No.  Yes.  But…"

"That's not what's wrong right now?"

"Don't," she rasped.

"Don't what?"

"Psychoanalyze me."

Bravely, I rubbed her arm with one
hand.  "I'm not here to analyze anything.  I thought we
were friends, Maya.  Something obviously happened between the
bubbly woman I know and love leaving my house last night to make
you this upset this morning.  If you don't want to talk about
it, that's okay, but I want you to know that I'm here if you need a
friend."

More tears dripped silently from behind her
hands.

"Maya, c'mon.  Talk to me.  Is it
this case?"

She sniffled and wiped her tears.  Maya
did what all women do when faced with the unpleasantries of
life.  She stiffened her spine and forced the sickest smile
I'd ever seen.  "Of course I care about the case, but it has
nothing to do with my…situation today."

"Do you want to go find Billy and Forsythe
and straighten this out before we talk about the case?"

"They can get over it.  Right now, I
need a friend."

"Can we do this conversation standing before
I get stuck down here?"

Maya grinned through the tears.  "This
has been the shittiest day of my life, but I'm glad you're here,
even if it didn't sound that way when you walked in here."

I rose and reached for her hand.  It
should be said that I've never been what people would call a
hugger.  Maybe it's the psychology thing, keeping people at a
distance.  Or it probably has more to do with all of Dad's
subtle urging to keep friends and enemies as far away as
possible.  But the pain in Maya's eyes touched me in a way I'm
not sure I felt before.  Whatever caused this shitty day made
her behave so completely out of character for the woman I'd come to
know, it couldn't be anything blown out of proportion.  So I
hugged her.

"What happened?"

She sniffled, trembled a little bit more,
probably dumped some tears onto my shirt.  "Remember that
doctor's appointment I had the other day?"

Vaguely.  "Yeah."

"My doctor's office called yesterday
afternoon while we were getting ready for your party."

"Why didn't you say something last
night?"  I braced for bad news.  Doctors don't call on
Saturday to tell you your good and bad lipid levels are in the
target range.

"Because I didn't hear the message until I
got here this morning with our latest victim."

I pulled back far enough to peer down at
her.  "Maya, what did he say?"

"There was an…an anomaly on the
mammogram."

My heart sank, which I would not show. 
"All right.  What's he going to do?  A biopsy?  Do
you want me to go with you for the procedure?"

More tears fell.  "I'm checking in to
Metro State tomorrow morning at six."

"For a biopsy?"

She nodded.  "They're going to send a
frozen section for examination and decide if I need  a…"

"A mastectomy?"  I couldn't keep the
horror out of my voice.  I don't care what men say about their
prostates.  Women fear breast cancer.  We fear being
marred by a grisly surgery.  We fear that we'll never see our
bodies the same way again.  Women don't have a slick little
blood test that measures whether or not we have breast
cancer.  Instead, we get the aforementioned anatomical parts
mashed in a machine and perhaps bad news and offers of
reconstructive surgery if there's any hope at all.  Don't get
me wrong.  It's better than the alternative, but men don't
look at women without breasts the same way.  And God forbid
you have the reconstruction and some asshole decides that it was
elective.

"I'm a medical doctor," Maya wept.  "I
shouldn't be this upset."

"You're upset because you know too
much."

"Helen, what am I gonna do?"

"You're coming home with me.  We're
getting rip roaring drunk, and in the morning, I'm taking you to
the hospital and staying with you for the duration."

"I love you for offering, but…"

"You need some alone time?"

She nodded.  "But I'd appreciate it so
much if you could be with me tomorrow."

"I wouldn't have accepted rejection. 
We'll get through this, Maya.  It's probably nothing more than
a precaution.  The doctor is being thorough and making sure
that nothing gets missed.  He probably realizes the cry of
outrage that would rise up if anything happened to you."

Maya stepped away and turned her back toward
me.  "I'm too young for this."

"Life isn't fair, honey.  It's
particularly unfair to women."

"I yelled at Billy.  He said he's gonna
quit."

"I'll talk to him."

"Please don't tell anyone what's
happening.  I…I need this job.  Especially now,
Helen.  If it's cancer and I get fired because of chemo and
surgery and radiation or whatever, I'm totally screwed."

"They can't fire you for that."

"They can if Forsythe files the complaint he
suggested is in order."

"I'll talk to Forsythe.  He's a
reasonable man, Maya.  I'm sure, like Billy, he knows deep
down that what happened here this morning is not normal behavior
from you.  Good God, you're the most irreverent, wise-cracking
medical examiner I've ever known."

"What if I made one too many jokes? 
What if God is punishing me for –"

"Magical thinking," I cut off the guilty
confession before the idea could fester in her brain.  "Even
if a person devoutly believes in God, how could she ever accept
punishment for maintaining sanity while doing one of the most
difficult jobs there is?  You help people, Maya.  You
provide answers that lead to justice for people who would otherwise
spend the rest of their lives wondering –
what if
."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."  Now was not the time for a
dialog on the absurdity of religion.  If Maya needed faith to
get her through what could happen, so be it.  "When something
happens to us beyond our control, the human response is typically
two-fold.  Either we try to get control again, or we try to
find a reason, something to blame for the bad thing that sent the
world spinning off its axis.  In reality, the universe is
filled with randomness.  Statistically speaking, it hits all
of us eventually."

"For six years I've demanded an annual
mammogram.  Thank God for that."

She needed to laugh.  "What, you
started getting mammograms when you were twenty-five?"

Maya giggled and turned around.  Tears
spiked her eyelashes.  Her pain still overwhelmed me. 
"What will I tell people?  How am I supposed to look Billy in
the eye and say,
it's not you.  I look at this body on my
table and I don't see him right now.  All I can see is me
lying there, ravaged by cancer, bald, with no breasts.
"

"Maya…"  I opened my arms again. 
This time, she came to me and held on for dear life.  She
didn't notice the whoosh of air at the door, but I did.  We'd
have to do damage control with Briscoe and Conall too,
apparently.  I'd do it for her.  It was the least I could
offer.

"You're gonna get through this.  No
matter what happens tomorrow, you will survive.  We've got
endless summers of margaritas on my patio ahead of us,
remember?  Not so much fog in my neighborhood at night."

"Briscoe and Conall will be here soon. 
I should clean up and pull myself together before they get
here.  God forbid Briscoe sees me like this.  The man is
an insufferable snoop.  I suppose that's what makes him such a
good detective."

"They're here," I said.  "In the hall
like the lily-livered boys they are.  I'll talk to them while
you collect your thoughts on the case.  Ten minutes?"

"Thank you, Helen.  You're a good
friend."

It was a new compliment, not to mention new
development in my life.  I nodded.  "Be back in a
few."

Briscoe and Conall were in the hall
whispering conspiratorially.  The veins in Tony's neck were
leaping out as he hissed his argument.  All I heard was,
"…tellin' you, Johnny would know if she played…"

"Gentlemen?"

Guilty faces snapped to attention.

"Maya is having a bit of a personal
crisis.  We're going to give her a little space, and then
we'll get her report on the victim found in Downey last
night.  I think you both should find a coffee machine and take
a short break."

"Where are you goin'?"

"Tony, it's none of your business," my voice
was stern, and brooked no argument.  "I need to talk to
someone while we respect Maya's need for privacy right now, and
when I come back and we talk to her, you are limiting questions to
the case you're investigating and nothing more.  I'm aware
that men are worse gossips than women, so I believe you'll
understand when I tell you this.  You really don't want to
throw down with me."

I was certain that Orion had shared our
little episode of hand to hand combat in the parking garage at the
Montcliff Hotel last spring.  No way were Briscoe and Conall
unaware of my training in jujitsu.  My suspicions were
confirmed when Briscoe merely saluted, kept his mouth shut and
headed off toward the small room filled with vending machines.

Crevan was on his heels a second
later. 

Finding Billy Withers wasn't
difficult.  All I had to do was listen for the occasional ping
of his tennis shoe against the metal trash can in one of the rooms
along the corridor.  He was in the hematology lab, running
blood samples and cursing under his breath.

"Billy?"

"Oh, hey Eriksson.  This isn't a good
time right now.  I'm –"

"I saw you leave the autopsy bay.  You
nearly knocked me over at the door."

"Uh…sorry about that."

"I know that Maya is having a bad day."

He snorted.  Silent
I'll say
radiated from his posture.

"You've known her what, ten months?"

He nodded.

"I've known her for at least six
years.  Do you know how many times I've seen her lose her
temper?"

His eyebrows stitched together.  "How
many?"

"Once.  Today, about fifteen minutes
ago.  How many times have you seen her like that in the last
ten months?"

"Never," muttered somewhat unhappily. 
I was making my point.

"I can't tell you what's wrong, but I can
promise you that this has nothing to do with you, how she feels
about you personally or professionally or what she thinks of her
job in Bay County.  Do you trust her Billy?"

"I did."

"Do you trust her?"

"Yeah," his chin dipped to his chest in a
gesture most often seen in boys under the age of six who are being
scolded by a favorite aunt.

"She'll tell you what's wrong soon, but in
the meantime, she really needs support and understanding. 
Don't avoid her.  Don't be pissy when you have to be in the
same room.  And most of all, don't you dare resign.  She
adores you, and you know it."