Final Words: Reflections of a Forensic Pathologist

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  • Storage Locker

    Storage Locker

    “I don’t know why I made the payments on that stupid storage locker,” the woman said, her frosted lips pouting. The interview had drawn to an end. The FBI agent closed the folder in front of him, standing up to see her out. “Even before I paid the gas and electric. It was that important…

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  • La Petite Morte

    La Petite Morte

    Evelyn had arrived early for the meeting. The curtains were closed on the first floor windows of the motel room. It didn’t matter. The only view was an empty parking lot, on this weekday at lunchtime. A Reader’s Digest lay abandoned on an end table next to a plastic cup of water. Rumpled linens covered…

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  • Rain


    “What’s going on?” I asked. There was an angry edge to my voice as I watched the bodies being laid on the floor — two hundred and twenty eight of them. “I don’t know, Doc,” answered Kaholo, my pathology assistant, as he put on a butcher’s apron. His torso was thick and so were his…

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