Dr. Chen picked up a scalpel. In one motion and without any hesitation, he cut from just below the shoulder on the right side to mid chest. The skin immediately gaped open. In another sweeping motion he repeated the cut on the left side, continuing down the middle to just above the belly button.

Val watched intently, speechless as Dr. Chen picked up a pair of long-handled garden loppers, wondering what on earth he was doing with those. He placed the blades under the bottom rib, starting on the right side and cut upwards towards the top. Val stared, shocked, as each rib snapped easily, like Dr. Chen was pruning small branches from a tree. He did the same thing on the left side. Then lifted the entire ribcage off the body.

“I know it looks crude but the loppers are quick and, most importantly, leave little mess,” Dr. Chen said.

Val smiled nervously, aware that he saw her expression. “Of course,” she said, as if she was well versed in rib removal. Oliver recommended her for this job. Why the hell the morgue used garden instruments should be commonplace knowledge for her. Jesus, there is a lot to learn here.

Dr. Phelps picked up a long, thin, straight instrument and she inserted it into a hole in the boy’s heart. “The bullet entered the left atrium, crossed through to the right ventricle and then both lungs to the lower right quadrant. The trajectory is left to right and downward. He probably died within minutes of being shot.” She worked for a few minutes to free the bullet, finally reaching in with her fingers to grab it, then placed it in a plastic container. “The cops will want this,” she said, handing the container to Val.

She took the container slowly, carefully, as if Dr. Phelps was passing over evidence that solved the crime of the century. “The cops should be happy. The bullet will be able to tell which gun fired the shot,” Val said. She’d watched a few episodes of Law & Order. She knew what this kind of evidence meant.

Dr. Phelps ignored her and continued with the autopsy, removing organs, taking tissue samples. Val looked around. There was no sign of Howie yet, but she did notice the table where the man with the EKG tabs was being dismantled. The doctor there was dissecting the heart. Intrigued, Val moved in closer. She was still holding the plastic container with the bullet and had no idea what to do with it.

“I’m Dr. Jim Stedman. Nice to meet you,” he said. “I’d shake your hand but I’m a little messy right now.” He set down the heart and held up his bloodstained gloved hands.

Val smiled. “That’s okay, I’ll catch up with you later, after you wash up.”

“I clean up pretty good,” he said.