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“You outrank me, Doc.”

“Thanks. And I’d appreciate it if Dr. Colt didn’t hear about my heading out today.”

Kent smiled. “What happens in the morgue van, stays in the morgue van.”

“I owe you one.”

“Careful what you promise. I cash in on my favors. Trust me.”

Livia pointed at his cigarette. “You know what this job’s done to me in just three months?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s made me see people from the inside out. Or in reverse, I guess is a better way to say it. I see you dying of lung cancer as you suck on that cigarette. I see your lifeless body on my autopsy table, and I see all the necrotic tumors in your stenosed lungs. I see your trachea scarred and ash-strewn. I see your lips and tongue black with waiting death that crept down your throat and found your lungs. I see white pockmarks of cancerous tumors throughout your abdomen, and I feel your fattened lymph nodes swollen with—”

“All right, for Christ’s sake,” Kent said, dropping the cigarette and stomping it out.

“Sorry,” Livia said. “I’m just telling you the perils of my job. Since when do you smoke, anyway? I’ve known you three months, first time I saw you stick a cigarette in your mouth was two days ago.”

“Old habit,” Kent said. “Just picked it up again.”

Livia walked over to the van and leaned against it, taking a spot next to Kent. Ride-along week, much of which was spent in the van, provided many opportunities to talk. Fabricated beliefs about medical examiners were rampant, especially the idea that all MEs were tight with detectives, which Livia was finding to be a myth. The MEs worked most closely with the medicolegal investigators, and these were the people they got to know best. After five days, she realized much could be learned from sitting in the back of the morgue van. Kent was unhappily married to his high school sweetheart. His kids were the only reason he and his wife stayed together, and they had openly discussed the best time for divorce. Maybe when the kids were in high school, but that presented an awkward transition for the kids at an already challenging time. College was the next best time, but this was far off and the thought of “existing” together for that long was difficult. He didn’t believe in counseling and straight out refused to confess his annoyances and disappointments to a shrink. After all, Kent said in the middle of the week as he grumbled in the front seat and blew cigarette smoke through the barely open window, he had a never-ending supply of bodies that would listen to the stories of his shitty life.

“Things any better at home?” Livia asked.

“You can only stack a pile of shit so many ways, Doc.”

Livia smiled. “Try a stress ball instead of cigarettes. They’ll keep your hands occupied while you’re in the van.”

“I’ll give it a shot.”

“You talked all week about your wife, I wanted to make sure you knew I was listening.”

Kent smiled, lifted his chin. “Noted. Just remember when you settle down, Doc. Wait for the right person, because once you have kids you’re stuck with them.” There was a short pause before Kent spoke again. “So, you seeing anyone?”

Livia shook her head. “This job is all-consuming. Sadly, I’m more interested in impressing Dr. Colt than a boyfriend. And my current outlet for pent-up energy is kicking a hanging Everlast bag held by a large black man named Randy.”

Kent pursed his lips. “I’m not going to touch that answer.”

“Good. It was meant to get me off the hook.”

“You’re off. So what do you have cooking today? Why are you cutting out early?” Kent asked.

“I’m making a run up to Richmond to meet with the chief medical examiner up there.”

“Oh yeah? What about?”

“Probably nothing. It has to do with that jumper you dumped on me a few weeks ago.”

“The one we pulled out of the bay?”

“That’s him.”

“That case still pending?”

“Yeah. I’m not involved with it any longer. Homicide guys have it. I’m just curious.”

Kent ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip. “About what?”