Typical Day
It's 1:00AM and Morticia D'Eath's cell phone goes off. True, Morticia was definitely sound asleep, but she isn't fazed. After twelve years as the coroner of Shmoop City, Morticia knows that most of the town's fatalities occur after midnight. Especially after she's fallen asleep.
The police chief is on the other end of the line and yes, indeed there is a dead body. They desperately need Morticia right away.
"Mhmmm," Morticia mutters, thinking how silly it is to rush. It's not like this guy is going anywhere.
Morticia changes into her official coroner's uniform: white hospital pants, shirt, and lab coat with the word "Coroner" embroidered on it with her name. She grabs a disposable mask and her bag, along with her car keys and hurries out the door.
She thinks about stopping at Dunkin' Doughnuts for some coffee and sugar, but decides to skip it. It's not good for her health, after all.
When she arrives at the address, Morticia sighs.
It's an apartment building. A six-story job. There's probably no elevator...or at least no working elevator. Ten to one the guy who croaked is over 200 pounds. They're always over 200 pounds, when there's lifting involved.
Sure enough, when Morticia walks in there's a 300-pound man splayed out on top of his bed. He must be about fifty-five years old and is pale as a ghost—without actually being a ghost, of course. Morticia does not, contrary to popular belief, see dead people come back to life. The dead stay dead. Womp, womp.
Rigor Mortis has set in to the body and then some. Morticia dons her mask and after a quick preliminary exam, she notes that he's probably been dead for a few days. The smell was the dead giveaway. It stinks. Morticia still isn't used to it, even after all these years.
She tells the detective to go boil a pot of coffee while she lays out a body bag for the deceased.
The detective asks if the coffee is for her. She says no, it's not to drink; it's to mask the stink.
Morticia carefully joins the police to investigate the scene. She finds the man's wallet and determines his name is Vick Timm. Information in Vick's wallet tells Morticia about his family. Morticia takes the wallet and Vick's personal effects and puts it in a bag for them.
Then comes the hard part. Morticia has to get Vick into the body bag— juices and all— without dropping him on her foot or pulling out her back. It's going to be a challenge. Nobody wants to help, of course. Nobody ever does. That's why she gets paid "the big bucks." She needs to ask the Mayor for a raise, she thinks, as she slides Vick's dead corpse into the bag.
She then slides Vick's dead weight down the stairs, body bag and all. The detectives watch but don't offer to help. After an hour and considerable effort, the body is downstairs. Morticia is then able to secure Vick on the gurney and get him in the coroner's van. It's not easy work, but hey, think of all the money she's saving by not having to join a gym.
Back at the coroner's office, Morticia uses all her strength to get Vick out of the car and onto a spstretcher, which she then wheels into the morgue. She puts Vick onto a table for examination and goes back into her office to fill out paperwork...lots and lots of paperwork.
Morticia isn't sure about what killed Vick, though she has a strong suspicion that his enormous girth might have something to do with it. She also found cigarette butts and empty cigarette packages all over his apartment. "Obesity and smoking, a surefire recipe for disaster," Morticia thinks as she tracks down Vick's next of kin and dials.
This is the part of the job Morticia hates the most. Calling the family.
She takes a deep breath and dials the emergency contact that she found in Vick's wallet. An elderly woman answers the phone. It turns out she is Vick's mother.
Vick's mother weeps hysterically when she hears the news that her only son is dead. Morticia is matter of fact about it. She tells Vick's mother that she does not yet know the cause of death but that she will let her know as soon as possible. She gives her directions to the morgue and asks if she can come down to identify the body. "Maybe it's a mistake," says the mother. Morticia nods, knowing it isn't.
The next call Morticia makes is to the forensics office in nearby BigCityville, where she schedules an autopsy for Vick with Mad Mike, (the Medical Examiner). Mad Mike likes to remind Morticia that he has a medical degree and went to Dartmouth. Morticia likes reminding Mike that he's thirty years old and still lives in his mother's basement. How much good did that degree really do him? Mike books the autopsy for a week out.
"That's too long to wait," says Morticia. "My people want a cause of death now."
"Too bad," says Mad Mike." I'm all booked up. If you'd have gotten me sooner, say last year, maybe things would be different but today, you'll have to wait like everyone else."
Morticia reluctantly agrees and goes back in to the morgue to take another look at the body.
She takes some Ibuprofen to quell the pain shooting up her back from lifting Vick into the car and onto the slab.
After making some observations of the body, Morticia notices marks on Vick's neck consistent with finger marks and bruising of the skin. Uh-oh, maybe it wasn't overindulgence that did him in, maybe there was foul play.
She takes quite a few hand written notes on what she sees and observes, as well as a few tissue samples for the lab.
After making sure the victim's personal belongings are safely put away for his family, Morticia waits for the victim's mother to arrive to ID the body.
She shows up at 6:00AM and it goes just as Morticia expects. Yes, that's her son. She just talked to him. He was doing well. He was on a diet and losing weight (not quickly enough, thinks Morticia) and he was happy. He was even seeing a girl.
"Hmm, a girl," Morticia thinks out loud.
"Yes, he met her online."
Morticia gets more details about this girl that Vick was dating and plans to talk to her tomorrow; after she's gotten a little sleep. For now, Morticia is exhausted. She can barely keep her eyes open.
Morticia makes a few more quick notes on the case and then drives home where she crashes in bed for a whole five hours before her phone rings again. Somebody else has died. Morticia hopes it's a ninety-eight pound woman who lives on the ground floor, but she knows it probably isn't. It rarely is.