Forensic Forensic - Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Working all night.

Hearing Old Han cough, Qi Ming poured him a glass of water. “Take a break, Old Han.”

Old Han removed his gloves and mask, washed his hands with disinfectant, then picked up the glass and gulped down half of it in one gulp. Then he sat down at his desk, rubbing his eyes wearily. Qi Ming felt the back of his hand against the side of his neck and frowned slightly.

“Your temperature’s a little high, Old Han. Go back and rest.”

“It’s okay, I’m used to it.” Old Han waved his hand nonchalantly. “I smoke too much. Bronchitis. It comes with the change of seasons.”

Qi Ming sighed. Although he understood the dangers of smoking better than anyone, many forensic pathologists still choose to smoke. One reason is to mask the smell, and the other is to calm their nerves. Every body on the autopsy table was once a living being. Forensic pathologists face the final outcome of their lives, and this ending is often far from perfect. Maintaining composure is truly a difficult task.

“Why don’t you hire interns to help you with your work?” Qi Ming asked.

“Of course not! The forensic office is permanent, but interns are always changing.” Old Han smiled helplessly. “They usually finish one case and then leave. Forensic professionals are scarce, and only a few can hit the ground running. If you try to recruit them from elsewhere, the director will call ours and complain about me.”

“Once my qualifications are reviewed, you’ll have some peace of mind.” Qi Ming patted Old Han’s shoulder comfortingly. Old Han was silent for a moment, then said, “Teacher Qi, I submitted my retirement application last week. I’m getting old and can’t work anymore. The smell of disinfectant makes me cough up bl00d.”

Qi Ming was startled and immediately pulled Old Han out of his chair. “I’ll take an X-ray for you.” The autopsy table was equipped with a small X-ray machine; he needed to see if there was anything growing in Old Han’s lungs.

“I’ll take it. It’s nothing serious, don’t worry.” Old Han smiled and pulled his hand away. “My wife’s retired and wants to travel… I’ve worked at the bureau for thirty years, but I’ve probably spent less than three months with her… She’s been the one taking care of the elderly and children at home all these years. I owe her so much. Now that you’re here, I can hand this over to you with confidence.”

With that, Old Han pulled out another pair of gloves, put on his mask, and continued to work. Qi Ming looked at Old Han’s slightly hunched back, thinking about his thirty years at the autopsy table, and a sense of melancholy came over him. Thirty years ago, forensic science lacked the assistance of sophisticated instruments. Cause of death, weapon of death, pathology, and toxicology were largely determined by experience. Experienced forensic pathologists like Old Han were walking textbooks.

Standing next to Old Han, Qi Ming assured him as he glanced sideways at him, “Don’t worry, Old Han, I will never bring shame to this medical examiner’s office.”

Old Han’s eyes, visible above his mask, narrowed slightly in a smile.

————————

Placing the organized police dispatch records on Chen Fei’s desk, Luo Jianan pinched his nose, which was sore from staying up late at the computer, and picked up his landline to call the medical examiner’s office.

“Let’s go get breakfast. I’m starving,” he said to Qi Ming, who answered the phone. “Call Old Han.”

“Old Han just went to bed in the lounge. He has a slight fever.”

“Huh? Is it serious?”

“Not bad. I took medicine.” Qi Ming tilted his head, holding the receiver between his shoulders, and continued typing the autopsy report. “I have work to do. Go get breakfast by yourself.”

“Then I’ll bring you and Old Han one each: soy milk, fried dough sticks, steamed buns, mixed noodles, wontons, steamed wheat, and preserved egg porridge. What are you having?”

“Coffee and an egg sandwich.”

“…” Luo Jianan suppressed an eye roll. “The cafeteria doesn’t serve Western breakfast. Look at Sanming. Can I replace it with sesame seed cakes and eggs? ”

“No coffee either?”

“How many Chinese people get up early and drink that stuff? There is milk.”

“Then milk, and that sesame seed cake with eggs you mentioned.”

“How about a fried dough stick? The fried dough stick soaked in milk is a classic.”

“Don’t impose your preferences on others.”

“Who fed me like a rabbit yesterday?”

“Didn’t I feed you steak?”

“Ah, speaking of which, your cooking skills are as good as my mother’s.”

“I’m busy, hang up now.”

A “beep” sound came from the receiver, Luo Jianan put down the phone, yawned and walked towards the cafeteria. Fifteen minutes later, he walked into the medical examiner’s office carrying three bags of breakfast. Qi Ming was still listening to the recording and sorting out the autopsy report. When he saw Luo Jianan coming in, he tilted his head to the side, indicating that he could just leave his breakfast there.

Not seeing the body on the autopsy table, Luo Jianan calmly took out a fried dough stick and soaked it in a milk glass, then sat on the chair next to Qi Ming and ate something. Qi Ming, distracted by the noise he made, glared at him angrily. Luo Jianan shrugged his shoulders disapprovingly, puffing out his cheeks and chewing furiously.

Finally, a vein popped in his forehead at the rustling of Luo Jianan’s plastic bag, and Qi Ming pointed toward the door, “Let’s go eat!”

“I’m done.” Luo Jianan placed the bag containing the milk cup and the egg pancake next to Qi Ming. “You should rest for a while before you get back to work. Eat first. You didn’t eat anything last night. You’re going to have low bl00d sugar soon, and I’ll have to wake Old Han up to save you.”

Realizing that his temper was probably a bit irritable from lack of sleep, Qi Ming waved his hand apologetically. “Your hands are greasy, so I can’t touch the keyboard or mouse.”

Luo Jianan turned around and pulled two rubber gloves out of the box, shoving them towards Qi Ming. “Wearing these won’t rub off.”

Although he knew the other person meant well, Qi Ming still kicked him out of the office—even if they were brand new, who could possibly eat with gloves meant for touching corpses?

Forensic pathologists are human too; how could they be completely devoid of taboos?