"We don't know how she died."

"Excuse me?"  Dr. Jonathan Knight set down his sandwich and turned to face the pair of orderlies who had interrupted his lunch break.  "The hell is that supposed to mean?"

The elder of the two, a tall, thin man in his mid-thirties, rubbed a hand against the back of his neck.  "Well, it was apparently a car crash, but ... the EMTs got there, and said she was already dead when they got to the impact site."

"I'd call that a classic case of head meets windshield, wouldn't you?" The mortician wrapped his sandwich back up and pushed it to one side of his desk, grabbing a fresh pair of gloves and snapping them on.  "I mean, car accident - pretty cut and dry, right?  Lemme see."

"That's the problem, Jon," the second orderly replied, taking a clipboard from where it hung on the side of the gurney.  "Steve and I had to bring her down from the ambulance, and ... well, here.  Look at the site report."   

"Gimme that."  Frowning, Jon snatched up the clipboard and scanned the forms carefully.  "Wait, wait.  You mean to tell me that Gina figures she was dead before the cars even hit?"

"That's it, exactly," Steve nodded.  

"Heart attack or stroke, maybe." Jon leant over to unzip the body bag.   "... okay, now that's just fucked up," he pronounced blandly, folding his arms to lean back and stare at the body.  "This doesn't look like a heart attack at all  ... Not to mention, there's no signs of whiplash, no nothing.  She looks like she just up and croaked in her sleep! ... Warren, you guys sure you brought me the right stiff?"

"I swear we did, Jon, this is what they gave us, and it's what you're getting.  And I'd look sharp, because you're probably going to get press.  You'd better come up with something, at least.  This is the third one this month, isn't it?"

"Fourth," Jon corrected him.  "Shit, when I took over from Josie, I never knew this was what she'd be dumpin' in my fucking lap.  I mean, I tacked the last three up to mysterious causes, for fuck's sake.  I can't keep doin' that, it's unprofessional."

Warren and Steve exchanged glances as Jon straightened out his white blazer and took a swig from the can of Cherry Coke he'd left half-finished on the autopsy table.  ".... Right, Jon.  Hey, Jo had a whole file full of MCs ... stuff from way back when, before she was even here.  It ... happens here from time to time."

"What do you mean, 'happens'," the mortician blustered, squinting at the gurney that stood between them.  "We never got shit like this in Hartford!"

"Yeah, well," Steve said blandly, turning for the door, "you're in Aviario, now, Jon.  And it's not that I don't think you can handle it - you're good at this.  But ... there's definately a lot more here that's different from Hartford."

"Like what?" Jon wrinkled his nose as he rolled up his sleeves, moving his soda off the autopsy table to make room for the body.  

"Trust me," Warren said with a shrug.  "You'll find out.  People don't tend to talk about it much, but ... you'll find out.  Look, we gotta head back upstairs, man, we'll see you around."

"Later, bud."  Jon waved, then frowned down at the corpse in front of him.  "Okay, Ms .....  Mullein," he sighed.  "Let's see if you can't still tell me a thing or two."  Carefully, he moved the body onto the table, pulling the bag free and setting it aside.  "Don't suppose you've got any clue what the heck he meant, huh?  ... Well, nothin' you can tell me, anyway."  Polishing off his soda, he tossed it over his shoulder to land in the garbage, then picked up a clean scalpel and set to work.  "I'm tellin' ya.  Not even the dead people give a guy a straight answer in this place..."