Once changed into blue scrubs, he reviewed the morning’s list; two BIDs, one hanging and infant twins.  He moved to the first body brought in dead and started to work. He moved quickly each time he peeled back the layers of a body.  In each there was something the pathologist wanted him to find: the clot lodged in a heart or brain artery, the broken neck vertebra of a hanging victim, waterlogged lungs in a suspected drowning, or the puncture-wound tracking a knife’s insertion through the rib space, through the sack around the heart, reaching its inner silken lining.  These were not what Carthage was looking for.  As he weighed the heart, lungs and brain and noted his findings, his pace slowed. Stephanie often walked past the glass-block wall, click clack, click clack.  ‘That’s all I need, an attractive woman. They’re a bloody curse.’