Coroner Stories

I don’t know if the average person ever thinks about the issue of removing a body from a scene. Most everyone has seen a body rolled away on the news or on a crime drama by people specially “trained�? to perform that task. Needless to say, there is no actual formal training. Each removal is potentially its own little training session. Training sessions are distinguished from routine removals as they are typically punctuated by variations of the phrases “That worked well�? or “Don’t ever try that again.�?

A best-case scenario for body removal is a 100 pound little old lady that died in bed during the night on the first floor of her house. First, she’s easy to lift. In fact, it may be possible to collapse the gurney to the same level as the bed and just slide her over wrapped in a sheet. Second, she’s already laid out flat. No need to struggle with breaking the rigor mortis in order to buckle her to the gurney. Next, she died in the night. She hasn’t been dead that long, so there may not be any foul odor until her body is moved. And lastly, she’s on the first floor, so no more than one or two steps to go up.

Now for a worst case scenario—a 350 pound man that died in bed two weeks ago on the third floor of his apartment building. Obviously the increased weight changes everything and it’s only complicated by the fact that he’s been dead for some time. It is now necessary that he be placed in a body bag in order to contain the decomposition “juices�? that have accumulated just under the surface of the skin. The rigor mortis has already gone away or “passed,�? but his girth still makes it difficult to zip up the body bag and to strap him to the gurney.

The only redeeming element of this scenario is that the man is in bed and not directly on the floor or (God forbid) in the bathtub. As it stands, I would lay the open body bag on the floor next to the bed. Then I would throw a bed sheet over the body to catch any decomposition juices expelled from areas of concentration ruptured during the initial move. Next, I would grab the body through the sheet, pull it from the edge of the bed, and let gravity do the rest. It’s at this point that the decomposition juice is actually helpful. It makes for a slippery surface on which it is much easier to slide a body.

Once he’s in the bag, there is still the issue of getting him to ground level. He’s already met the “250 Pound Rule�? which states that “Anyone who dies in an apartment building above the first floor is guaranteed to weigh at least 250 pounds.�? Hundreds of apartment buildings in this city and they seem to have all been constructed before the days of handicap accessibility.

Without an elevator, gravity is called upon once again. I am a firm believer in letting the floor do the majority of the work, so there is a lot of sliding involved—especially when it comes to stairs. Holding on tightly to the bag, I slowly allow it to slide down each flight of stairs to the ground floor. The drawback of this process in conjunction with the lack of rigor mortis results in the body slumping down into one end of the bag like an orange in a sock.

I’ve lost count of how many times I wished I had “body handlers�? at my disposal like the ones that are often shown on television and in movies. Hollywood body handlers are typically two respectable looking actors with no lines that are shown moving the body from the scene on a gurney. Their manner of dress makes them look a lot like paramedics but without the sense of urgency burdening those with life-saving responsibilities.

In the real world—or at least my corner of it—the body handlers are myself, the mortician transporting the body, and anyone else willing to help. Needless to say, volunteers are usually hard to come by.

After reading the above, Douglas commented:

“You mention using the floor to do most of your work. And specifically describe a trip down the stairs. Is there not much concern that a bouncy trip down the stairs would produce new damage or obscure existing wounds making pronouncement that much more difficult?�?

To which I responded:

As I reread my post, I can see where my description sounds like a scene from “Weekend at Bernie’s�? with a body sliding uncontrollably down the stairs like a runaway toboggan. It’s more of a controlled slide as we ease the bag down with the help of gravity. It still requires some straining, but considerably less than carrying it the whole way down.

As such, there is minimal impact to the body. I have seen a head strike a concrete surface as a gurney fell over. There was a slight mark to the scalp but no underlying fracture present at autopsy and there was no swelling because there was no blood pumping.

About the only trauma that might occur would be an abrasion to the body from rubbing against the inside of the bag. In this case there would be very little “reaction�? in the skin tissue–that is to say the abraded area of the skin would have a parchment-like appearance as opposed to the typical appearance of aggravated tissue that has started to heal itself.

As for obscuring the wounds, they should have already been documented before removing the body.

Couches are easier to move down stairs. They may be bulkier, but they are much more rigid and the weight is even distributed. Even a body in full rigor will sag in the middle making the body seem much heavier. I wouldn’t be surprised if an undertaker was the first person to coin the phrase “dead weight.�?

Hope that answers your question…

Click here for “A Homicide to Remember–Part I”

The detectives immediately began briefing me as they walked towards the crime scene, so I never had a chance to look panicked. I tried desperately to keep up with what they were saying as I scribbled down notes that I could only hope to be able to interpret later. By the time we reached the door of the apartment they were finished with their part of my visit and ready for me to start with mine.

It was at that very moment I was blindsided by an overwhelming sense of self doubt. It started when I second guessed whether I had given the correct name to the officer in charge of the crime scene log and rapidly peaked. In an instant, everything I thought I knew about death investigation seemed as useless as a wallet in another pair of pants. There I was—reaching into an empty pocket with a cart full of groceries and a line of soon-to-be pissed off customers behind me.

Fortunately, I was about to experience an unanticipated aspect of death scene investigation. As I entered the apartment to begin, there was a very surrealistic feeling that seemed to shroud the apartment. I can now look back and recognize that feeling as a byproduct of the situation.

Picture doing this:

You drive to a part of the city you would normally avoid because of your affinity for living. When you get there, the police cars blocking the street move out of your way but continue to keep everyone else at the end of the block. Detectives willingly provide you with details they won’t provide to the media. You then walk into a complete stranger’s house to examine that same complete stranger as they lay dead in the floor of their living room. As you examine the surroundings and the body, homicide detectives stand to the side and make notes based on your findings and impressions.

Needless to say, the end result is a truly unique situation—even more so when one considers the presence of violent trauma and the significance of playing a role in the investigation. That uniqueness created the surrealistic feeling that ultimately helped me focus on the task at hand.

I started off by looking around the scene very slowly, hoping to give the impression that I was being very thorough. The truth is that I was stalling for time. After I was “mentally acclimated,�? I was able to recall enough of the protocols and proceeded from there. In retrospect, if I had gone in without that feeling, I might not have taken it slow and could have missed something important. The end result was that I made a good impression on the homicide detectives and the crime scene techs.

I’m not sure if anyone else has ever experienced this feeling. As for me, the sensation went away after the first few scenes. I’m at the point now that just about any scene investigation seems as natural as a routine household chore. Even though I can do just as good of a job without that sensation, I can’t help but wonder where it went.

As for the homicide itself, apart from it being my “first,�? it wasn’t that remarkable compared to others I have worked since. Still, in the interest of closure here are the remaining details:

The end result of the investigation was that both of the female roommates were prostitutes who occasionally worked out of their apartment. The male acquaintance was a potential client and fled the scene for fear of involvement. He was later located and it was ultimately determined that both he and the roommate had sound alibis. No suspect or murder weapon was ever found and at this time the investigation is closed pending any new information.

I assume many people are like me in that they reflect every so often on a “famous first�? from their past. I would also assume that these scenarios most likely involve a first day of school, a first kiss, or a first plane ride. For me, I often find myself thinking back to my first homicide. The first homicide I worked rather—I didn’t kill anyone.

Here’s the scenario:

A woman returned to her apartment with a male acquaintance and found her female roommate collapsed in the floor of their living room. Upon noticing a large amount of blood on the body and on the floor, she called 911 and her acquaintance fled the scene. After the responding officers and paramedics recognized what appeared to be stab wounds to the body, homicide detectives, crime scene technicians, and myself were called to the scene.

When dispatch called me, the only detail I got besides the address was that the death appeared to be a homicide. As such, my nerves had little to do with the magnitude of the violent incident that had taken place and everything to do with an instant fear of looking like an idiot. I had worked homicide scenes with other investigators and medical examiners before as part of my training, but this scene was to be my first “solo�? effort. Formal training had concluded the week before which signified the beginning of informal training. Informal training in this field is concluded upon death or retirement.

To prepare myself—and distract myself from my nerves—I spent the entire drive to the scene going over the protocols for investigating a homicide step-by-step. I tried to recall every “What to do�? and “What not to do�? I had ever heard. I even formed a mental picture of the scene in my head as I went through various stages of the scene investigation. The fact that I was a rookie was no excuse to show up and look like a rookie.

By the time I arrived, I had mentally prepared myself and even had a plan of attack. I was going to show up feeling confident but not over-confident and use the opportunity to show everyone, including myself, that I knew what I was doing. In spite of what little genuine confidence I was able to muster en route, I was still very much relieved when I arrived and saw that my senior investigator was already there.

Initially, I didn’t question why he was there. As it turned out, the dispatcher had mistakenly notified him first. I was just glad to have him standing over my shoulder one more time. I walked up and stood by politely as he casually visited with the homicide detectives. After a few minutes, one of the detectives said, “Ready when you are.�?

I turned to my supervisor expecting him to respond as he normally did—with some smart-ass remark that only a seasoned veteran can get away with. These remarks were typically one-liners like “I guess it’s not going to examine itself�? or “If you’re waiting on me to be ready, we may as well go home.�? For anyone unfamiliar with him or his line of work, it would certainly appear that he had a genuine disdain for his job.

On this occasion, however, he used a line I hadn’t heard yet.

“Don’t look at me. This one’s all yours.�?