Agnes Marselli was an Emergency Room nurse who'd worked years ago with Doc Granith when he was an orthopedic surgeon on call at Roosevelt, the West Side hospital a couple blocks uptown from the house we both lived in now. Him and Agnes had kept in touch after he had his medical license yanked, Roosevelt being close by and her still on staff. 

"We meet for coffee at Khave's now and then," Doc said, pointing me to a chair in his attic room where he'd asked me to come up. "You know, shoot the breeze, war stories. She's the only one who kept in touch. Of course, there aren't that many of the old crew left now." 

I'd never been up here, was surprised how neat it was. No sign of the booze bottles I knew must be around somewhere, just a tidy little living area — dormer window with a slim view of the river between buildings, a kitchenette and a few pieces of furniture, not too different from my place in the basement except for the view. 

"She could just as well have been a nun," Doc said, "which down deep I think was why she had trouble doing what they asked her." 

"Which was what?" 

He started filling me in while he put water on to boil for coffee on his little two-ring stove. "I only found out about it when she called me yesterday, after Szu's service, which she knew about from the papers." He leaned back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest. "You remember that your sister was brought into Roosevelt, that they did the autopsy there?" 

"I do." 

"You ever wonder why that particular place?" 

"I guess because it was closest to where they found her." 

"That would make sense. Except almost all autopsies for a killing that violent are done at Bellevue." 

"So?" 

He went on to tell me that Agnes had been on duty when they'd brought Tanya's body in with her throat and tongue all knifed up. Agnes had autopsy creds and was asked to assist in Tanya's. She knew Tanya was from the house here, which was why she eventually called Doc. Told him that early in the procedure, a fetus was taken out of Tanya. 

"Agnes said it was almost as if they knew it would be there." 

"Who did, the cops?" 

"An assistant medical examiner would have been doing the actual autopsy, but he'd have been taking direction."   

"Was it alive, the fetus?" 

Before Doc could answer, there was a knock at the door. 

"I'll let Agnes tell you," he said, and went over to let her in. 

One of the girls from the house had showed Agnes the way up. Doc thanked the girl, who looked over and gave me a little wave. He stood aside for Agnes to come in and closed the door. 

I stood up and Doc introduced us. 

"I'm sorry for your loss," Agnes said. 

"Thank you, I appreciate the thought." 

She was a nice-looking woman in her fifties, maybe ten or so years younger than Doc. She was carrying a small cardboard box that she held in her lap after she took a seat on the hide-a-bed sofa. 

"Coffee?" Doc asked her. 

"Only if you are." 

The water had boiled and he made instant for the three of us. Put the cups on a tray with milk and sugar, brought it over and set it down on the beat-up coffee table, took a seat on the sofa with Agnes. 

"I started to tell Toko what you told me about Tanya's autopsy," he said. "He asked if the fetus was still alive when they took it out." 

"I don't think it was," she said, touching the cardboard box, "but it was hard to tell." 

"Meaning?" Doc asked. 

"I was standing back from the table, but I could see they weren't being very gentle." 

And I was having trouble keeping my eyes off that box. "You've helped with abortions? I mean..." I realized how that didn't sound right. "I'm sorry, I just..." I reached for the sugar and offered it to her, trying to regroup. 

"Thank you," she said, putting the box down next to her, nearer to me. "Sometimes it has to be done to save the mother." 

"And they're still alive then? The babies?" 

"In some cases, yes." 

She put some sugar in her coffee and stirred it, took a sip and went on to tell us how a lot of the fetuses when they're taken out are damaged in the process, if not downright butchered, alive or not. "Whoever is doing the procedure knows that the fetus is going to be cremated, or just tossed in the trash, so preserving their looks isn't a priority." 

Doc Granith said, "Except in an autopsy, I'd think it would be saved as evidence." 

"You'd think that," Agnes said, "but it wasn't." 

I didn't touch my coffee, just looked at that box. "Was Tanya's, you know, butchered?" 

"Surprisingly, Tanya's came out perfectly. Which was why I couldn't bring myself to put it in the incineration bag." 

Doc spoke up again. "You'd been ordered to?"

"It seemed as though they assumed I would. Like normal O.R. procedure for residue, like amputations or whatever. I heard one of the detectives, the one who seemed to be in charge, ask the coroner who was doing the autopsy if that would be done with the fetus. Like he was making sure." 

"So how did you get it out of the hospital?" Doc said. "And why?" 

"I actually did put it in the haz-mat bag to be incinerated. But I didn't leave it there. Something about that particular fetus and knowing who the mother was and what had been done to her... And, I know this sounds strange, I never had a child of my own." 

She told us she snuck the fetus out in a freezer bag, had it hidden under her coat, and put it in her fridge freezer at home, until she could bury it in some peaceful spot. 

She put her hand on the cardboard box and turned to me. "But then when I read about what happened to Szu, and the connection to Tanya, I called Doctor Granith to see if maybe there was a relative or someone who'd want to give the child a proper burial. It seemed like the right thing to do." 

She watched me staring at the box. "Would you like it?" 

I didn't know what to say. I mean, of course I would, but here I'd been thinking all along of the fetus, if we ever could get it, as a piece of evidence. For DNA. But now we were talking about an actual person. Who, roll of the dice, never had a chance. 

"Yes, I would." 

Agnes nodded and passed me the box. "It's still frozen. You should probably keep it that way until you decide where you'd like to bury it." 

I had a flash of me on that subway riding back out to Queens. 

"Can I open it?" I asked. 

"If you like, but it's... well, you'll see." 

I held the box in my lap for a few seconds and just looked at it. Then I carefully lifted the top and took out the clear plastic freezer bag from inside. 

And there it was. 

This tiny miniature perfect person. With an actual expression on its face. Wide-open eyes, like it knew it had just one second of life before it was taken away. 

I could see it was a boy. And realized I would have been his uncle. Maybe taken him to ballgames, gone to movies and stuff, shared things. But not now. 

Doc Granith was watching me. "Your sister had her rough spots," he said, "but I think she'd have been a good mother." 

I nodded. "I think so too." 

But what about the father? A kid should have both, right? Which brought me back to the DNA and a question I had for Agnes Marselli. 

"Can we go back to the autopsy for a second?" 

"What about it?" 

"This detective who oversaw it," I said, and held up the fetus. "And ordered this guy destroyed. Do you remember his name?" 

"Actually, I do," she said, "because it's the same as that prize fighter from back when." 

"Which one," I asked. 

But I already knew. 

"Dempsey," she said.

        (To be continued...)