| A Second Opinion |
| Summary: | Kincaid goes to Cameron to get a second take on PO2 Marissa Langer's death. |
| Date: | Jan 25 2042 AE |
| Related Logs: | Omar Comin' and A Delicate Inquiry. |
| Players: |
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| Sickbay — Deck 10 — Battlestar Cerberus |
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| Being able to accommodate combat casualties requires room, and the Sickbay has it. Beds line each side of the room with privacy curtains strung up and readily available. Large vaulted lockers hold access to the supplies at the far end of the area. Nearer the front, a Petty Officer sits ready to dispense simple items like ibuprofen and aspirin. Further to the rear is an area prepped twenty-four hours a day for emergency surgery. To the side are a set of double doors that lead to the Recovery Ward where patients can recuperate. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #333 |
Business as usual. That seems to be what things have finally returned to around here these days. Tauron and the risk of imminent demise by a Cylon attack upon the crippled Cerberus have both been left behind, at least for the moment. The damage done has been repaired and now it's down to fixing and recalibrating all of the recovered or salvaged equipment, making sure that it's all working correctly and doing at the very least no harm. No away missions, no firefights, no rabid dogs gnawing on his limbs. Things are practically… normal. In truth? Cameron doesn't know if he should be bracing himself for impact or relaxing while he can. Truth be told? Probably both. Work, however, is something of a balm. A set course of action and effort that he can slide into almost effortlessly, keeping him from thinking about anything else more than he should. He sees his patient out and pauses for a moment to pour himself a much needed cup of coffee. His shift is almost over, but there is still much to be accomplished before the day is done.
Enter Danny Kincaid. He's in his military police uniform, but the MP doesn't look like the usual cop. His clean shaven look is begrudging, his haircut not "high and tight" at all. But he does have a file tucked under his arm, a manila case file, that has printed across the top 'PO2 Langer, Marissa (KIA).' And who is it he sees when he first walks in? Well, just the fellow he's been looking for. "Doctor Adair?" asks the Lance Corporal, phrasing it as a question.
His ident badge hangs about his neck, allowing Cameron to move about the ship despite his non-military status. Between that and the tag on his lab coat pocket that says "Dr. Cameron Adair" it is pretty easy to identify him. Still, the doctor looks up with a slightly puzzled and surprised expression upon his face as his name is called out by an unfamiliar face. Blinking he offers the MP a friendly if uncertain smile and replies in turn, "Yes, that's me. Can I help you, ahhh," and glancing at the insignia on Kincaid's chest he finishes, "Lance Corporal?" He's getting better with the whole ranking thing, even if he doesn't know which is higher than the other half the time.
"I hope so, Doctor," says Kincaid with a wan sort of smile to it. He gestures to the folder in his hands. "It's sort of a — delicate situation. I was hoping to get a non-military medical consult on it. A — well. It's about an autopsy that was done on a service member that was purportedly killed in action. Some new information has come up, and I was hoping you could take a second look at some things in it." Read: He thinks the official military autopsy frakked up.
"Hmmmmmm," is Cameron's noncommittal response as his eyes skim over the file quietly as he listens. Ocean blue eyes narrow in concentration as he studies the photographs, flipping through them before lowering them down and lifting his gaze to Kincaid. "I don't suppose Petty Officer Langer's remains are still onboard? The problem here is that it's very difficult to determine whether the injury in question was sustained before the fall that purportedly killed her or was acquired as part of the fall that purportedly killed her." Lifting the file again, Cameron's eyes scan over it once more before he asks, "Is there a reason why the cause of death is being questioned at this time? Is the officer who performed the autopsy under suspicion of colluding to alter the evidence and give a false report?"
Kincaid shakes his head. "Unfortunately not," admits the detective. "Her remains were cremated and the physical evidence destroyed. So all we have are the reports and the photos. But — uh. I was hoping you would be able to tell something from what we have." A beat. "On the plus side, the lack of evidence should make it a relatively quick analysis for you. As for why it comes up now — well, the additional pictures we've recovered suggests an additional injury, according to my source, and, uh, we have a witness that saw her in the vicinity of the stairwell before the attack — well, with someone who might wish her ill. It's nothing about the medical officer, as such. We had a lot of dead that day and a lot of dead medical officers. I can't blame him for doing this one quickly."
Frowning slightly, Cameron returns his gaze to the file and murmurs under his breath, "That's unfortunate, but certainly not unexpected. We barely have enough room for the living, let alone the dead." Breathing out a soft sigh, Cameron slips the information back into the file and asks, "Can I hold onto this for a bit? I want to study the evidence and the report carefully before I make any kind of assessment as to whether the chicken or the egg came first. Naturally, without a body to examine, my assessment will be little more than a best guess based on the forensic photos. I don't know how well that will hold up under inspection or court, should it come down to that. But I'm getting off duty shortly and should be able to give my assessment by sometime tomorrow?"
Kincaid just smiles at that. "Whatever you can do would be a huge help, doctor. I'd really appreciate it." He has Cameron sign for the file, but, otherwise, leaves it in his hands. "Just let me know when you know. Again, I really appreciate you taking a look at it for me." And with that, he turns, heading off to — whatever it is he does.