“Let’s look at the others,” he said.
Two more post-mortems confirmed the diagnosis. Except for minor differences, the lesions were identical. He removed a few of the flukes and set them aside for further study.
“Well that’s that,” he said. “You can clean up now.”
He had found the criminal, and now the problem assumed the fascinating qualities of a crime hunt. Now he must act to prevent further murders, to reconstruct the crime, to find the modus operandi, to track the fluke to its source, and to execute it before it could do more harm.
Photographs and tri-dis would have to be taken, the parasite would have to be identified and its sensitivity to therapy determined. Studies would have to be made on its life cycle, and the means by which it gained entrance to its host. It wouldn’t be simple, because this trematode was probably Hepatodirus hominis, and it was tricky. It adapted, like the species it parasitized.
Kennon leaned back from the microscope and studied the illustrations in the parasitology text. No matter how much Hepatodirus changed its life cycle, it could not change its adult form. The arrangements of the suckers and genital structures were typical. Old Doc’s library on parasites was too inadequate for more than diagnosis. He would have to wait for his own books to be uncrated before he could do more than apply symptomatic treatment. He sighed and rose slowly to his feet. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day.
The door opened behind him and Copper slipped quietly into the office. She looked at him curiously, a faint half-shy smile on her face.
“What is it?” Kennon asked.
“Are you ready to fill out the autopsy protocol? It’s customary.”
“It’s also customary to knock on a door before entering.”