Page 25 of Manner of Death
Bashir laughed. “They were surprised, that’s for sure. But they both got it.”
“Yeah? So they didn’t object to it?”
“Nah.” Bashir shook his head. “They did rotations too, and they’ve also seen—well, you don’t work in medicine without seeing some pretty harrowing stuff, let’s put it that way. And my mom actually warmed up to it pretty quick because she liked the idea of someone with a family medicine mindset working in pathology.”
“How so?” Sawyer sounded genuinely curious, not like he was humoring him or digging for something morbid like so many other people did.
The scrutiny made Bashir a little nervous, and he stared into his drink. “You have to have a lot of empathy and compassion for that job. Family medicine, I mean. You’re seeing people of all ages. All lifestyles. All cultures. So the mindset you need to work with that—it’s good to carry into pathology, too. You treat the body of a bank robber with the same care and respect you do an elderly grandmother.” He paused. “Even someone who was shot by the police or who got drunk and killed someone. You can have all the thoughts and opinions you want about the way they lived their lives or the things they did, but you still treat their body with care and respect.”
This was where a lot of people—especially cops, in Bashir’s experience—usually had an opinion or three about how much care or respect the body of a mass shooter or drunk driver deserved.
Sawyer nodded along, though. “So, you’re not there to judge people. Just figure out how they died.”
It wasn’t that simple—autopsies weren’t solely to establish cause and manner of death—but the rest of it? Yeah, that was on point. “Basically. My mom believes it’s as important for a pathologist to have the same level of empathy as a physician who works with the living. My dad wasn’t so sure about that at first, since he thought it was wasted on the dead, but he came around.”
“What changed his mind?”
“Time. My mom.” Bashir paused. “And also when he testified in a wrongful death case.”
Sawyer sat up. “Yeah?”
“Mmhmm. The defense was trying to paint the victim as the perpetrator. Saying they instigated the situation, and…” Bashir waved a hand. “Anyway, I don’t recall all the details, but my dad called me up after he was in court one day to tell me he fully supported my career path. He said after listening to the pathologist acting so cold and apathetic toward the decedent, he understood what my mom and I meant about empathy. And then later on, he called me again because it turned out that pathologist had been so preemptively convinced that the decedent was a useless drug addict, he’d been sloppy with the autopsy and overlooked some critical details.”
“No shit?” Sawyer made a disgusted sound as he picked up his glass. “Tell me he’s not a pathologist anymore after that came to light.”
“No, definitely not. He lost his license, and I think the RCMP is still investigating his past cases to figure out if he botched any others. Everyone who was ever convicted or found liable based even slightly on one of his reports is demanding to have their cases reopened.” Bashir pushed out a harsh breath. “It’s a mess, that’s for sure.”
“I bet.” Sawyer furrowed his brow. “RCMP, huh? Did your parents move to Canada? Or is that where you’re from?”
Bashir couldn’t help chuckling. Trust a detective to pick up that detail. “You got me. I’m Canadian.”
“Huh. So what in the hell brought you”—Sawyer gestured around the room—“here?”
“Here? Well, you see, this detective was very insistent about taking me to dinner, and—”
The laugh and the eyeroll were more endearing than they had any right to be. “Very funny. I meant why would you leave behind all that maple syrup, hockey, and universal healthcare for all this shit?”
“I saw all the geese coming down here and wondered if they were on to something?”
He wasn’t avoiding the question. He really wasn’t. He just couldn’t help teasing when it made Sawyer laugh like that, or when it made his eyes sparkle with mischief.
“Okay, seriously.” He rested his arms on the edge of the table. “It’s not that exciting. There was a job opening for a forensic pathologist. I applied. They hired me.” He shrugged. “So here I am.”
“Well, damn,” Sawyer said with mock disappointment. “And here I thought the Bashir Ramin origin story would involve some kind of international scandal and intrigue.”
Bashir snorted. “Like what? That I was wanted for trying to ride a moose while drunk?”
Sawyer’s eyebrow flicked up. “Did you try to ride a—”
“No, of course not.” Bashir huffed a breath as he reached for his drink. “Do you have any idea how hard moose are to ride? You gotta be sober for that shit.”
The burst of laughter from Sawyer was absolutely worth the uncharacteristically ridiculous comment.
Grinning, he said, “So what about you? Is your origin story more interesting than mine?”
“Uh, well.” Sawyer pursed his lips. “There aren’t any moose involved, but it is—”
He froze, the amusement vanishing from his expression.