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someone shouted from across the room.
    “That’s incredibly shortsighted,” Nick said. “How many of you have actually viewed a cadaver recovered in water? Let me tell you, it’s an evidential nightmare. The tissues soften; the fingers swell until the fingerprints disappear; the hair is lost; the face becomes bloated and unrecognizable—at some point even gender becomes difficult to distinguish. I’m talking about complete loss of forensic evidence: knife wounds, contusions, bullet tracks—all of it disappears. Are we really willing to let that happen?”
    The room began to stir; Denny gestured for everyone to quiet down. “Nick, if you want to talk more about this, then see me after the meeting. I’m sure the rest of the team would like to get some sleep. I’ve scheduled our next briefing for 7:00 a.m. I know, that’s awfully early—welcome to DMORT.
    “There is one more thing I want to cover tonight. I’d save it for tomorrow, but I think it’s that important. If you’ve been with us before, you know this kind of work can take a lot out of you. The hours are long, nobody gets enough sleep, and then—well, there’s the nature of the work itself. That’s why DMORT always includes mental health professionals on every deployment, and this time is no exception.”
    “Uh-oh,” Jerry said. “I smell trouble.”
    “Some experts are predicting that Hurricane Katrina will be the worst natural disaster in our nation’s history. If they’re right, we’ll be working longer hours and we’ll be under more stress than ever before—and we need to make sure that we’re dealing with that stress in a healthy way. To make sure we do, we’re fortunate to have here with us Dr. Elizabeth Woodbridge.”
    “I knew it,” Jerry said.
    Nick let out a groan.
    “Dr. Woodbridge is a distinguished psychiatrist in private practice in the San Francisco area. She is a longtime member of DMORT Region IX, and she’s been with us on several prior DMORT deployments. Since Dr. Woodbridge will be serving such an important role here in St. Gabriel, I’ve asked her if she would close our briefing with a few introductory comments. Dr. Woodbridge?”
    The woman who stood up looked strangely out of place. She was unusually pretty—not that the other women present weren’t attractive, but the physical demands of DMORT required a what-you-see-is-what-you-get approach: Pull your hair back in a ponytail, scrub your face, and forget the makeup. But this woman looked as if she had just stepped out of a corporate office—which she probably had, just a few hours ago on the West Coast. Her hair was blonde and shoulder-length, cut in a trendy style, with a long straight wisp that crossed her forehead from left to right, causing her to forever brush it back. Her skin was fair and smooth and her eyes were unexpectedly dark and almond-shaped. Her face was beautiful but her eyes were piercing, like thorns on the stem of a rose. It was a quality that Nick found especially annoying—among others.
    “I still say she’s the hottest babe in DMORT,” Jerry said.
    “Good evening and welcome,” Dr. Woodbridge began. “Or should I say, ‘Welcome back.’ I see a lot of familiar faces out there.” As she said this, her eyes scanned the audience; when she came to Nick, she hesitated for a split second.
    Jerry leaned over to Nick. “I saw that.”
    “Shut up,” Nick said.
    “As Denny told you, this deployment could pose unique challenges for all of us—including challenges of a psychological nature. Traumatic stress, sleep deprivation, insomnia, nightmares—these are things we’re all susceptible to. My job, to put it simply, is to help you avoid these things—or to help you through them if necessary. If you’ll allow me to be a bit pedantic for a moment, I’d like to read to you from the DMORT Field Operations Guide.”
    Jerry leaned in again. “What does ‘pedantic’ mean?”
    “It means you went to a community college. Shut