Volume 129, No.
Death is sometimes ugly, it's often cruel, and it almost always smells like hell.
A slender, middle-aged woman boards an elevator on the first floor of the county courthouse in Phoenix, Arizona. Her fellow passengers are accustomed to the odors generated by the extreme desert heat, yet the scent coming off this woman so disturbs them that they huddle against the back wall, holding their breath until the bravest of the group reaches forward to press the button for the nearest floor. The doors open and the passengers disembark, shaken by the smell of something they can't quite put their finger on. The doors close and the woman continues alone to the fourth floor, self-conscious now and wishing she'd had time to shower after her last procedure. The stench of that decomposing account executive clings to her hair-it's slight, but still enough to clear the elevator.