Lou kept his distance when Laurie lifted the brain out of its skull and plopped it into a pan held by Vinnie. Wielding a long-bladed knife similar to a butcher’s, she began making serial cuts as if she were dealing with a slab of processed meat. It was all an efficient, well-practiced duet requiring little conversation.
Half an hour later, Laurie led Lou out of the autopsy room. Leaving the aprons and gowns behind, they went up to the lunchroom on the second floor for coffee. They had about fifteen minutes while Vinnie took Duncan’s remains away and “put up” the next case, Frank DePasquale.
“Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll be eating anything for a few days,” Lou said when offered something from one of the several vending machines in the lunchroom. Laurie poured herself another cup of coffee. They sat at a Formica table near the microwave oven. There were about fifteen other people in the room, all engaged in animated conversation.
Seeing other people smoking, Lou took out a box of Marlboros, a pack of matches, and lit up. When he noticed Laurie’s expression, he took the cigarette out of his mouth. “Okay if I smoke?” he asked.
“If you must,” Laurie said.
“Just one,” Lou assured her.
“Well, Duncan Andrews didn’t have any pathology on gross,” she said. “And I don’t think I’m going to find anything on histology either.”
“You can only do your best,” Lou said. “If worse comes to worst, dump it in Calvin’s lap. Let him decide what to do. As part of the brass, it’s his job.”
“Whoever does the autopsy has to sign out on the death certificate,” Laurie said. “But maybe I can give it a try.”
“I was impressed with the way you handled that knife in the autopsy room…” Lou said.
“Thanks for your compliment,” Laurie said. “But why do I feel like I hear a “but’ coming?”
“It’s just I’m surprised an attractive woman like yourself would choose this kind of work,” Lou said.
Laurie closed her eyes and let out a sigh of exasperation. “That’s a rather chauvinistic comment.” She stared at Lou. “Unfortunately, it undermines your compliment. Did you mean to say, ‘What is a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?’“
“Hey, I’m sorry,” Lou said. “I didn’t mean it that way at all.”
“Talking about my appearance and my abilities and relating the two makes a negative comment about both,” Laurie said. She took a sip of her coffee. She could tell that Lou was bewildered and uncomfortable. “I don’t mean to jump on you,” she added. “But I’m sick of defending my career choice. And I’m also sick of hearing my looks and my gender have anything to do with my position.”
“Maybe I’d better just keep my trap shut,” said Lou.
Laurie glanced up at the clock on the wall. “I think we should get downstairs. I’m sure Vinnie has DePasquale on the table.” She gulped down the rest of her coffee and stood up.
Lou stubbed out his cigarette and hurried after her. Five minutes later they were back in their gowns, standing in front of the X-ray view box in the autopsy room, looking at the X-rays of Frank DePasquale. The AP and the lateral of the head showed the bright silhouette of the bullet resting in the posterior fossa.
“You were right about the location of the bullet,” Laurie said. “There it is in the base of the brain.”
“Gangland execution is very efficient,” Lou said.
“I can believe it,” Laurie added. “The reason is that a bullet into the base of the brain hits the brainstem. That’s where the vital centers are for things like breathing and heartbeat.”
“I suppose if I have to go, that’s one way I’d like it to be,” Lou said.
Laurie looked at the detective. “That’s a pleasant thought.”
Lou shrugged. “In my line of work you think about it.”
Laurie glanced back at the X-ray. “You were also right about its being small caliber. I’d guess a twenty-two or a twenty-five at most.”
“That’s what they usually use,” Lou said. “The more powerful stuff is just too messy.”