“She’s dead!” he said, shocked.
Denise covered her eyes.
“Let’s say she’s had a hard day,” said Philips. “And you’re not to talk about this little exercise.”
“You still want a CAT scan?” asked the technician incredulously.
“Absolutely,” said Philips.
Pulling himself together, the technician helped Martin lift Lisa onto the table. Since there was no need for immobilization restraints, he immediately activated the table and Lisa’s head slid into the machine. After checking the position, he directed Philips and Sanger into the control room.
“She might be pale,” said the technician, “but she looks better than some of the patients we get from neurosurgery.” He pushed the button to start the scanning process and the huge doughnut-shaped machine abruptly came to life and began its rotation around Lisa’s head.
Grouping themselves in front of the viewing screen, they waited. A horizontal line appeared at the top of the screen, then moved down the face, seemingly unveiling the first image. The bony skull was apparent but no definition could be determined within. Inside the skull it was dark and homogeneous.
“What the hell?” said Martin.
The technician walked over to the control console and checked his settings. He came back, shaking his head. They waited for the next image. Again the skull outline was seen but the interior was uniform.
“Has the machine been working okay tonight?” asked Philips.
“Perfect,” answered the technician.
Philips reached out and adjusted the viewing controls, called the window level and window width. “My God,” he said after a minute. “You know what we’re looking at? Air! There’s no brain. It’s gone!”
They stared at one another with a shared sense of surprise and disbelief. Abruptly Martin turned and ran back into the scanner room. Denise and the technician followed. Martin grasped Lisa’s head with both hands and lifted. Owing to stiffness, the corpse’s whole torso came up from the table. The technician lent a hand, enabling Philips to see the back of Lisa’s head. He had to look closely at the livid skin, but he found it: a fine U-shaped incision extending around the base of her skull, which had been closed with a subcuticular stitch so that no sutures could be seen.
“I think we’d better get this body back to the morgue,” said Martin uneasily.
The trip back was fast with very little talk. Denise did not want to go but she knew Martin would need help lifting Lisa from the gurney. When they reached the incinerator, he again checked to make sure the morgue was empty. Holding the doors open, he waved Denise in, helping push the gurney over to the refrigerator. Quickly he opened the massive wooden door. Denise watched his breath coming in short puffs in the cold air as he backed down the aisle, pulling on the stretcher. They aligned it with the old wooden cart and were about to lift the body when a shocking sound reverberated in the frigid air.
Denise and Martin felt their hearts jump, and it took them several seconds before they realized the noise was Denise’s beeper. She switched it off hurriedly, embarrassed as if the intrusion were her fault, grabbed Lisa’s ankles, and on the count of three helped lift her onto the cart.
“There’s a wall phone out in the morgue,” said Martin lifting the shroud. “Answer your page while I make sure the body looks the way we found it.”
Needing no more encouragement, Denise hurried out. She was totally unprepared for what happened. As she turned toward the phone, she ran directly into a man who had been approaching the open refrigerator door. An involuntary whimper escaped from her, and she had to put her hands up to absorb the impact.
“What are you doing here?” snapped the man. His name was Werner and he was the hospital diener. He reached out and grabbed one of Sanger’s upright wrists.
Hearing the commotion, Martin appeared at the refrigerator’s threshold. “I’m Dr. Martin Philips and this is Dr. Denise Sanger.” He wanted his voice to sound strong, instead it sounded hollow and dull.
Werner let go of Denise’s wrist. He was a gaunt man with high cheekbones, and a cavernous face. The dim light made it impossible to see his deeply set eyes. The eye sockets were blank, like burnt holes in a mask. His nose was narrow and sharp, like a hatchet. He was dressed in a black turtleneck, fronted by a black rubber apron.