Now Philips pushed open the doors to Pathology. The environment was a far cry from what he’d experienced as a medical student. The department had been moved to the new medical-school building and housed in an ultramodern setting. Instead of small and somber spaces with high ceilings and marble floors where footsteps echoed unnaturally, the new pathology area was open and clean. The predominant materials were white Formica and stainless steel. Individual rooms had been replaced by areas demarcated by shoulder-height dividers. The walls were covered with colorful prints of Impressionist paintings, particularly Monet.
The receptionist directed Martin to the autopsy theater where Dr. Jeffrey Reynolds was helping the residents. Martin had hoped to catch Reynolds in his office, but the receptionist insisted that Philips could go into the theater because Dr. Reynolds did not mind interruptions. Philips wasn’t worrying about Reynolds, he was concerned about himself. Nonetheless, he followed the receptionist’s pointing finger.
He should have known better. In front of him on a stainless steel table, like a side of beef, was a corpse. The autopsy had just begun with a Y-shaped incision across the chest and down to the pubis. The skin and underlying tissues had been flopped back revealing the rib cage and the abdominal organs. At the moment of Philips’ entry, one of the residents was loudly clipping through the ribs.
Reynolds saw Philips and walked over. In his hand he held a large autopsy knife like a butcher knife. Martin glanced around the room to keep from looking at the procedure in front of him. The area resembled an operating room. It was new and modern and completely tiled so that it could be easily cleaned. There were five stainless steel tables. On the rear wall were a series of square refrigerator doors.
“Greetings, Martin,” said Reynolds, wiping his hands on his apron. “I’m sorry about that Marino case. I would have liked to have helped you.”
“I understand. Thanks for trying. Since there wasn’t going to be a post, I tried to run a CAT scan on the corpse. It was surprising. Do you know what I found?”
Reynolds shook his head.
“There was no brain,” said Philips. “Somebody removed the brain and sewed her back up so you practically couldn’t tell.”
“No!”
“Yeah,” said Philips.
“God. Can you imagine what kind of blowup that could cause if the press got a hold of it, much less the family? They were definite about no autopsy.”
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you,” said Philips.
There was a pause.
“Wait a minute,” said Reynolds. “You don’t think Pathology was involved.”
“I don’t know,” admitted Philips.
Reynolds’ face reddened, and veins appeared on his forehead. “Well I can assure you. The body never came up here. It went directly to the morgue.”
“What about Neurosurgery?” asked Philips.
“Well, Mannerheim’s boys are crazy, but I don’t think that crazy.”
Martin shrugged, then told Reynolds the real reason he’d stopped by was to inquire about a patient by the name of Ellen McCarthy who’d arrived dead at the ER about two months previously. Philips wanted to know if she’d been autopsied.
Reynolds snapped off his gloves and pushed his way through the .doors into the main portion of the department. Using Pathology’s terminal for the main computer, he typed in Ellen McCarthy’s name and unit number. Immediately her name appeared on the computer screen followed by the date and number of the autopsy as well as cause of death: head injury resulting in massive intracerebral hemorrhage and brain-stem herniation. Reynolds quickly located a copy of the autopsy report and handed it to Philips.
“Did you do the brain?” asked Philips.
“Of course we did the brain!” said Reynolds. He grabbed back the report. “You think we wouldn’t do the brain on a head-injury case?” His eyes rapidly scanned the paper.
Philips watched him. Reynolds had gained nearly fifty pounds since they’d been lab partners in med school and a fold of skin on the back of his neck concealed the top of his collar. His cheeks bulged out and just beneath the skin there was a fine network of tiny red capillaries.
“She might have had a seizure before the auto accident,” said Reynolds, still reading.