Quickly Robert finished the autopsy. The brain appeared normal on close examination. No sign of clot or other trauma.
“Well?” asked Jerry, staring at the glistening convolution of Bruce’s brain. “Do you two hotshots have any other bright ideas?”
“Not really,” said Cassi. “Maybe Robert will find evidence of a heart attack.”
“Even if I do,” said Robert, “it wouldn’t explain the cyanosis.”
“That’s true,” said Jerry, as he scratched the side of his head. “Maybe the nurse was wrong. Maybe the guy was just ashen.”
“Those nurses on cardiac surgery are awfully competent,” said Cassi. “If they said the patient was dark blue, he was dark blue.”
“Then I give up,” said Jerry, taking out a ten-dollar bill and slipping it into the pocket of Robert’s white jacket.
“You don’t have to pay me,” said Robert. “I was just kidding.”
“Bullshit,” said Jerry. “If it had been a pulmonary embolism I’d have taken your money,” Jerry walked over to where he’d hung his white jacket.
“Congratulations, Robert,” said Cassi. “Looks like you got case number eighteen. Compared to the number of open-heart surgery cases they’ve done over the last ten years, that’s getting close to being statistically significant. You’ll get a paper out of this yet.”
“What do you mean ‘me’?” asked Robert. “You mean ‘us,’ don’t you?”
Cassi shook her head. “No, Robert. This whole thing has been your idea from the start. Besides, now that I’ve switched to psychiatry, I can’t hold up my end of the work.”
Robert looked glum.
“Cheer up,” said Cassi. “When the paper comes out, you’ll be glad you didn’t have to share authorship with a psychiatrist.”
“I was hoping this study would get you to come up here frequently.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Cassi. “I’ll still come up, especially when you find new SSD cases.”
“Cassi, let’s go,” called Jerry impatiently. He had the door held open with his foot.
Cassi gave Robert a peck on the check and ran out. Jerry took a playful swipe at her as she passed through the door. Not only did she evade the blow, but she managed to give Jerry’s necktie a sharp tug as she passed.
“Where’s your woman friend?” asked Jerry as they reached the main part of the pathology department. He was still struggling to straighten his tie. “Probably in Robert’s office,” said Cassi. “She said she needed to sit down. I think the autopsy was a little much for her.”
Joan had been resting with her eyes closed. When she heard Cassi she got unsteadily to her feet. “Well, what did you learn?” She tried to sound casual.
“Not much,” said Cassi. “Joan, are you all right?”
“Just a mortal wound to my pride,” said Joan. “I should have known better than watch an autopsy.”
“I’m terribly sorry …” began Cassi.
“Don’t be silly,” said Joan. “I came voluntarily. But I’d just as soon leave if you’re ready.”
They walked down to the elevators where Jerry decided to use the stairs since it was only four flights to the medical floor. He waved before disappearing into the stairwell.
“Joan,” said Cassi, turning back to her. “I really am sorry I forced you up here. I’d gotten so accustomed to autopsies as a path resident that I’d forgotten how awful they can be. I hope it didn’t upset you too much.”
“You didn’t force me up here,” said Joan, “Besides, my squeamishness is my problem, not yours. It’s just plain embarrassing. You’d think after four years of medical school I’d have gotten over it. Anyway, I should have admitted it and waited for you in Robert’s office. Instead I acted like a fool. I don’t know what I was trying to prove.”
“Autopsies were hard for me at first,” said Cassi, “but gradually it became easier. It is astounding what you can get used to if you do it enough, especially when you can intellectualize it.”
“For sure,” said Joan, eager to change the subject. “By the way, your men friends do run the gamut. What’s the story with Jerry Donovan? Is he available?”
“I think so,” said Cassi, punching the elevator button again. “He was married back in med school but then divorced.”