A Brain (12 page)

“Help me lift her,” said Philips.

Denise grabbed Lisa Marino's ankles through the sheet to avoid touching the corpse. Philips hefted the torso. On the count of three, they moved the body, noticing that it had already become stiff. Then with Denise pulling, and Martin pushing, they guided the gurney back out of the refrigerator. Philips closed and secured the door.

“What's the IV for?” asked Sanger.

“I don't want people to think we're pushing around a corpse,” said Philips. “And for that effect, the IV is the maestro's touch.” He pulled the sheet down, exposing Lisa Marino's bloodless face. Denise looked away as Martin raised the head and shoved the pillow under it. Then he ran the blank IV line beneath the sheet. Stepping back, he checked the effect. “Perfect.” Then he patted the corpse's arm, saying, “Are you comfortable now?”

“Martin, for God's sake, do you have to be so gruesome?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, it's a defense. I'm not sure we should be doing this.”

“Now he tells me,” moaned Denise as she helped guide the gurney through the double door.

They retraced their steps through the subterranean labyrinth and entered the patient's elevator. To their dismay, it stopped on the first floor. Two orderlies were standing with a patient in a wheelchair. Martin and Denise stared at each other for a moment, in fear. Then Denise looked away, castigating herself for becoming involved in this ridiculous caper.

The orderlies wheeled the patient onto the elevator so that he was facing the rear, which they weren't supposed to do. They were involved in a conversation about the upcoming baseball season, and if they had noticed Lisa Marino's appearance, they didn't mention it. But the patient was different. He looked over and saw the huge sutured horseshoe incision on the side of Lisa Marino's head.

“She have an operation?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Philips.

“She going to be alright?”

“She's a little tired,” said Philips. “She needs some rest.”

The patient nodded as if he understood. Then the doors opened on the second floor, and Philips and Sanger got off. One of the orderlies even helped pull the gurney out.

“This is ridiculous,” said Sanger as they made their way up the empty hallway. “I feel like a criminal.”

They entered the CAT scan room. The redheaded technician saw them through the leaded window from the control room, and came in to help. Philips told him it was an emergency scan. After the technician adjusted the table, he positioned himself behind Lisa Marino's head and put his hands under her shoulders, preparing to lift. Feeling the ice-cold, lifeless flesh, he jumped back.

“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.

“What are you doing with my bodies?” asked Werner, pushing past the doctors and the gurney. Inside the refrigerator he counted the corpses. Pointing to Marino, he said, “Did you take this one out of here?”

Having recovered from his initial shock, Philips marveled at the diener's proprietary feeling toward the dead. “I'm not sure it's correct to say ‘your bodies,' Mr . . . .”

“Werner,” said the diener, walking back to Martin and poking a large index finger in Philips' face. “Until
somebody signs for these corpses, they're my bodies. I'm responsible.”

Philips thought it better not to argue. Werner's mouth with its narrow lips was set in a firm, uncompromising line. The man seemed like a coiled spring. Philips started to speak but his voice came out in an embarrassing squeak. Clearing his throat, he started again: “We want to talk to you about one of these bodies. We believe it's been violated.”

Sanger's beeper went off for the second time. Excusing herself she hurried over to the wall phone and answered her page.

“Which body are you talking about?” snapped Werner. His gaze never left Martin's face.

“Lisa Marino,” said Philips, pointing to the partially covered corpse. “What do you know about this woman?”

“Not much,” said Werner, turning toward Lisa and relaxing to a degree. “Picked her up from surgery. I think she's going out later tonight or early in the morning.”

“What about the body itself?” Martin noticed the diener wore his hair in a crew cut, brushed straight up along the sides.

“Nice,” said Werner, still looking at Lisa.

“What do you mean, nice?” asked Philips.

“Best looking woman I've had for some time,” said Werner. As he turned to face Martin, his mouth pulled back in an obscene smile.

Momentarily disarmed, Martin swallowed. His mouth was dry and he was glad when Denise returned saying, “I've got to go. I've been paged from the ER to check a skull film.”

“All right,” said Martin, trying to arrange his thoughts. “Meet me in my office when you're free.”

Denise nodded, and with a sense of relief, she left.

Martin, distinctly ill-at-ease alone with Werner in the morgue, forced himself to walk over to Lisa Marino. Pulling back the sheet he rotated Lisa's corpse by pulling up her shoulder. Pointing to the carefully sutured incision, Philips said, “What do you know about this?”

“I don't know anything about that,” said Werner quickly.

Philips wasn't even sure the diener had seen what Martin was pointing to. Letting Lisa's body roll back on the cart, Philips studied the man. His rigid countenance reminded Martin of a Nazi cliché.

“Tell me,” said Philips. “Have any of Mannerheim's boys been down here today?”

“I don't know,” said Werner. “I was told there was to be no autopsy.”

“Well, that's no autopsy incision,” said Philips. Grabbing the edge of the sheet, Philips pulled it over Lisa Marino. “Something strange is going on. Are you sure you don't know anything about this?”

Werner shook his head.

“We'll see,” said Philips. He walked out of the refrigerator, leaving the gurney for Werner to deal with. The diener waited until he heard the outer doors close. Then he grabbed the cart and gave it a powerful shove. It shot out of the refrigerator, sped halfway across the morgue, and crashed into the corner of the marble autopsy table, tipping over with a tremendous clatter. The IV bottle smashed into a million shards.

 

Dr. Wayne Thomas leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. Lynn Anne Lucas was
sitting on the old examining table. Their eyes were on the same level; his, alert and contemplative; hers, drained and exhausted.

“What about this recent urinary infection?” said Dr. Thomas. “It cleared up on the sulfa drugs. Is there anything else about that illness that you haven't mentioned?”

“No,” said Lynn Anne, slowly, “except they did send me to a urologist. He told me that I had a problem of too much urine being in my bladder after I'd gone to the bathroom. He told me to see a neurologist.”

“Did you?”

“No. The problem cleared up on its own, so I didn't think it mattered.”

The curtain parted and Dr. Sanger poked her head in.

“Excuse me. Someone called for a consult on a skull film.”

Thomas pushed off from the wall, saying he'd just be a minute. As they walked back to the lounge he gave Denise a thumbnail sketch of Lynn Anne's case. He told her that he thought the X ray was normal but wanted confirmation about the pituitary area.

“What's the diagnosis?” asked Denise.

“That's the problem,” said Thomas opening the door to the lounge. “The poor thing has been here for five hours, but I can't put it all together. I thought maybe she was a druggie but she's not. She doesn't even smoke grass.”

Thomas snapped the film up on the viewer. Denise scanned it in an orderly fashion, starting with the bones.

“I've been getting some crap from the rest of the
ER staff,” Thomas said. “They think I'm interested in the case because the patient is a piece of ass.”

Denise broke off from studying the X ray to eye Thomas sharply.

“But that's not it,” said Thomas. “There's something wrong with this girl's brain. And whatever it is, it's widespread.”

Sanger redirected her attention to the film. The bony structure was normal, including the pituitary area. She looked at the vague shadows within the skull. For orientation purposes she checked to see if the pineal gland was calcified. It wasn't. She was about to declare the film normal when she perceived a very slight variation in texture. Forming a small open area with her two hands, she studied the particular section of the film. It was a trick similar to the one she saw Philips do with the hole in the paper. Taking her hands away she was convinced! She'd found another example of the density change Martin had shown to her earlier on Lisa Marino's film.