Alane Ferguson - The Circle of Blood

“Close. It’s three hundred twenty,” said Ben, and Patrick dutifully wrote it down.

Systematically, Dr. Moore began to remove the organs, handing them off to Ben to place in a hanging scale while Patrick recorded the numbers Ben called out.

“Do you see how pink the lung is, Miss Mahoney?” Dr. Moore ran his finger down the tissue and invited Cameryn to do the same. “No asthma, no chronic problems. Baby Doe was healthy and young. Here. Feel for yourself.”

With a gloved finger Cameryn touched the tissue. It felt slippery but firm, like a saturated sponge. When she pulled her hand away, she saw there was blood on her fingertip. Discreetly, she wiped it on her apron.

The small intestines, large intestine, and appendix were removed, followed by the bladder, ovaries, uterus, spleen, and liver. Finally Dr. Moore removed the stomach, which he drained into a silver bowl, examining the contents like a soothsayer reading entrails.

“The girl ate a cheeseburger and fries not too long before she died-one hour, maybe two,” Dr. Moore said, swirling the bowl. “We’ve got four hundred fifty-three milliliters here.”

“Four hundred fifty-three ML,” her father said, scribbling the numbers on a sheet while Dr. Moore removed the kidneys. Each organ he “loafed” with a bread knife so that the tissue opened against the terry cloth as though he were slicing a bun. Small samples were removed and preserved in a specimen jar, while Ben, in time with the music, dipped a kitchen ladle into the hollowed remains, rhythmically scooping up blood. He poured it into the sink with the water and Cameryn watched as it disappeared down the drain.

“We’re ready for the head,” Moore said, dropping the kidneys into a metal bin he’d set atop Mariah’s legs. Cameryn knew when the autopsy was done the contents of the bin would be dumped in a garbage bag. The Hefty bag would then be tied and placed back in the body cavity, and then Ben would stitch Mariah back up. There was nothing glamorous about a person’s guts. They ended up in a jumbled stew.

Sheriff Jacobs had put on his wire-framed glasses, which made his small eyes seem almost normal. Pointing to the hole in Mariah’s temple, he said, “My deputy thinks there may be foul play. What say you? Anything unusual so far?” he asked.

“I say no one can know anything until we’re finished. This is a medical examination and I’m not done examining yet. Miss Mahoney, I want you to stand next to me,” said Moore. Obedient, Cameryn took her place to the right of Mariah’s head. Mariah’s torso had been completely emptied. It lay open and exposed, vacant except for the vertebrae of her spine that glinted in the overhead lights like knots on a string.

Dr. Moore put a blue paper mask on, tying it behind his head in a quick knot. The thin gray hairs bristled over the line of the string. “I heard you ask Ben if we could just begin with the gunshot wound to the head, but there is never a variation in an autopsy procedure,” Moore said. His voice was muffled. “We go by the book, piece by piece. Put on a mask, Miss Mahoney,” he said, shoving a blue paper mask in her hand. “Bone dust is not something you should inhale.” She’d been unaware the men had already donned their own masks. The blue paper collapsed, then expanded with their every breath, in and out, like a bellows.

As the opera hit a crescendo, Dr. Moore gave a crisp nod to Ben, who pulled down the flap of skin from Mariah’s face, once again exposing her features. The flattened eyes had become even cloudier, as though a storm had rolled in. Looking at that face snapped Cameryn back to reality. What had she been playing at? Before, she’d allowed herself to get lost in the science, but the face brought her back again. This had been a human being. The freckles began at the bridge of Mariah ’s nose and spread across her cheeks in a nebula that spiraled into her hairline. Someone had loved those freckles. A mother… a father… They needed to know what their daughter had done to herself, and Cameryn was withholding the answer. She was torn. Her need to tell was so strong the words rushed up her throat, but she held back, wary. You’ll think of a way. But not now.

“All right, let’s see what we can see,” said Ben. Balancing Mariah’s neck on a block that raised the head five inches, Ben took his own scalpel and made a slice from the top of the right ear to the top of her left. With an expert motion, he peeled the scalp from the bone while Mariah’s head jiggled softly. Then, with strong fingers pushing beneath the loosened skin, he pulled Mariah’s scalp all the way forward, far enough to tuck beneath her chin. Strawberry hair puffed at her jawline and swirled past her collarbone. Blue veins branched out like rivers on a map. The back of the scalp was then folded toward the nape of the neck, exposing skull that was as white as mother-of-pearl.

The Stryker saw whirred as Ben cut through Mariah’s skull in a line that went first across her brow bone all the way to the back of her head. When Ben put in the skull chisel and turned it hard, Cameryn heard a strange thwack as skull pulled from the durum. Another twist at the base, and the skull cap popped free.

“I knew it,” said Ben. “You were right, Dr. Moore. We do need a brain bucket. This has gone to mush.”

“The formalin will harden the brain so we can test bullet trajectory,” Dr. Moore translated. “Watch his technique, Miss Mahoney. There’s a trick to all this.”

Ben said, “I got to slice it free. See? Now I’m cutting the spinal cord. And if I pull it just right”-he gently tugged at Mariah’s brain-“you get a brain out all in one piece. It’s just like birthin’ a baby.”

“Now, hand the brain to Miss Mahoney,” instructed Moore.

Cameryn felt her throat tighten. “What?”

“I want you to take the brain from Ben. Hold it carefully and come to the bucket. And for Pete’s sake, don’t drop it.”

Ben’s eyebrows shot into his hairline as he asked, “You sure about this?”

“Yes. She wants to learn, and I want to teach.”

Cameryn looked at her father, who seemed as surprised as she was. Without speaking he gave her a nod. She understood it to mean the choice was hers. Trembling, Cameryn cupped her palms together as Ben carefully released Mariah’s brain into her waiting hands. It was much heavier than she had anticipated, and her arms briefly sagged from the weight of it, but she quickly raised them as she took a step forward.

It was hard for Cameryn to comprehend what was happening. The essence of Mariah was in her hands, wrinkled and flanged, its whirls and grooves tinged by marbles of blood. Mariah’s thoughts, her dreams, her memories had been stored in the gray-white matter. Cameryn felt what seemed like an electrical jolt passing between the organ and her own soul. If there was any spark left of Mariah, the ember would be there. I’m so sorry, Cameryn thought at the brain, not caring how stupid it might seem. I’m so sorry, Mariah. For the very first time, she meant it.

“Come here and turn it upside down,” Dr. Moore instructed. “See this string?” He held it taut across the bucket’s rim. “I want you to balance that canal between the two hemispheres right along the line. That’s the way.”

Carefully, she did. The brain floated in the clear liquid before gently sinking.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

“I want to see that bullet’s trajectory. Before you arrived, Miss Mahoney, I studied the barrel of the gun. There was no blowback that I could see, none whatsoever. The gunpowder residue around the bullet hole is suggestive as well. Since you lawmen come from a small town, you might not know that in suicides involving handguns, the victim usually drops the weapon or throws it up to several feet away when his or her arm flings outward. Sometimes, of course, a weapon stays in the decedent’s hand, but not often. For now, we wait. Come back when the brain has hardened and we’ll see what we can see.”