Robin Cook - Blindsight

“Everyone in the autopsy room wears a mask,” Laurie said. “Because of AIDS and other infectious problems, rules have become much stricter. If you don’t wear it, Calvin will bodily throw you out.”

They walked down the main corridor of the morgue, passing the stainless steel door to the walk-in cooler and past the long bank of individual refrigerated compartments. The refrigerator compartments formed a large U in the middle of the morgue.

“This place is certainly grisly,” Lou commented.

“I suppose,” Laurie said. “It’s less so when you’re used to it.”

“It looks like a Hollywood set for a horror movie,” Lou said. “Whoever picked out these blue tiles for the walls? And what about the cement floor? Why isn’t there any covering? Look at all the stains.”

Laurie stopped and gazed at the floor. Although the surface was swept clean, the stains were unspeakable. “It was supposed to be tiled long ago,” she said. “Somehow it got fouled up in New York City bureaucratic red tape. At least that’s what I’ve been told.”

“And what are all those coffins doing here?” Lou asked. “That’s a nice touch.” He pointed to a stack of simple pine boxes piled almost to the ceiling. Others were standing on end.

“Those are Potter’s Field coffins,” Laurie said. “There are a lot of unidentified bodies in New York City. After their autopsies we keep them in the cooler for a number of weeks. If they go unclaimed, they are eventually buried at city’s expense.”

“Isn’t there someplace else they could store the coffins?” Lou asked. “It looks like a garage sale.”

“Not that I know of,” Laurie said. “I guess I’ve never thought about it. I’m so used to seeing them there.”

Laurie pushed into the autopsy room first, then held the door for Lou. In contrast to the previous morning, all eight tables were now occupied by corpses, each with a tag tied around its big toe. At five of the tables the posts were already under way.

“Well, well, Dr. Montgomery is starting before noon,” one of the gowned and hooded doctors quipped.

“Some of us are smart enough to test the water before we jump in the pool,” Laurie shot back.

“You’re on table six,” one of the mortuary techs called out from a sink where he was washing out a length of intestine.

Laurie looked back at Lou, who had paused just inside the door. She saw him swallow hard. Although he’d said he’d seen autopsies before, she had the feeling that he found this “assembly line” operation a bit overwhelming. With the gut being washed out, the smell wasn’t too good either.

“You can go outside anytime,” Laurie said to him.

Lou held up a hand. “I’m all right,” he said. “If you can take this, I can too.”

Laurie walked down to table six. Lou followed her. A gowned and hooded Vinnie Amendola appeared.

“It’s you and me today, Dr. Montgomery,” Vinnie said.

“Fine,” Laurie said. “Why don’t you get everything we’ll need and we’ll get started.”

Vinnie nodded, then went over to the supply cabinets.

Laurie put out her note papers where she could get to them, then looked at Duncan Andrews. “Handsome-looking man,” she said.

“I didn’t think doctors thought that way,” Lou said. “I thought you guys all switched into neutral or something.”

“Hardly,” Laurie said. Duncan ’s pale body lay in apparent repose on the steel table. His eyelids were closed. The only thing that marred his appearance aside from his pasty white color were the excoriations on his forearms. Laurie pointed to them. “Those deep scratches are probably the result of what’s called formication. That’s a tactile hallucination of bugs under or on the skin. It’s seen in both cocaine and amphetamine intoxication.”

Lou shook his head. “I can’t understand why people take drugs,” he said. “It’s beyond me.”

“They do it for pleasure,” Laurie said. “Unfortunately, drugs like cocaine tap into parts of the brain that developed during evolution as the reward center. It was to encourage behavior likely to perpetuate the species. If the war against drugs is to succeed, the fact that drugs can be pleasurable has to be admitted and not ignored.”

“Why do I have the feeling you don’t think much of the Just Say No campaign?” Lou asked.

“Because I don’t. It’s stupid,” Laurie said. “Or at least shortsighted. I don’t think the politicians who dreamed that scheme up have a clue to what growing up in today’s society is like, especially for poor urban kids. Drugs are around, and when kids try them and find out that drugs are pleasurable, they think the powers-that-be are lying about the negative or dangerous side as well.”

“You ever try any of that stuff?”

“I’ve tried pot and cocaine.”

“Really?”

“Are you surprised?” Laurie asked.

“I suppose I am, to an extent.”

“Why?”

Lou shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose you don’t look the type.”

Laurie laughed. “I guess he looks more the type than I do right now,” she said, pointing to Andrews. “But when he was alive I bet he didn’t look the type either. Yeah, I tried some drugs in college. Despite what happened to my brother, or maybe because of it.”

“What happened to your brother?” Lou asked.

Laurie looked down at the body of Duncan Andrews. She’d not meant to bring her brother into the conversation. The comment had slipped out as if she were talking with someone with whom she was close.

“Did your brother overdose?” Lou asked.

Laurie’s eyes went from Duncan ’s corpse to Lou. She couldn’t lie. “Yes,” she said. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine,” Lou said. “I don’t mean to pry.”

Laurie turned back to Duncan ’s body. For a second she was immobilized by the thought it was her brother’s body before her on that cold table. She was relieved to be interrupted by Vinnie returning with gloves, specimen bottles, preservatives, labels, and a series of instruments. She was eager to get started and put these reveries behind her.

“Let’s do it,” Vinnie said. He began applying the labels to the specimen jars.

Laurie opened the gloves and put them on. She put on her goggles and began a careful exterior examination of Duncan Andrews. After looking at Duncan ’s head, she motioned for Lou to step around to the other side of the table. Parting Duncan ’s hair with her gloved hand, she showed Lou multiple bruises.

“I’ll bet he had at least one convulsion,” Laurie said. “Let’s look at the tongue.”

Laurie opened Duncan ’s mouth. The tongue was lacerated in several locations. “Just what I expected,” she said. “Now let’s see how much cocaine this fellow has been using.” With a small flashlight and a nasal speculum, she looked up Duncan ’s nose. “No perforations. Looks normal. Guess he hadn’t been sniffing much.”

Laurie straightened up. She noticed Lou’s attention had been directed at a neighboring table where they were busy sawing off the top of a skull. Their eyes met.

“You okay?” Laurie questioned.

“I’m not sure,” Lou said. “You actually do this every day?”

“On average, three or four days a week,” Laurie said. “You want to go outside for a while? I can let you know when we do DePasquale.”

“No, I’ll be all right. Let’s get on with it. What’s next?”

“I usually check the eyes,” Laurie said. She studied Lou. The last thing she wanted was for him to pass out and hit his head on the concrete floor. That had happened to a visitor once before.

“Continue,” Lou urged. “I’m fine.”

Laurie shrugged. Then she put her thumb and index finger on Duncan ’s eyelids and drew them up.