A Brain by Robin Cook

Author:Robin Cook
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 1979-09-28T16:00:00+00:00

Martin took a deep breath before entering Pathology. When Philips had been a medical student, that service had been his bête noire. His first autopsy had been an ordeal that he had not been prepared for. He had assumed it was going to be like first-year anatomy, where the cadaver bore as little resemblance to a human being as a wooden statue. The odor had been unpleasant but at least it had been chemical. Besides, anatomy lab had been characterized by pranks and jokes, relieving any tension. Not so with pathology. The autopsy had been on a ten-year-old boy who had died from leukemia. His body was pale, but supple and all too life-like. When the corpse had been rudely opened, then gutted like a fish, Martin’s legs had turned to rubber and his lunch came up in his mouth. He’d avoided vomiting by turning his head, but his esophagus burned from the acid of his own digestive juices. The professor had droned on, but Philips had heard nothing. He had stayed but he had suffered, and his heart had gone out to that lifeless boy.

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 Individual rooms had been replaced by areas demarcated by shoulder-height dividers.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.

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