"I've got a few slides. I wonder if you would take a quick look at them?"
"There's plenty of scopes here. Why don't you help yourself?"
It was a presumptuous way to treat a staff man even if he was from another department, but Martin forced himself to suppress his irritation. "It's been a few years," he said. "Besides, it's a brain and I was never good at brain."
"It would be better to wait for Neuropath in the morning," said Barnes.
"I'm interested in a quick impression now," Martin said.
Philips had never found fat people to be jolly, and the pathologist was confirming his impression.
Barnes reluctantly took the slides and placed one under the scope. He scanned around, then put in another. It took about ten minutes to go through the group.
"Interesting," he said. "Here, take a look at this." He moved aside so Philips could see.
"See that open area?" asked Barnes.
"Yeah."
"Used to be a nerve cell there."
Philips looked at Barnes.
"All these slides with the red-grease-pencil marks have areas where the neurons are either missing or in bad shape," said the resident. "The curious thing is that there's very little if any inflammation. I don't have any idea what it is. I'd have to describe it as 'multifocal, discrete neuron death,' etiology unknown."
"You don't even want to guess the cause?" asked Philips.
"Nope."
"What about multiple sclerosis?" asked Philips.
The resident made a strange face, wrinkling his forehead. "Maybe. Occasionally there's some gray matter lesions in multiple sclerosis, even though the lesions usually are all white matter.
But they don't look like this. There'd be more inflammation. But to be sure I'd have to do a myelin stain."
"How about calcium?" asked Philips. Philips knew there weren't too many things that affected X-ray density, but calcium was one of them.
"I didn't see anything that suggested calcium. Again, I'd have to do a stain."
"One other thing," said Philips. "I'd like to have some slides made from the occipital lobe." He patted the top of the glass jar.
"I thought you only wanted me to look at the slides," said Barnes.
"That's right. I don't want you to look at the brain, just section it." Martin had had a bad day and he wasn't in a mood to deal with a lazy pathology resident.
Barnes" had sense enough not to say anything else. He picked up the glass jar and waddled into the autopsy room. Philips followed. With a scoop, Barnes took the brain out of the formaldehyde and put it on the stainless steel counter next to the sink. Brandishing one of the large autopsy knives, he allowed Philips to point to the area he wanted. Barnes then took several half-inch slices and put them in paraffin.
"The sections will be done tomorrow. What kind of stains do you want?"
"Everything you can think of," said Philips. "And one last thing. Do you know the diener who works nights down in the morgue?"
"You mean Werner?"
Philips nodded.
"Vaguely. He's a little weird but he's reliable and a good worker. He's been there for years."
"Do you think he's on the take?"
"I don't have any idea. What could he be on the take for?"
"Anything. Pituitary glands for growth hormone; gold teeth; special favors."
"I don't know. But I guess it wouldn't surprise me."
After the unsettling experience in the Neurosurgical lab, Philips felt particularly ill-at-ease as he followed the red line toward the morgue in the sub-basement. The huge, dark, cavern-like room outside of the morgue looked like the perfect setting for some gothic horror. The quartz window in the door of the incinerator glowed in the darkness like the eye of a cyclopean monster.
"For God's sakes, Martin. What the hell is wrong with you?" said Philips, trying to fortify his waning confidence. The morgue looked exactly as it had the evening before. The bulbless hooded light fixtures hanging down on their wires gave the scene a weird unearthliness. There was a faint odor of decay. The door to the refrigerator was ajar and a bit of its interior light spilled out along with a current of cold mist.
"Werner!" called Philips. His voice echoed in the old tiled room. There was no response. Philips stepped into the room and the door closed insistently behind him. "Werner!" The silence was only broken by a dripping faucet. Tentatively Philips advanced to the refrigerator and glanced within. Werner was struggling with one of the corpses. It had apparently fallen from its gurney because Werner was lifting the naked, stiff cadaver and awkwardly trying to reposition it on the movable stretcher. He could have used some help but Philips stayed where he was and watched. When Werner succeeded in getting the body onto the gurney, Martin stepped into the refrigerator.
"Werner!" Martin's voice sounded wooden.
The diener flexed his knees and lifted his hands like a jungle creature about to attack. Philips had startled the man.
"I want to talk to you," said Philips. He had decided to be authoritative, but his voice sounded weak. Surrounded by the dead, his defenses dissolved. "I understand your position and I don't want to cause any trouble, but I need some information."
Recognizing Philips, Werner relaxed, but he didn't move. His breath came in short puffs of condensed vapor.
"I have to find Lisa Marino's brain. I don't care who took it or for what reason. I just want a chance to look at it for a research project."
Werner was like a statue. Except for his visible breaths he was like one of the dead.
"Look," said Martin. "I'll pay." He had never bribed anyone in his life.
"How much?" said Werner.
"A hundred dollars," said Philips.
"I don't know anything about Marino's brain."
Philips looked at the frozen features of the man. Under the circumstances he felt impotent. "Well, give me a call in X ray if you suddenly remember." He turned and walked out, but in the corridor he found himself running to the bank of elevators.
Entering the outer foyer of Denise's apartment building, Philips scanned the nameplates. He knew approximately where hers was, but there were so many, that he always had to search a little. After pushing the black button he waited with his hand on the front doorknob for the buzzer to let him in.
Inside the building it smelled as if everyone had sauted onions for their dinner. Philips started up the stairs. There was an elevator, but if it wasn't already waiting in the lobby it took too long to arrive. Denise only lived on the third floor and Philips didn't mind climbing the stairs. But on the last flight, he began to realize how tired he was. It had been a long grueling day.
Denise had again metamorphosed. She no longer looked tired and she said she'd taken a short nap after her bath. Her shining hair had been released from its barrette and cascaded from her head in gentle waves. She was dressed in a pink satin camisole with matching tap pants that left just the right amount to the imagination. Some of Martin's fatigue lifted. He was always amazed by her ability to drop her efficient hospital personality, though he understood that she was confident enough in her intellectual abilities that she could indulge her feminine fantasies. It was a rare and wonderful balance.
They embraced at the door, and then without speaking they walked arm in arm into the bedroom. Martin pulled her down onto the bed. At first she just acquiesced, enjoying his eagerness, but then she joined, her passion matching his until they both spent themselves in mutual fulfillment.
For some time they lay together, just enjoying the closeness and wishing to retain in their minds the pleasure they gave to each other. Finally Martin propped himself up on an elbow so he could trace his finger down her finely crafted nose and across her lips.
"I think this relationship is getting entirely out of hand," he said, smiling.