He heard them roll the body over.
“No external signs of traumata,” Dr. Pervoyedov murmured.
After several silent minutes the body was rolled again onto its back.
“We are particularly interested to know if there is any evidence of poisoning. For example, by prussic acid.” Porfiry addressed the remark to the ceiling.
“Everything in due course, Porfiry Petrovich. Everything in due course.”
Porfiry saw out of the corner of his eye that Pervoyedov had begun the deep, Y-shaped incision that would enable the skin to be pulled back.
Dr. Pervoyedov teased a long-bladed scalpel beneath the flesh with one hand, as he lifted a single thick sheet of skin and tissue away with the other. Porfiry was aware of the movement and the faint meaty smell that came when the body was opened up. The diener was already standing ready with the small curved shears that were used for severing ribs. Dr. Pervoyedov gave one of his communicative nods and then exchanged his scalpel for the rib-cutters.
He clipped methodically through the ribs on either side, with the ugly concentration of a man cutting his toenails. Each time the sharp metallic snip of the blades as they pinched together through the costal cartilages increased the startled determination angling the doctor’s eyebrows.
At last the cutting was complete, and he once again exchanged the shears for a scalpel. The diener, prompted by a particularly emphatic nod from Dr. Pervoyedov, placed the rib-cutters on the other table. He then bowed over the open chest of the body and suddenly plunged the fingers of both hands between the exposed and severed ribs, closing his grip beneath the sternum. He gave a sharp tug. Dr. Pervoyedov’s scalpel licked into the dark opening created to release the last tethers of tissue. The chest plate came away and was placed on the other table.
“If I remember correctly, Dr. Pervoyedov, you mentioned that in the case of the yardkeeper, Borya, the covering of the lungs was inflamed. It was that, I believe, that first alerted you to the possibility of poisoning. I wonder if that is the case in this cadaver?”
“We shall have a look, Porfiry Petrovich. Fortunately for you, I follow the Virchow method.” Dr. Pervoyedov drew his scalpel across the top of the abdomen. The skin fell away under pressure from the bloated internal organs. The doctor stepped back, giving way to his diener, who was now intent on some dark business involving string and scissors inside the body. Dr. Pervoyedov watched him with an expression of focused approval. “The Virchow method, you know, by which the organs are removed and examined separately.” To the diener he added: “Give me the lungs first, will you?”
The diener plunged both hands into the cavity and removed them a moment later, cradling an elongated raw pinky mass.
“The left?” asked Dr. Pervoyedov.
The diener nodded.
“It looks very pink. Not healthy. Not healthy at all. Yes, I would describe that as inflamed, wouldn’t you, Porfiry Petrovich?”
“You are the expert.”
“Ha! I am the expert! That’s nice. That’s very nice.” Dr. Pervoyedov shook his head. Then nodded for the diener, who placed the lung on the scales.
The weighing tray plummeted with a heavy clatter, as though angry at being disturbed. The diener gradually added weights to the opposing plate until the weighing tray rose and bobbed and settled. “Thirty-nine lot, zero zolotnik, and twenty dolya,” he announced, glancing to the doctor for his reaction.
“Within the parameters of normality,” said Dr. Pervoyedov. “Put it on the dissecting table, and I’ll take a section to look at under the microscope.”
“Would it not be possible to test the stomach contents first?” There was a slight edge of impatience to Porfiry’s voice. “I am eager to know if there is any evidence at all of poisoning.”
Dr. Pervoyedov seemed genuinely shocked by this suggestion. “But that’s not the Virchow method. By that method, I must complete my examination of the lungs before moving on to the next organ. What method are you suggesting I follow? It’s not the Rokatinsky.”
“I suggest you follow the”-Porfiry Petrovich hestitated only for fraction of a second-“the Pervoyedov method. By which you prioritize the order of examinations in order to confirm or refute the suspicions of the investigating magistrate as quickly as possible.”
“The Pervoyedov method, you say?”
“You could write a learned article on it. For the Russian Journal of Pathology.”
“Ah, but the thing to do is to be published in Germany. That’s the thing,” said Dr. Pervoyedov, waving a scalpel carelessly.
“Well, then. Write it in German.”
“The Pervoyedov method…It has a certain ring to it.” Dr. Pervoyedov grinned. “Unfortunately, the method you propose is, from a scientific point of view, utterly nonsensical. If I were to attach my name to it, it would very likely spell the end of my career as an academic pathologist.”
“It would be looked upon very favorably by the judicial authorities.”
“Ah, yes. I don’t doubt it. That’s the thing, you see. There you have it in a nutshell, Porfiry Petrovich. On the one hand, you have the interests of science. On the other, the interests of the office of the investigating magistrate. I had hoped they were the same. But the more I do this job, the more I learn they are not.”
“I trust our interests are the same. Both parties want the truth.”
“But you will insist on dictating which truth you want.”
“That’s unfair, Dr. Pervoyedov. I am merely seeking to influence the order in which the various truths concerning this case are discovered.”
The diener had by now weighed the second lung and was waiting for instruction.
“You know he’s proposing to fine me, don’t you,” said Dr. Pervoyedov with sudden and sincere bitterness.
“I’m sure Prokuror Liputin can be prevailed upon to drop the intended disciplinary proceedings against you.”
Dr. Pervoyedov considered Porfiry briefly. He shook his head with an indulgent smile as he turned his attention back to the dead man. “Very well. Give me the stomach now,” he said to the diener.
Crooked and bulging, the stomach was sluiced off and placed in an enamel bowl. Dr. Pervoyedov slit the finely veined sac along its tense convexity. A stinking, murky liquid spilled out, and the stomach collapsed into a wrinkled yellow skin.
“Be thankful, gentlemen,” said Dr. Pervoyedov. “He has not eaten solids recently. But judging by the smell, he has drunk vodka.”
“There was an empty vodka bottle found by the body,” said Porfiry. “Some vodka from it appears to have been spilled onto the carpet.”
“It would be as well to test that too.”
Porfiry nodded.
Dr. Pervoyedov opened a drawer in one of the laboratory benches. “I regret that Prokuror Liputin is not here to oversee my actions,” he said. He had in his hand a tab of litmus paper. The doctor dipped the litmus paper into the liquid. An intense red stain spread over it eagerly. He showed it to the official witnesses without comment. They were at a loss as how to meet his arch, questioning expression. Their nods were hesitant and solemn. “Ah well, at least you gentlemen are here to see that I do things properly this time.”
The doctor drew a quantity of the liquid into a syringe, which he then siphoned into a glass retort. With its long tapered spout at the side, the vessel had something of the appearance of a capsized swan. Dr. Pervoyedov showed a large brown bottle to the witnesses, his expression again pointed. The bottle was labeled SULFURIC ACID. The witnesses smiled weakly, averting their eyes and shuffling their feet like reproached schoolboys. The doctor shook his head and turned his back on them. He added a few drops of the sulfuric acid by pipette and shook the retort lightly. He then transferred it to another bench in the laboratory where there was a deep metal tray filled with sand, nesting on a burning gas ring. He closed the retort with a glass stopper and twisted it into the hot sand. He carefully turned the screw of a clamp to hold it at the neck.