Critical by Robin Cook Page A

than the old moon suits, she occasionally groused about the equipment like everyone else, but, on this occasion, dealing with a fatal infection, she was pleased to have it. She carefully cleaned off the plastic face mask -- even slight smudges bothered her -- and turned on the fan before pulling the contraption over her head. Then, prepared, she pushed into the pit.
    Stopping just inside the door, she surveyed the scene. Four tables were in use. The nearest supported the corpse of an extremely pale Asian-American male. Three people were grouped around the head, the scalp of which had been reflected forward and the skullcap of which had been removed. The bloody brain glistened in the raw light. Although Laurie couldn't see any faces through the plastic face masks, she guessed it was Jack, Lou, and Vinnie, since they had started first.
    The next table also had three people working, and as Laurie viewed them, her face flushed. She'd forgotten that the chief, Dr. Harold Bingham, was expected. He rarely came to the autopsy room, as most of his time was spent in administrative duties or testifying at high-profile trials. It was easy to pick him out, not only because of his almost square silhouette but because of his harsh baritone voice that suddenly reverberated throughout the tiled room. He was giving one of his impromptu lectures about how his current case reminded him of one of his innumerable previous cases. As he was carrying on, a slight figure standing on a stool opposite him, who Laurie surmised was her office mate, Riva, was actually doing the work. For her reward, Bingham intermittently interrupted his monologue to offer negative comments about her technique.
    The next two tables had a pair of people working at each. Laurie had no idea who they were. The fifth table contained the corpse of an African-American male. Standing at the head of the table, a figure she assumed was Marvin waved toward her, and over the sound of Bingham's raucous voice, he called out, "We're set to go on table five, Dr. Montgomery!"
    Bingham's head snapped around toward Laurie, making her wish she could disappear. The overhead light glinted off his plastic face screen, blocking a view of his face, so she could not anticipate his frame of mind. "Dr. Montgomery, you are a half-hour late!"
    "I've been going over my cases for this morning, sir," Laurie said quickly, and as deferentially as possible. She could feel her heart rate bump up. Laurie had struggled with authority figures since childhood. "I also needed to speak with Cheryl Myers to get some missing data." Cheryl Myers was a PA whom Laurie had slipped into the investigator's office to see after leaving the ID room. Although Cheryl had written a generally good note for the construction death, Laurie's second case, Laurie had noticed that the distance from the building the corpse had ended up after the fatal ten-story fall was not included. As Laurie had assumed, Cheryl had obtained the figure but had mistakenly left it out of the report.
    "All that is supposed to be done before seven-thirty," Bingham snapped.
    "Yes, sir," Laurie said, not interested in arguing. Unlike Jack, Laurie generally followed rules reflexively. However, the one mandating that autopsies start at seven-thirty sharp she generally ignored, since it conflicted with her belief that it was more important to know the case prior to doing the post. In an attempt to preclude any more conversation with Bingham about the issue, Laurie stepped directly up to Jack's table and asked loudly how his case was going.
    "Stellarly" Jack quipped, "except the inconvenient fact that the patient died. The only bad side is that it has been dragging on. We'd have made significantly more progress if there was any decent help around here."
    "Screw you!" Vinnie said. "If you two old windbags hadn't carried on like you've been doing, we could be up having coffee by now."
    "Gentlemen," Bingham's voice called out. "I'll have no disrespect, nor