Critical by Robin Cook Page B

move this along?” Vinnie complained. “At this rate, with you two long-winded old farts carrying on, we’re going to be here all day.”
    Jack let his arms go limp at his sides and stared at Vinnie as if shocked. “Are we keeping the super mortuary tech from something more important?” he questioned.
    â€œYeah, a coffee break.”
    Jack switched his gaze to Lou and said, “See what I have to put up with around here? The place is going to the dogs.” He then reached up, adjusted the overhead microphone, and began dictating the external examination.
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    LAURIE SLIPPED David Jeffries’s file back into its envelope. It included a case worksheet, his partially filled-out death certificate, his inventory of medicolegal case records, two sheets for the autopsy notes, a telephone notice of his death as received by communications, his completed identification sheet, the PA’s investigative report, his lab slip for an HIV test, and the slips indicating that the body had been weighed, fingerprinted, photographed, and x-rayed. She had read the material over several times, as she had done with her second assigned case, Juan Rodriguez, but it was Jeffries she was more interested in.
    Feeling appropriately prepared, she pushed back from her desk and headed toward the back elevator. Fifteen minutes earlier, she’d called down to the mortuary office and had had the good fortune to get Marvin Fletcher. She was pleased and recognized his voice instantly, as he was her favorite mortuary tech. He was efficient, intelligent, experienced, eager, and always in a good mood. Laurie had an aversion for those techs who were moody, such as Miguel Sanchez, or those who always seemed to be moving at half-speed, such as Sal D’ Ambrosio. She also was not fond of the sarcastic, black-humor repartee in which some of the other techs indulged. When she briefly described David Jeffries’s case, warning that it involved an infection and asking for the body to be put up for an autopsy, Marvin’s response had been simply: “No problem. Give me fifteen minutes, and it’s a go.”
    As Laurie rode down from the fifth floor to the basement morgue level, she thought of what she was going to find on Jeffries. According to the PA’s report, the man had had all the symptoms of a toxic shock–like syndrome: high fever, an obvious wound infection at both incision sites, diarrhea with abdominal pain, vomiting, severe prostration, low blood pressure, unresponsive to medication, low urinary output, rapid heart rate, and respiratory distress with some blood-tinged mucus. Laurie shuddered at the thought of how quickly the man had succumbed and how virulent the bacteria had to be. She also couldn’t keep herself from worrying about the case being a negative omen, involving, as it did, the exact same surgery Jack was facing, even the same knee. Jack had blithely dismissed the coincidence, but she couldn’t. It made her more committed than ever to talk Jack into at least delaying his surgery. She even saw a bright side to David Jeffries’s tragedy. Maybe if she found something different or unexpected at the post, it could help her change Jack’s mind, which was why she had requested the case. Generally, she tried to avoid cases involving fatal infection. She’d never admitted it to anyone, but they made her uneasy. Yet as she approached the locker room, she acknowledged that she felt more eager and keyed up about doing the case than she had ever felt about doing another.
    Laurie changed quickly, first into scrubs and then putting on her disposable protective gear. Although the newer gear was less burdensome and limiting 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