The Anatomy of Deception - Lawrence Goldstone [56]
I agreed, but mentioned Turk’s predilection for the waterfront district. Simpson remained dubious.
“I don’t see that it matters much where he spent his time. For a doctor, cholera is a disease that one almost has to want to contract.”
“We will soon know,” I said.
“Soon know?” Simpson repeated. “Then you suspect …”
“I don’t have any reason to suspect anything,” I protested, none too convincingly.
Simpson moved closer and lowered her voice. “There’s more to this, Ephraim. I know there is. You must tell me what’s going on.”
But I couldn’t do that. I did not know for certain what was going on myself and, I confess, I did not want to mention Abigail Benedict to Mary Simpson.
Simpson took me by the arm. It was the first time she had ever touched me. “Ephraim, I told you to be careful before. That admonition is even more crucial now. Involvement in this can lead to no good. I’m certain of it.”
It only seemed to occur to her as she finished speaking that she had her hand on me. She pulled it away as a blush crept up her cheeks.
“Thank you, Mary,” I said. “I will do as you say.”
When we arrived at the Dead House, Formad was upstairs and the Professor had already bounded up to speak with him. He reappeared a few moments later. As I had suspected, although Formad was entitled to conduct the autopsy, he was more than willing in this case to cede his authority to the Professor. Although Koch’s work had made it possible to handle the dead in addition to treating the living, Formad had refused to purge himself of the common misconception that proximity to a cholera patient would put one at risk.
Our late colleague was in the first chest in the mortuary. The Professor swung it open, and there before us lay the gray, desiccated form of George Turk. His lean frame was emaciated as if by famine, his ribs and ilia protruding and prominent. His features seemed to have acquired a new placidity and I thought of his bookshelf filled with the classics.
The others had also paused. One’s own mortality is reflected in the face of a dead friend, and even the Professor must have felt that one day it would be he lying in the ice. The moment quickly passed, however, and we removed Turk from the ice chest, wheeled him to the table, and set to work.
Farnshaw took notes while Simpson and I assisted. Once the Professor had made the usual cuts in the torso, creating the Y-shaped opening, my initial squeamishness ceased. The procedure went quickly and smoothly, and the results were completely consistent with death by dehydration. We focused on the digestive tract, from which a number of samples were taken. We took great care, of course, since direct contact with Vibrio cholerae in the intestinal tract was to be avoided. Turk’s stomach contained only a small amount of brown fluid, and the duodenum and small intestine contained small amounts of yellow mucus. The large bowel contained yellowish brown mucus, and the area of the throat at the back of the mouth, the esophagus, and the trachea also contained brown mucus. A fatty infiltrate was detected in the liver. The kidneys contained yellow deposits. A cursory examination of the brain cavity showed evidence of increased cranial pressure. The immediate cause of death was cardiac failure, unremarkable since severe dehydration leads to a change in blood chemistry, which in turn often leads to a collapse of the circulatory system.
“I think that is about all we’re going to learn,” said the Professor, after all the material for slides had been secured. “If there are no objections, I believe we can return the organs and close up.”
I never contradicted the Professor in front of others—and rarely in any case—but on this occasion I was forced to interject. “Are you not going to take hair follicle and toenail samples, Doctor?”
The Professor