Free Critical by Robin Cook Page A

from Vinnie until they reached the clerical room beyond communication. There was a brief tug-of-war amid laughter.
    The battle for the newspaper over, Jack gave Vinnie the John Doe case file and asked him to put up the body, meaning prepare the body for the autopsy. Meanwhile, Jack stuck his head into Sergeant Murphy's closet-like NYPD office. The aging, amiable cop looked up from his computer screen. He'd been assigned to the OCME forever. Jack was fond of the man, as was everyone else. Murphy was one of those rare individuals who managed to get along with everyone. Jack admired the trait and wished some of it could rub off on him. Over the years, he'd become progressively intolerant of perfunctory bureaucrats with mediocre administrative or professional skills, and he was unable to hide his feelings, as much as he tried. In his mind, there were too many such tenured people hiding out in the OCME.
    "Have you seen Detective Soldano?" Jack asked.
    "He was here earlier but left to go down to the morgue," Sergeant Murphy said.
    "Did he ask you about the unidentified floater that came in last night?"
    "He did, and I told him the only missing-person report filed overnight was for a woman."
    Jack thanked the sergeant and managed to catch up to Vinnie, who'd summoned the back elevator. Downstairs, Jack found Lou in the locker room, already suited up in a Tyvek coverall, which had replaced the far more bulky protective moon suits except for known exceptionally infectious cases.
    As Jack quickly changed into scrubs, Lou couldn't help but notice the swelling and discoloration of Jack's injured knee.
    "That doesn't look so good," Lou commented. "Are you sure you should be doing these posts?"
    "Actually it's gotten better," Jack said. "I just have to baby it until Thursday, when it's scheduled to be repaired. That's what the crutches are for. I could do without them, but using them is a constant reminder."
    "You're having it operated on so soon?" Lou questioned. "My ex-brother-in-law had an ACL tear, and he had to wait six months before having it fixed."
    "The sooner I have it, the better, as far as I am concerned," Jack said as he climbed into a Tyvek coverall. "The quicker I get back to my bike and, hopefully, my b-ball, the saner I'll be. The competition and the physical exercise keep my demons at bay."
    "Now that you remarried, are you still tormented by what happened to your family?"
    Jack stopped and stared at Lou as if he couldn't believe Lou had asked such a question. "I'm always going to be tormented. It's just a matter of degree." Jack had lost his wife of ten years and two daughters, aged ten and eleven, to a commuter plane crash fifteen years earlier.
    "What does Laurie think of you having surgery so soon?"
    Jack's lower jaw slowly dropped open. "What is this?" he questioned with obvious irritation. "Is this some kind of conspiracy? Has Laurie been talking to you about this behind my back?"
    "Hey!" Lou voiced, raising his hands as if to fend off an attack. "Calm down! Don't be so paranoid! I'm just asking, trying to be a friend."
    Jack went back to finishing his suiting up. "I'm sorry to jump on you. It's just that Laurie has been on my case to postpone my surgery since it was scheduled. I'm a little touchy about it because I want the damn thing fixed."
    "Understood," Lou said.
    With hoods in place and tiny, battery-powered fans recirculating the air through high-efficiency particulate air, or HEPA, filters, the two men entered the windowless autopsy room, which had not been upgraded for almost fifty years. The eight stainless-steel autopsy tables bore witness to the approximately five hundred thousand bodies that had been painstakingly disassembled to reveal their forensic secrets. Over each table hung an old-fashioned spring-loaded scale and a microphone for dictation. Along one wall were Formica countertops and soapstone sinks for washing out intestines, and along another wall were floor-to-ceiling glass-enclosed instrument