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Donovan. Better put your money on the table.” Robert bent over and opened the pulmonary arteries. There were no clots. Next he opened the right atrium of the heart. Again the blood was liquid. Finally he turned to the vena cava. There was a bit of tension as the knife slipped into the vessels, but they too were clear. There were no emboli.
    “Crap!” said Jerry in disgust.
    “That’s ten dollars you owe me,” said Robert smugly.
    “What the hell could have bumped this guy off?” asked Jerry.
    “I don’t think we’re going to find out,” said Robert. “I think we’ve got number eighteen here.”
    “If we are going to find anything,” said Cassi, “it will be inside the head.”
    “How do you figure?” asked Jerry.
    “If the patient was really cyanotic,” said Cassi, “and we haven’t found a right-to-left circulatory shunt, then the problem has to be in the brain. The patient stopped breathing, but the heart kept pumping unoxygenated blood. Thus cyanosis.”
    “What’s that old saying?” said Jerry. “Pathologists know everything and do everything but too late.”
    “You forgot the first part,” said Cassi. “Surgeons know nothing but do everything. Internists know everything but do nothing. Then comes the part about pathologists.”
    “And what about psychiatrists?” asked Robert.
    “That’s easy,” laughed Jerry. “Psychiatrists know nothing and do nothing!”
    Quickly Robert finished the autopsy. The brain appeared normal on close examination. No sign of clot or other trauma.
    “Well?” asked Jerry, staring at the glistening convolution of Bruce’s brain. “Do you two hotshots have any other bright ideas?”
    “Not really,” said Cassi. “Maybe Robert will find evidence of a heart attack.”
    “Even if I do,” said Robert, “it wouldn’t explain the cyanosis.”
    “That’s true,” said Jerry, as he scratched the side of his head. “Maybe the nurse was wrong. Maybe the guy was just ashen.”
    “Those nurses on cardiac surgery are awfully competent,” said Cassi. “If they said the patient was dark blue, he was dark blue.”
    “Then I give up,” said Jerry, taking out a ten-dollar bill and slipping it into the pocket of Robert’s white jacket.
    “You don’t have to pay me,” said Robert. “I was just kidding.”
    “Bullshit,” said Jerry. “If it had been a pulmonary embolism I’d have taken your money,” Jerry walked over to where he’d hung his white jacket.
    “Congratulations, Robert,” said Cassi. “Looks like you got case number eighteen. Compared to the number of open-heart surgery cases they’ve done over the last ten years, that’s getting close to being statistically significant. You’ll get a paper out of this yet.”
    “What do you mean ‘me’?” asked Robert. “You mean ‘us,’ don’t you?”
    Cassi shook her head. “No, Robert. This whole thing has been your idea from the start. Besides, now that I’ve switched to psychiatry, I can’t hold up my end of the work.”
    Robert looked glum.
    “Cheer up,” said Cassi. “When the paper comes out, you’ll be glad you didn’t have to share authorship with a psychiatrist.”
    “I was hoping this study would get you to come up here frequently.”
    “Don’t be silly,” said Cassi. “I’ll still come up, especially when you find new SSD cases.”
    “Cassi, let’s go,” called Jerry impatiently. He had the door held open with his foot.
    Cassi gave Robert a peck on the check and ran out. Jerry took a playful swipe at her as she passed through the door. Not only did she evade the blow, but she managed to give Jerry’s necktie a sharp tug as she passed.
    “Where’s your woman friend?” asked Jerry as they reached the main part of the pathology department. He was still struggling to straighten his tie. “Probably in Robert’s office,” said Cassi. “She said she needed to sit down. I think the autopsy was a little much for her.”

    Joan had been resting with her eyes closed.