He thought of how Professor Dobson had spoken so reverently of the mind and brain. The man's words still resonated in Grant's brain.
“ Lying below the exterior folds of the cerebral cortex, deep within the cerebral hemispheres, at the border of the brain stem, you will find the limbic system-five hundred million years old. It controls the instincts to flee or fight, to eat or drink. It represents the first swelling of the spinal cord to create the primitive brain, which also controls the emotional areas with senses of pleasure and displeasure.”
“ And Cahil wants to suggest that this primitive center is the home of the soul. Foolish idea, indeed,” Kenyon said aloud to the empty cab of his van as he drove onward to his next destination. He had turned from the Carolinas for Valdosta, heading south.
As he cruised in search of a victim for Phillip, Dr. Grant Kenyon thought of his past life at Mt. Holyoke Memorial Hospital in the New Jersey suburb of Holyoke. He thought of how back in 1990 he had become obsessed with the Cahil case as it appeared in the papers month after month; and how after the trial, pretending to be a reporter, he had bribed a court bailiff and paid dearly for a copy of the trial transcripts to learn every detail, including precisely what Cahil had confessed.
He got in touch with Cahil by writing him, using a PO box for replies. He had learned of Daryl's website early on, becoming one of its most frequent visitors.
He soon lost interest in all else.
He thought now of how he had lost his job back in Holyoke. The resident pathologist, he had often been called upon by local law enforcement to perform routine autopsies to determine cause of death in suspicious or unknown circumstances. He had been involved in such a matter when he convinced a young intern, Dr. Mitchell Erdman, that he could finish the job himself. With the rotation of interns Kenyon worked with, he'd had no problem in the past with removing the brains of such victims and stuffing the craniums with gauze and cotton. He had gotten away with two years of such brain feedings, and the evidence was-so to speak-well buried. Kenyon had enjoyed feeding on the brains of freshly dead victims brought to his morgue.
But one night, while in the process of re-stuffing the head and replacing the forehead bone, Kenyon was surprised when Dr. Erdman returned unexpectedly. Pushing through the door at a wild, energetic pace, Erdman found Kenyon stuffing a dead man's head with anything but the earlier-removed gray matter. The brain itself lay on the weighing scale, registering at three and a half pounds.
“ Dr. Kenyon? What're you… what're you doing with Mr. Allandale?”
Caught in the act, Kenyon stuttered, “I need more time with the brain, have more tests to run… more than I can possibly complete in the time allotted. Family wants the body like yesterday. No way they'll know the brain isn't intact, and we're not going to tell them, Dr. Erdman. Do you understand?”
“ Ahhh… I suppose, so long as it's in the protocol as part of the necessary procedures. Still… it seems highly unusual, Doctor.”
“ We don't want to alarm the family, but we must know the truth. It's our duty to find the exact cause of death, and as yet, we have only suppositions and unknowns.”
“ Still, it seems highly-”
“ It's not! I mean, it's not so unusual as you might think. Happens at times, Erdman. Here, in my files, I'll show you another case where exactly the same thing happened six or seven months ago.”
Kenyon worked hard to find the file he had mentioned, and he went to a lab table with it. “Here… have a look.”
Dr. Erdman read it over; indeed the procedure involved holding on to a woman's brain after the rest of her had been sewed up, returned to the family and cremated. “What did you eventually do with what was left of the woman's brain?” asked Erdman.
“ Went out with all the other medical waste.”
“ I hope it helped you to understand why she died.”
“ Tumor was found, yes. It's all there.”
Erdman read on. “Buried so deep that none of the tech-nology could locate it?”
“ Deep in the fissures. Took slice after slice to locate it. Changed death from unknown source to undetected brain tumor. Made a great deal of difference to the family in the long run. Medical claim was settled for quite a tidy sum.”
Erdman examined the autopsy file for a Mrs. Georgia Bhrett and nodded. “And you have the same feeling about Allandale?”
“ Exactly. Now do you understand?”
“ Why not lay it out for the family; get them to wait?”
“ I'm not a medical examiner or coroner, Doctor,” countered Kenyon. “I don't have the kind of muscle to require the family to submit to my wishes on the matter. We're just small city hospital pathologists here.”
“ Gotcha, yeah… Look, I just wanted to know if you'd like to go to a ball game.”
“ Football game?”
“ I've got two tickets and can't make it, and I know you like the game, so…”
“ That's decent of you, Erdman, but it won't win any brownie points when your quarter review comes up.”
Erdman had nervously laughed at this. “I only meant… I mean, I didn't mean for you to read anything like that into… It's just a simple-”
“ Just kidding Erdman… just kidding, my friend. Thanks for the tickets. Just leave them on the table there. They're much appreciated.”
Erdman looked from the table to the scale for a final glance at Allandale's brain. “Amazing thing, the brain,” he said.
“ Yes, very extraordinary…”
“ What's the next step for Allandale's?” “On ice, of course. Have to freeze it before I can cut into slices for the microscope.”
“ Yes, of course. Well, I'm off. Have to catch up with Sandy.”
Kenyon gave his intern a perfunctory wave. “I'm almost finished here myself. Have a good night.”
Kenyon thought he'd covered himself well, but weeks later, he was called to the administrative office, where he faced the chief of staff and the chief of surgery. Both Whitehead and Bondesen went ballistic over Erdman's allegation that Dr. Kenyon was practicing some unspeakable act on Allandale's brain. They wanted to know what he had done with the brain, and they had protocol files on both Allandale and the female patient, Georgia Bhrett, that Erdman had snuck out from the morgue. The story regarding insurance claims for both proved bogus. Never one capable of thinking fast on his feet, Kenyon told his superiors that with Halloween approaching, he had made off with the brain to use at a local YMCA haunted house, and that it had proved extremely successful. “So successful in fact that someone stole
This made his superiors wince.
“ That still leaves the woman's brain,” said Bondesen. “That was around Easter. You didn't take it to the Y for Easter, did you?”
“ All right… all right… I've been doing some research on the side. I'm on the verge of isolating cells I believe that might have something to do with the Lupus disease.”
A red-faced Whitehead replied, “Do you have any idea at what risk you have placed this hospital, Dr. Kenyon? And for what? Whether a Halloween prank or secretive research projects, you put us at great jeopardy indeed.
Kenyon pleaded, “It was the only way I could get more hands-on experience with the brain. I have long wanted to specialize in the brain.” It was an explanation they at least accepted as less outrageous than the ones coming before.
Kenyon, placed on low-level scut work usually reserved for internists, could perform no autopsies until the matter was reviewed. Two weeks later, a review board found Kenyon's medical ethics and conduct in question. None of them knew exactly what Kenyon was guilty of, but they didn't like the ideas and assumptions that sprang to mind. They didn't like the idea of unnecessary surgery, even on a dead man. Still, in the end, they gave Kenyon the benefit of doubt, that he was, as he'd said, attempting to learn more. All the same, they couldn't condone such behavior. He was quietly removed and found himself unemployed.
He could not explain to his wife how it had come about. He could tell no one what had happened to old Mr. Allan-dale's brain, because he didn't fully know himself. Only one person knew the complete story, the voice inside
