“Me too,” I said.
“They would be pretty valuable, wouldn’t they?” I asked.
“Aye,” Artair said.
“Who would be most interested in this sort of thing? I mean, here or any other collector?”
“Dr. Eban, certainly. He’s our resident collector of most of the medical history items. I know other collectors, but the list isn’t top of my mind.”
I wasn’t surprised by his answer.
“Dr. Eban’s filled a whole display case right outside his anatomy room. I catalogued a few items last year. No scalpels, though, I think. This is the only one I know about that’s on campus.”
I blinked at Artair and then at Elias.
“Ah, ye’d like tae see the display case?” Elias said.
“I would, when we’re done here,” I said.
“Awright,” Elias said. “I’ll drive again.”
TWENTY-ONE
There’s not much that compares with the smells of education. Though some of them change as you move through the years, there’s that lingering scent of dusty books and linoleum floor wax, mixed with a little fear and panic. Sometimes there’s a layer of cafeteria scents too, but not today, not in this building.
“This must be the room,” I said to Elias as we stopped outside the room marked “Anatomical Theatre.”
“That’s quite the display case,” he said as he peered inside the case, which was almost as crowded with stuff as Edwin’s warehouse shelves.
“Do you see any scalpels?” I said as I dodged a few students entering the theater. I noticed the plaque Mallory had mentioned, about the theater being set up up like Dr. Knox’s.
“That wee thing?” Elias pointed.
I leaned over and looked where he was looking. “I’ll be. Yes, that looks exactly like the ones I found. Artair must not have known about it.”
Elias slipped on his glasses. “The card next tae it says that it was a scalpel that belonged tae Dr. Robert Knox.”
“Anything mentioning other scalpels that might be missing?”
“Not that I see.”
The hallway had emptied, doors to rooms and halls closing as the last of the students disappeared inside. I wanted to look more closely at the items in the display case, but I also didn’t want to miss my chance.
“Let’s go in. If we can hide in the back, I’d like to observe,” I said as I moved to the door.
“I’m right behind ye.”
I was sure Elias expected the same sort of setup that I did—a tiered, circular room with a table in the middle where dissections could be observed. We hadn’t taken any time to think about what we were walking into, but the reality of the room, set up as I’d visualized, was much more discombobulating than I’d imagined it would be.
The theater walls were painted light blue, a hue that seemed somehow frigid as well as comforting. Everything else in the seating area seemed to be made of old, dark wood: the curved desktops, the stools, and the panels that lined the outside of each tier. One staging area with a chrome body table was at the bottom of the tiers in the center. Another staging area that looked just like a small stage took up the back of the room. There were even industrial-gray curtains, currently wide open, showing the two doors where Dr. Eban must enter and exit. There was no body table on the stage. There was only a stool and a microphone, the microphone off to the side, the stool front and center. There was no cadaver in sight. Yet.
We found two empty stools amid the only half-populated room. We could probably blend in. As I watched Elias rearrange his cap, I realized that I’d led us—mostly him—into maybe our strangest situation yet.
“Hey, I’m sorry. This isn’t right,” I said. “Let’s go.”
A door at the back of the stage opened with a flourish, and Dr. Eban walked in.
I sensed that by that point it would have been weirder to leave than just to sit there and observe. Elias must have sensed the same thing, and we lowered a little on our stools. However, neither of us were hidden; it would have been impossible to hide. I did take a moment to wonder if Dr. Knox had taught in this room. It wouldn’t have surprised me, but I doubted it. Surely, his theater hadn’t survived the passing of time. And, fire took out so many things in those days. If it hadn’t become dilapidated, it might have burned.
Or, this could be the very room Dr. Knox used.
Dr. Eban didn’t notice us right off. Instead, he launched into an announcement about the service he’d given at the church.
“Of course, the first-year students were required tae attend the service this morning, but I know that some of you had other obligations. Let’s please take a moment of silence for those who have helped us over the years.”
Before the moment of silence was a full moment, a hand shot up on the other side of the large room.
“Question?” Dr. Eban asked with one raised eyebrow.
“Aye. Did ye honor our Mallory, Dr. Eban?”
“Aye, we did.”
“Guid.”
The student’s tone drew everyone’s attention his direction. Like my friends, this man wasn’t of a traditional age. He wasn’t in his twenties or even his thirties. His salt-and-pepper short hair and beard were only the first things that aged him into at least his forties. He wore thick glasses and a wrinkled forehead very well, and his voice didn’t ring with youth. If there was such a thing as a traditional medical student, he wasn’t it.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the honor,” Dr. Eban said. “Are you new to this class?”
“I’m just visiting today,” the man said. “I’m here for Mallory. The police willnae listen tae me, and I wanted tae make sure everyone knew who killed her.”
“We’re listening,” Dr. Eban said.
Sometimes in life there are collective moments when things seem to be going a certain direction, but you and others around you sense that the path is about to get diverted. I knew I wasn’t the only one in the room to
