Chapter 113
AlthoughPoe knew about the organs in the abdomen from his attendance at countless post-mortems, he had never really given much thought to how they all fitted together in a living person. He wasn’t naive enough to think the inside of a body was like a child’s anatomy book, organs neatly organised with space in between, but he hadn’t expected it to be a total car crash. When Mukherjee finally used surgical scissors to open Salt’s abdominal cavity, all Poe could see was blood and tissue and fat and pieces of flotsam. It was all red and it all looked the same. Abdominal surgery looked remarkably similar to making black pudding, he thought.
Bradshaw came back into the room. She was holding a document.
‘What you got there, Tilly?’
‘Frederick Beck’s profile, Poe. Do you want me to stay in case Estelle Doyle has any … Oh my gosh. However will Doctor Mukherjee fit everything back in?’
Bradshaw had a point. Salt’s abdomen now looked like a burst suitcase.
‘It’s a jigsaw he’s done many times, Tilly,’ Doyle said.
‘Mr Salt is going to be very sore tomorrow.’
‘Hopefully,’ Poe said.
Doyle and Bradshaw looked at him.
‘If he’s sore, he’s alive,’ he explained. ‘And also because he’s a prick.’
‘Are you staying, Tilly?’ Doyle asked. ‘I can recap what’s happened. Doctor Mukherjee will be accessing the stomach soon.’
‘No thank you, Estelle. I’ve been anticipating what Poe might need next and I have a program running. It’s called RipplePlace and I expect the results in approximately ninety seconds.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘It’s a search and merge algorithm, sorting key data into lexicographical order,’ Bradshaw explained, explaining nothing.
And with that she left the room. Doyle looked at the empty doorway in amusement. ‘I think she may be my favourite person ever,’ she said.
Poe nodded. ‘You understand any of that?’ he asked.
‘Not a word.’