One day, in the 1960s, George was on Crownsville’s campus, walking through a parking lot that sits between the Winterode Building and the one-floor medical-surgical center. He started snooping, descending an outdoor cement staircase that led to the hospital’s lab and morgue. He walked into the laboratory, where the lights were down and no one else was around. In the center was a large chemist’s table with clear jars scattered about. It looked to George like each jar held a different human body part suspended in a putrid yellow-green fluid. He looked closer. One resembled a woman’s womb.
