6:45 a.m., Wednesday
Manhattan
From where Laurie was standing she could see her brother heading for the lake. He was walking quickly; Laurie was afraid he might break into a run. She thought he knew about the mud and how dangerously deep it was. Yet he kept going as if he didn’t care.
“Shelly!” Laurie cried. Either he was ignoring her or he couldn’t hear. Laurie yelled again as loud as she could but still he didn’t respond. She started running after him. He was only a step away from the horrid ooze. “Stop!” Laurie yelled. “Don’t go near the water! Stay away!”
But Shelly kept walking. By the time Laurie reached the lakeside, he was already in black mud up to his waist. He had turned back toward shore. “Help me!” he cried.
Laurie came to a stop just at the edge. She reached out for him, but their hands could not touch. Laurie turned and screamed for help, but no one was in sight. Turning back to Shelly, she saw that he had sunk up to his neck. There was pure terror in his eyes. As he sank further, his mouth opened and he screamed.
Shelly’s scream merged into a mechanical ringing that pulled Laurie from her sleep. Still desperate to help Shelly, Laurie’s hand shot out and swept the Westclox from the windowsill. The same movement toppled a half-full glass of water and collided with the book she’d been reading the night before. The clock, the glass of water, and the book all fell to the floor.
Laurie’s sudden movement and the crash of the things on the floor so surprised Tom that he leaped first to the top of the bureau, where he knocked off most of Laurie’s cosmetics, then to the valance over the window. Unable to make the top of the valance, Tom’s claws sank into the upholstered front, and the sudden weight brought the valance down.
With the commotion and the noise Laurie was out of bed before she knew what she was doing. It was a few seconds before the sound of the alarm clock shocked her into full awake. Reaching down for it, she managed to shut it off.
For a moment Laurie stood in the ruins of her room to catch her breath. She’d not had that particular nightmare for years, probably not since college, and its effect was more upsetting than the disarray of her room. Perspiration dotted her forehead, and she could feel her heart beating in her chest.
After she’d sufficiently recovered, she went into the kitchen for the dustpan to clean up the broken glass. Next she picked up the cosmetics from the floor and stacked them on her bureau. The valance was too big a task. She decided to leave that for later in the day.
She found Tom hiding under the sofa in the living room. After coaxing him out, she held him in her lap and stroked him for a few minutes until he started purring.
About ten minutes later, she was about to step into the shower when the doorbell rang. “Now what?” she thought. Clutching a towel, she went to her intercom and asked who was there.
“It’s Thomas,” a voice said.
“Thomas who?” Laurie yelled back.
“Dr. Scheffield’s driver,” the voice said. “I’m here to deliver something at the request of the doctor. He couldn’t come himself because he’s already in surgery.”
“I’ll be right down,” Laurie said.
Laurie quickly threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.
“You’re early this morning.” Debra Engler was poised, as usual, at her door.
Laurie was grateful when the elevator arrived.
Thomas tipped his hat when he saw her. He said he hoped he hadn’t woken her. What he had for her was a long white box tied with a thick red ribbon. Laurie thanked him for the package and went back upstairs.
Putting the box on the kitchen table, she untied the red bow, opened the box, and spread the inside tissue paper. Nestled within the paper were several dozen long-stemmed red roses. On top of the flowers was a card that said: Until tonight, Jordan.
Laurie caught her breath. Never having been the recipient of such a flamboyant gesture, she didn’t know quite how to react. She wasn’t even sure if accepting them was appropriate or not. But what could she do? She couldn’t send them back.
Reaching into the box, Laurie lifted one of the blossoms and smelled its springlike sweetness and looked at its deep ruby color. Even though the arrival of the roses confused her and made her feel uncomfortable, she also had to admit that it was romantic and flattering.
Getting the largest vase she had, Laurie put half of the roses into water, then carried them into the living room. She put the vase on her coffee table. She thought she could get used to having cut flowers in her apartment. The effect was amazing.
Returning to the kitchen, Laurie put the cover on the box and retied the ribbon. If a dozen roses could do so much for her apartment, she could only guess what they would do for her office.
“Oh, my God!” Laurie said when she saw the time. In a panic, she tore off her clothes and jumped into the shower.
It was almost eight-thirty before Laurie arrived at the medical examiner’s office, a good half hour later than usual. Feeling guilty, she went directly to the ID office even though, given the box of roses, she would have preferred to go to her office first.
“Dr. Bingham wants to see you,” Calvin said as soon as he saw Laurie. “But get your butt back here on the double. We got a lot of cases to do.”
Laurie put her briefcase and box of roses down on an empty desk. She was self-conscious about the roses, but if Calvin noticed, he didn’t give any indication. Hurrying back through the reception area, Laurie presented herself to Mrs. Sanford. Given her last time in the chief’s office, Laurie was apprehensive to say the least. She tried to imagine what he wanted this time, but she couldn’t.
“He’s on the phone right this minute,” Mrs. Sanford said. “Would you care to sit down? It should only be a moment.”
Laurie went over to a couch, but before she could sit down, Mrs. Sanford was speaking into her intercom: Dr. Bingham was ready to see her.
Taking a deep breath, Laurie walked into the chief’s office. As she approached his desk, his head was down. He was writing. He made Laurie stand while he finished his note. Then he looked up.
For a moment he studied her with his cold blue eyes. He shook his head and sighed. “After months of flawless work, you seem to have developed a penchant for trouble. Don’t you like your work, Doctor?”
“Of course I like my work, Dr. Bingham,” Laurie said, alarmed.
“Sit down,” Bingham said. He folded his hands and placed them resolutely on his blotter.
Laurie sat down on the very edge of the chair facing Dr. Bingham.
“Then perhaps you do not like working at this particular office,” he said. It was half question, half statement.
“Quite the contrary,” Laurie said. “I love being here. What makes you think I don’t?”
“Only because it is the only way I can explain your behavior.”
Laurie returned his gaze evenly. “I have no idea what behavior you are referring to,” she said.
“I’m referring to your visit yesterday afternoon to the apartment of the deceased, Duncan Andrews, where you apparently gained access by flashing your official credentials. Did you go there or have I been misinformed?”
“I was there,” Laurie said.
“Didn’t Calvin tell you that we have been getting some pressure from the mayor’s office about this case?”
“He said something to that effect,” Laurie said. “But the only aspect of the case he discussed with me with regard to that pressure concerned the official cause of death.”
“Wouldn’t that make you think that this was somehow a sensitive case and that maybe you should be as circumspect as possible in all respects?”
Laurie tried to imagine who would have complained about her visit. And why? Certainly not Sara Wetherbee. While she was thinking she realized Dr. Bingham was waiting for a response. “I didn’t think that visiting the scene would upset anyone,” she said at last.
“It is true you didn’t think,” Dr. Bingham said. “That is painfully obvious. Can you tell me why you went to visit this scene? After all, the body was gone. Hell, you’d already finished the autopsy. And on top of that we have medical investigators to do that type of thing; medical investigators whom we had warned not to meddle in this particular case. So that brings me back to the question: Why did you go?”
Laurie tried to think of an explanation without becoming personal. She did not want to discuss her brother’s overdose with Dr. Bingham, particularly not now.
“I asked you a question, Dr. Montgomery,” Bingham said when Laurie failed to respond.
“I hadn’t found anything on autopsy,” Laurie said finally. “There was no pathology. I suppose I went in desperation to see if the scene might reveal a plausible alternative to the drugs the man had obviously taken.”
“This is in addition to asking Cheryl Myers to look into the man’s medical history.”
“That’s right,” Laurie said.
“Under normal circumstances,” Bingham said, “such initiative might be commendable. But under the present circumstances it has added to the problems of this office. The father, who happens to be very politically connected, found out you were there and screamed bloody murder, as if we’re out to ruin his senatorial campaign. And all this is on top of the Central Park Preppy II case, which has already caused enough trouble with the mayor’s office. We don’t need any more. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Laurie said.
“I hope so,” Bingham said. He looked down at the work on his desk. “That will be all, Dr. Montgomery.”
Laurie walked out of the chief’s office and took a deep breath. This was the closest she had ever come to being fired. Two unpleasant summonses to the chief’s office in three days. Laurie couldn’t help but think that one more time in front of Bingham and she would be out.
“You and the chief square things away?” Calvin asked when Laurie reappeared.
“I hope so,” Laurie said.
“Me too,” Calvin said. “Because I need you in top form.” He handed her a pack of folders. “You’ve got four cases today. Two more overdoses like the Duncan Andrews case and two more floaters. Fresh floaters, I might add. I figured since you did the same kind of cases yesterday, you’d be the fastest today. There’s a lot of work for everyone. I had to give several people five cases, so consider yourself lucky.”
Laurie flipped through the folders to make sure that they were complete. Then she took them, her briefcase, and her box of roses up to her office. Before she did anything else, she went to the lab and borrowed the largest flask she could find. Taking the roses from the box, she arranged them and filled the flask with water. After putting the flowers on the lab bench, she stepped back. She had to smile; they were so glaringly out of place.
Sitting down at her desk, Laurie started with the first folder. She didn’t get far. The moment she opened it there was a knock on her door. “Come in,” she said.
The door opened slowly and Lou Soldano poked his face in. “Hope I’m not bothering you too much,” he said. “I’m sure you didn’t expect to see me.”
He looked as though he’d never gone to bed the previous night. He was wearing the same baggy, unpressed suit and he still hadn’t managed to shave.
“You’re not bothering me,” Laurie said. “Come in!”
“So how are you today?” he asked once he’d come in and sat down. He put his hat in his lap.
“Except for a little run-in with the boss, I guess I’m fine.”
“Wasn’t about my being here yesterday, was it?” Lou asked.
“No,” Laurie said. “Something I did yesterday afternoon which I suppose I shouldn’t have. But it’s always easy to say that after the fact.”
“I hope you don’t mind my coming back today, but I understand you have a couple more cases like poor Frankie’s. They were found almost in the same spot by the same night security guard. So I was back out at the South Street Sea Port at five in the morning. Wow!” he said, suddenly spotting Laurie’s flask. “Fancy flowers. They weren’t here yesterday.”
“You like them?” she asked.
“Pretty impressive,” Lou said. “They from an admirer?”
Laurie wasn’t sure how to answer. “I guess you’d call him that.”
“Well, that’s nice,” Lou said. He looked down at his hat and straightened the brim. “Anyway, Dr. Washington said he assigned the cases to you, so here I am. Do you mind if I tag along again?”
“Not at all,” Laurie said. “If you think you can take several more autopsies, I’m glad to have you.”
“I’m pretty sure at least one of the deaths is related to Frankie’s,” Lou said, moving forward in his chair. “The name is Bruno Marchese. Same age as Frankie and about the same position in the organization. The reason we know so much so quickly is that his wallet was found on his body, just as Frankie’s was. Obviously whoever killed him wanted the fact of his death to be immediately known, like an advertisement. When it happened with Frankie we thought it had been a lucky accident. When it happens twice, we know it’s deliberate. And it has us worried: something big might be about to happen, like an all-out war between the two organizations. If that’s the case, we’ve got to stop it. A lot of innocent people get killed in any war.”
“Was he killed the same way?” Laurie asked as she went through the folders until she came across Bruno’s.
“Same way,” Lou said. “Gangland-style execution. Shot in the back of the head from close range.”
“And with a small-caliber bullet,” Laurie added as she finished with Bruno’s folder and picked up the phone. She dialed the morgue. When someone answered, she asked for Vinnie.
“Are we together again today?” Laurie asked.
“You’re stuck with me all week,” Vinnie said.
“We got two floaters,” Laurie said. “Bruno Marchese and . . .” Laurie looked over at Lou. “What’s the name of the other one.”
“We don’t know,” Lou said. “There’s been no ID.”
“No wallet?” Laurie asked.
“Worse than that,” Lou said. “Both the head and the hands are missing. This one they didn’t want us to identify at all.”
“Lovely!” Laurie said sarcastically. “The post will be of limited value without the head.” To Vinnie she said, “I want to be sure Bruno Marchese and the headless man get X-rayed.”
“We’re already working on it,” Vinnie said. “But it’s going to be a while. They’re in line. Busy down here today. There was some kind of gang war up in Harlem last night, so we’re knee deep in gunshot wounds. And by the way, the headless corpse is a woman, not a man. When will you be down here?”
“Shortly,” Laurie said. “Make sure we have a rape-kit for the female.” She hung up and looked over at Lou. “You didn’t tell me one of the floaters was a woman.”
“I didn’t have a chance,” Lou said.
“Well, no matter,” Laurie said. “Unfortunately, the cases you are interested in won’t be first. I’m sorry.”
“No problem,” Lou said. “I like to watch you work.”
Laurie scanned the material in the folder on the headless woman. Then she perused one of the overdose folders. She’d only got as far as the investigator’s report before she reached for the last folder and scanned its investigator’s report. “This is amazing,” she said. She looked up at Lou. “Dr. Washington said these cases were the same as Duncan Andrews. I had no idea he was speaking so literally. What a coincidence.”
“Are they cocaine overdoses?” Lou asked.
“Yes,” Laurie said. “But that’s not what makes them such a coincidence. One’s a banker, the other an editor.”
“What’s so amazing about that?” Lou asked.
“It’s the demographics,” Laurie said. “All three were successful professionals, actively employed, young single people. Hardly the usual overdose we’re accustomed to seeing around here.”
“Like I said: what’s so amazing about that? Aren’t these people the kind of yuppies who made coke popular? What’s the big surprise?”
“The fact that they took cocaine is not the surprising aspect,” Laurie began slowly. “I’m not naive. Behind the veneer of material success can lie some pretty serious addictions. But as I told you the overdose cases we get in here are usually the truly down and out. With crack you see a lot of very impoverished, lower-class people. We do see more prosperous people from time to time, but usually by the time the drugs kill them, they’ve already lost everything else: job, family, money. These recent cases just don’t strike me as typical overdoses. It makes me wonder if there wasn’t some kind of poison in the drug. Now where did I put that article from the American Journal of Medicine?” she said, talking more to herself. “Ah, here it is.”
Laurie pulled out a reprint of an article and handed it to Lou. “Street cocaine is always cut with something, usually sugars or common stimulants, but sometimes with weird stuff. That article is about a series of poisonings resulting from a kilo of cocaine cut with strychnine.”
“Wow,” Lou said as he scanned the article. “That would be quite a trip.”
“It’d be a quick trip in here to the morgue,” Laurie agreed. “Seeing three rather atypical OD cases with such strikingly similar demographics in two days makes me wonder if they each got the cocaine from the same contaminated source.”
“I think it’s a long shot,” Lou said. “Especially with only three cases. And quite frankly, even if your hunch is right, I’m not that interested.”
“Not interested?” Laurie couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“With all the problems this city has, with all the violence and street crime going down, it’s hard for me to muster much sympathy for a trio of fancy pants who have nothing better to do with their leisure time than do illegal drugs. Frankly I’m much more concerned about poor slobs like that headless female floater we got downstairs.”
Laurie was stunned, but before she could launch into a rebuttal, her phone rang. She was surprised to hear Jordan Scheffield on the other end when she picked up.
“I finished my first case,” he said. “Went perfectly. I’m sure the Baron will be pleased.”
“Glad to hear it,” Laurie said, glancing self-consciously at Lou.
“Did you get the flowers?” Jordan asked.
“Yes,” Laurie said. “I’m looking at them this very minute. Thank you. They were just what the doctor ordered.”
“Very clever,” Jordan laughed. “I thought it would be an appropriate way to let you know that I’m looking forward to seeing you tonight.”
“The gesture might fall into the same category as your limo,” Laurie said. “A bit on the extravagant side. But I appreciate your thinking of me.”
“Well, I just wanted to check in. I’ve got to get back to surgery,” Jordan said. “See you at eight.”
“I’m sorry,” Lou said once Laurie had hung up. “You could have told me it was a personal call. I would have stepped out into the hall.”
“I usually don’t get personal calls here,” Laurie said. “It took me by surprise.”
“A dozen roses. A limo. Must be an interesting guy.”
“He is interesting,” Laurie said. “In fact, he said something last night that I think you’ll find interesting.”
“That’s hard to believe,” Lou said. “But I’m all ears.”
“The man on the phone is a doctor,” Laurie said. “His name is Jordan Scheffield. You may have heard of him. Supposedly he’s quite well known. At any rate, he told me last night that he has been taking care of the man you are so interested in: Mr. Paul Cerino.”
“No fooling!” Lou said. He was surprised. He was also interested.
“Jordan Scheffield is an ophthalmologist,” Laurie said.
“Wait a sec,” Lou said. He held up a hand while he reached into his jacket and pulled out a tattered pad of paper and a ballpoint pen. “Let me write this down.” While he bit on his tongue, he wrote out Jordan’s name. Then he asked Laurie to spell ophthalmologist.
“Is that the same as optometrist?” Lou asked.
“No,” Laurie said. “An ophthalmologist is a medical doctor trained to do surgery as well as manage medical eye care. An optometrist is trained more to correct visual problems with eyeglasses and contact lenses.”
“What about opticians?” Lou asked. “I’ve always mixed these guys up. No one ever explained it to me.”
“Opticians fill the eyeglass prescriptions,” Laurie said. “Either from an ophthalmologist or an optometrist.”
“Now that I have that straight,” Lou said. “Tell me about Dr. Scheffield and Paul Cerino.”
“That’s the most interesting part,” Laurie said. “Jordan said that he was treating Mr. Cerino for acid burns of the eyes. Someone had thrown acid in Paul Cerino’s eyes to blind him.”
“You don’t say,” Lou said. “That could explain a lot. Like maybe these two gangland-style executions of Lucia people. And what about Frankie’s eye? Could that have been acid?”
“Yes,” Laurie said. “It could have been acid. It will be tough to determine since Frankie was in the East River, but on the whole, the damage to his eye was definitely consistent with an acid burn.”
“Can you try to have your lab document that it was acid? This could be the start of the lucky breakthrough I’ve been praying for.”
“Of course we’ll try,” Laurie said. “But like I said, his having been in the river might make it tough. We’ll also examine the bullet in the present case. Maybe it will match the one from Frankie.”
“I haven’t been this excited for months,” Lou said.
“Come on,” Laurie said. “Let’s see what we can do.”
Together they went down to the lab. Laurie found the director, a toxicologist, Dr. John DeVries. He was a tall, thin man with gaunt cheeks and an academic’s pallor. He was dressed in a soiled lab coat several sizes too small.
Laurie made introductions, then asked if any of the results on the previous day’s cases were available.
“Some might be,” John told her. “You have the accession numbers?”
“Absolutely,” Laurie said.
“Come in my office,” John said. He led them to his office, a narrow cubbyhole filled with books and stacks of scientific journals.
John leaned across his desk and punched a few keys on his computer. “What are the accession numbers?” he asked.
Laurie gave Duncan Andrews’ number and John entered it.
“There was cocaine in the blood and urine,” John said, reading off the screen. “And apparently in high concentration. But this was only by thin-layer chromatography.”
“Any contaminants or other drugs?” Laurie asked.
“Not so far,” John said, straightening up. “But we’ll be using gas chromatography and mass spectrometry as soon as we have time. We got a lot of work around here.”
“This was a cocaine overdose case but it’s a little atypical in that the deceased did not appear to be a habitual user. And if he did use drugs—which his family swears he didn’t—it wasn’t interfering with his life. The man was very successful, a solid citizen: the kind of person you do not expect to overdose. So his death was unusual perhaps, but not extraordinary. Cocaine can be an upscale drug. But now I’ve got two more OD’s with similar profiles the very next day. I’m concerned that a batch of cocaine may be poisoned with some kind of contaminant. That’s what may be killing these seemingly casual users. I’d really appreciate it if you ran the samples sooner rather than later. We might be able to save some lives.”
“I’ll do what I can,” John said. “But as I told you, we’re busy. Was there another case you wanted to know about now?”
Laurie gave Frank DePasquale’s accession number and John consulted the screen. “Only a trace of cannabinoid in the urine. Otherwise, nothing on screening.”
“There was a sample of eye tissue,” Laurie said. “Find anything there?”
“Hasn’t been processed yet,” John said.
“The eye appeared burned,” Laurie added. “We now suspect acid. Could you look for acid? It might be important if we can document it.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
Laurie thanked John, then motioned for Lou to follow her to the elevator. As they walked, Laurie shook her head. “It’s like squeezing water out of a stone to get information out of him,” she complained.
“He seems exhausted,” Lou said. “Or he hates his job. One of the two.”
“In his defense, he is busy,” Laurie said. “Like everything else here, his funding is limited and getting progressively worse, so he’s stretched thin when it comes to staff. But I hope he can find the time to search for a contaminant in the drug cases. The more I think about it the more sure I am.”
When they got to the elevators, Laurie glanced at her watch. “I have to get a move on!” She lifted her eyes to Lou. “I can’t afford to have Dr. Washington mad at me as well as Dr. Bingham. I’ll be out pounding the pavement, looking for a new job.”
Lou gazed into her eyes. “You really are upset about these overdose cases, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am,” Laurie admitted. She averted her eyes and glanced up at the floor indicator. Lou’s comment brought up the memory of the nightmare she’d had that morning. She hoped that he wouldn’t mention her brother. Thankfully the elevator door opened, and they boarded.
They changed into scrub clothes and entered the main autopsy room. It was a beehive of activity; every table was occupied. Laurie saw that even Calvin was working at table one. Things were definitely hopping for him to be there; it was not customary for Calvin to do routine cases.
Laurie’s first case was on the table. Vinnie had taken the liberty of getting all the paraphernalia he anticipated she’d need. The deceased’s name was Robert Evans, aged twenty-nine.
Laurie set out her papers and switched into her professional persona, beginning her meticulous external exam. She was halfway through when she realized that Lou was not across from her. Raising her head, she saw him standing to the side.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been including you,” she said.
“I understand,” Lou said. “You do your thing. I’m fine. I can tell that you are all very busy. I don’t want to be in the way.”
“You won’t be in the way,” Laurie said. “You wanted to watch, so come over and watch.”
Lou stepped around the table being careful where his feet touched the floor. His hands were clasped behind his back. He looked down at Robert Evans. “Find anything interesting?” he asked.
“This poor fellow convulsed just like Duncan Andrews,” Laurie said. “He has all the consequent bruises and badly bitten tongue to prove it. He also has something else.
Look here in the antecubital fossa. See that blanched puncture mark? Remember seeing that on Duncan Andrews?”
“Sure,” Lou said. “That was the intravenous site where he mainlined the cocaine.”
“Exactly,” Laurie said. “In other words, Mr. Evans took his cocaine the same way Mr. Andrews did.”
“So?” Lou questioned.
“I told you yesterday that cocaine can be taken lots of ways,” Laurie said. “But sniffing, or the medical term, insufflation, is the usual recreational route.”
“What about smoking?” Lou asked.
“You’re thinking of crack. Cocaine hydrochloride, the salt, is poorly volatile and can’t be smoked. For smoking it has to be converted to its free base: crack. The point is that although the usual form of cocaine can be injected, it usually isn’t. The fact that it had been used that way on both these cases is curious, not that I know what to make of it.”
“Wasn’t it common in the sixties to shoot cocaine?” Lou asked.
“Only when it was combined with heroin in what they call speedball.” Laurie closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and let it out with a sigh.
“Are you all right?” Lou asked.
“I’m fine,” Laurie said.
“Maybe what we’re seeing is the beginning of a new fad,” Lou suggested.
“I hope not,” Laurie said. “But if it is, it’s much too deadly to be a fad for long.”
Fifteen minutes later, when Laurie plunged the scalpel into Robert’s chest, Lou winced. Despite the fact that Robert was dead and that there was no blood, Lou could not dismiss the idea that the razor-sharp knife was cutting into human tissue just like his own skin.
With no pathology apparent, Laurie finished the internal aspect of Robert Evans’ autopsy in short order. While Vinnie took the body away and brought in Bruno Marchese, Laurie and Lou went to the X-ray view box to look at Bruno’s X-rays and the one of the headless woman.
“The bullet is in just about the same location,” Laurie said, pointing to the bright dot inside the outline of Bruno’s skull.
“Looks like slightly larger caliber,” Lou said. “I could be wrong, but I don’t think it’s from the same gun.”
“I’ll be impressed if you’re right,” Laurie said.
Laurie put up Bruno’s full-body X-ray. She scanned the film with a practiced eye. When she saw no abnormalities she replaced it with the X-ray of the unfortunate woman.
“It’s a good thing we took this X-ray,” Laurie said.
“Oh?” Lou said, staring at the foggy-appearing shadows.
“You mean you don’t see the abnormality?” Laurie asked.
“No,” Lou said. “At the same time I don’t know how you doctors can see much in these things. I mean a bullet jumps out at you, but the rest just looks like a bunch of smudges.”
“I can’t believe you can’t see it,” Laurie said.
“All right, I’m blind,” Lou said. “So tell me!”
“The head and the hands!” Laurie said. “They’re gone.”
“You miserable slut!” Lou laughed in a forced whisper to keep those at a nearby table from hearing.
“Well, it’s an abnormality,” Laurie teased.
Finished with the X-rays, Laurie and Lou returned to the table just in time to help Vinnie move Bruno from the gurney onto the table. Lou started to help, but Laurie shooed him away since he was not gloved. To save time, Laurie started out with the body prone.
The entrance wound looked much like Frankie’s although the diameter of the stippling was slightly larger, suggesting the gun had been a bit farther away. After taking all the appropriate photographs and samples, she and Vinnie turned the body supine.
The first thing Laurie did then was check the eyes. They were normal.
“After what you said upstairs I was hoping the eyes might tell us something,” Lou said.
“I was hoping as well,” Laurie admitted. “I’d love to give you that break you need.”
“It still might be important,” Lou said. “If Paul Cerino had acid thrown in his eyes, and if Frank DePasquale did too, it’s certainly a link. I think it’s worth my while to take a trip out to Queens and have a chat with Paul.”
After finishing the rest of the external exam, Laurie accepted a knife from Vinnie and began the internal. Again, with no pathology, it went very quickly.
As soon as Bruno’s autopsy was completed, Vinnie rolled him away and brought in the second floater. As Laurie helped Vinnie transfer the body to the table, someone from a nearby table called out: “Where’d that body come from, Laurie? Sleepy Hollow?”
After the laughter died down, Lou leaned over to Laurie’s ear. “That was crude,” he whispered teasingly. “Want me to go over and slug the guy?”
Laurie laughed. “Black humor,” she said. “It has always played a role in pathology.”
Laurie inspected the woman’s severed limbs and neck. “The mutilation was done after death,” she said.
“That’s comforting,” Lou said. He felt his tolerance was getting lower with every case. He was having more trouble dealing with this dismembered body than with the others.
“The decapitation and the removal of the hands was done crudely,” Laurie said. “Look at the rough saw marks on the exposed bones. Of course some of this tissue appears to have been eaten by fish or crabs.”
Lou forced himself to look even though he would have preferred not to. He was feeling slightly nauseated.
“The rest of the torso looks okay,” Laurie said. “No human bite marks.”
Lou swallowed again. “Would you have expected bite marks?” he asked weakly.
“If rape was involved,” Laurie said, “then bite marks are occasionally seen. You have to think about them, otherwise you can miss them.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” Lou said.
Laurie carefully inspected the chest and abdomen. The only finding of note was a right upper quadrant scar following the line of the ribs.
“This could turn out to be important for ID purposes,” Laurie said, pointing at the scar. “I’d guess it was a gallbladder operation.”
“What if the body is never identified?” Lou asked.
“It will stay in the walk-in cooler for a number of weeks,” Laurie said. “If by then we still don’t know who she is, she’ll end up in one of those pine coffins in the hall.”
Laurie opened up the rape-kit and spread out the contents. “Most of this is probably academic after the body has been in the river, but it’s still worth a try.” As she took the appropriate samples, she asked Lou if he thought the case was related to Frank’s or Bruno’s.
“I can’t be sure, but I have my suspicions. I have a number of people including police divers out looking for the heads and hands. I’ll tell you one thing: whoever dumped this woman didn’t want her to be identified. Given the East River’s tidal and current patterns, the fact that she was found in the same general vicinity as Frankie and Bruno suggests she was dumped from the same place. So, yeah, I think there could be a connection.”
“What do you think the chances are of finding the head or the hands?” Laurie asked.
“Not great,” Lou said. “They could have sunk where the body was dumped or they might not have been dumped in the river.”
Laurie had moved on to the internal portion of the autopsy. She noted that the victim had had two surgeries in the past: a gallbladder removal, as Laurie had surmised, and a hysterectomy.
With three of her four cases out of the way before noon, Laurie felt comfortable enough with her progress to suggest that she and Lou have a quick cup of coffee. Lou happily agreed, saying he could use the fortification after the morning’s ordeal. Besides, he would have to leave to get back to his office. Having seen the autopsies of the two “floaters,” he couldn’t rationalize any more time. He jokingly told Laurie that she’d have to do the second overdose without his assistance.
After taking off her goggles, apron, and gown, Laurie took Lou up to the coffeemaker in the ID room. It was just one floor up, so they used the stairs. Laurie sat in a desk chair while Lou sat on the corner of a desk. Just as happened the previous day, Lou’s demeanor suddenly changed when he was about to leave. He became clumsy and self-conscious. He even managed to spill some of his coffee down the front of his scrub shirt.
“I’m sorry,” he said, dabbing at the coffee spots with a napkin. “I hope it doesn’t stain.”
“Don’t be silly, Lou,” Laurie said. “These scrub clothes have had lot worse stains than coffee.”
“I guess you’re right,” he said.
“Is something on your mind?” Laurie asked.
“Yeah,” Lou said. He stared into his coffee. “I wanted to know if you’d like to grab a bite to eat tonight. I know a great place down in Little Italy on Mulberry Street.”
“I’d like to ask you a question,” Laurie said. “Yesterday you asked if I was married. You never said whether you’re married.”
“I’m not married,” he said.
“Have you ever been married?” Laurie asked.
“Yeah, I was married,” Lou said. “I’ve been divorced for a couple of years. I have two kids: a girl seven and a boy five.”
“Do you ever see them?”
“Of course I see them,” Lou said. “What do you think? I wouldn’t see my own kids? I get ’em every weekend.”
“You don’t have to be defensive,” Laurie said. “I was just curious. Yesterday I realized after you’d left that you’d asked me about my marital status without telling me yours.”
“It was an oversight,” Lou said. “Anyway, how about dinner?”
“I’m afraid I have plans tonight,” Laurie said.
“Oh, fine,” said Lou. “Give me the third degree about my marital and parental status, then turn me down. I suppose you’re seeing the fancy doctor with the roses and the limo. Guess I’m not quite in his league.” He stood up abruptly. “Well, I better be going.”
“I think you’re being overly sensitive and silly,” Laurie said. “I only said I was busy tonight.”
“Overly sensitive and silly, huh? I’ll keep that in mind. It’s been another illuminating morning. Thank you so very much. If you come up with anything interesting on any of the floaters, please give me a call.” With that, Lou tossed his Styrofoam cup into a nearby wastebasket and walked out of the room.
Laurie remained in her seat for a moment, sipping her coffee. She knew that she’d hurt Lou’s feelings, and that made her feel uncomfortable. At the same time she thought he was being immature. Some of that “blue collar” charm she’d noted the day before was wearing thin.
After finishing her coffee, Laurie returned to the autopsy room and her fourth case of the day: Marion Overstreet, aged twenty-eight, editor for a major New York publishing house.
“You want anything special for this case?” Vinnie asked. He was eager to get under way.
Laurie shook her head no. She looked at the young woman on the table. Such a waste. She wondered if this woman would have gambled with drugs if she could have anticipated such a terrible price.
The autopsy went quickly. Laurie and Vinnie worked well together as a team. Conversation was kept to a minimum. The case was remarkably similar to both Duncan Andrews’ and Robert Evans’, down to the fact that Overstreet had injected the cocaine, not snorted it. There were only a few minor surprises that Laurie would have Cheryl Myers or one of the other forensic investigators check out. By twelve forty-five Laurie walked out of the main autopsy room.
After changing to her street clothes, Laurie took it upon herself to carry the specimens from each of the day’s cases to Toxicology. She hoped to have another chat with the resident toxicologist. She found John DeVries in his office eating his lunch. An old-fashioned lunch box with a Thermos built into its vaulted cover was open on his desk.
“I finished the two overdoses,” Laurie said. “I’ve brought up their toxicology samples.”
“Leave the samples on the receiving desk in the lab,” he told her. He held an uncut sandwich in both hands.
“Any luck finding a contaminant in the Andrews case?” she asked hopefully.
“It’s only been a few hours since you were here last. I’ll call you if I find anything.”
“As soon as possible,” Laurie encouraged. “I don’t mean to be a bother. It’s just that I’m more convinced than ever that a contaminant of some sort is involved. If there is, I want to find it.”
“If it’s there, we’ll find it. Just give us a chance, for Chrissake.”
“Thanks,” Laurie said. “I’ll try to be patient. It’s just that—”
“I know, I know,” John interrupted. “I get the picture already. Please!”
“I’m out of here,” Laurie said. She put her hands in the air to signify her surrender.
Back in her office, Laurie ate some of the lunch, dictated the morning’s autopsies, and tried to tackle some of her paperwork. She found she couldn’t take her mind off the drug overdose cases.
What worried her was the specter of more cases. If there was some source of contaminated cocaine in the city, it meant there would be more deaths. At this point the ball was in John’s court. There was nothing more she could do.
Or was there? How could she prevent more deaths? The key lay in warning the public. Hadn’t Bingham just lectured her on the fact that they had social and political responsibilities?
With that thought in mind, Laurie picked up the phone and called the chief’s office. She asked Mrs. Sanford if Dr. Bingham might have a moment to see her.
“I believe I could squeeze you in,” Mrs. Sanford said, “but you have to come immediately. Dr. Bingham is due at a luncheon at City Hall.”
When she entered Bingham’s office, she could tell the chief medical examiner was not prepared to give her more than a minute of his time. When he asked her what it was she wanted, Laurie outlined the facts surrounding the three cocaine overdose cases as succinctly as possible. She emphasized the upscale demographics, the fact that none of the victims appeared to have been in the depths of addiction, and that all three had mainlined the drug.
“I get the picture,” Bingham said. “What’s your point?”
“I’m afraid that we are seeing the beginning of a series,” Laurie said. “I’m concerned about a toxic contaminant in some cocaine supply.”
“With only three cases, don’t you think that’s a rather fanciful leap?”
“The point is,” Laurie said, “I’d like to keep it at three cases.”
“An admirable goal,” Bingham said. “But are you certain about this alleged contaminant? What does John have to say?”
“He’s looking,” Laurie said.
“He hasn’t found anything?”
“Not yet,” Laurie admitted. “But he’s only used thin-layer chromatography so far.”
“So I guess we have to wait for John,” Bingham said. He stood up.
Laurie held her seat. Having come this far, she wasn’t about to give up yet. “I was thinking that maybe we should make a statement to the press,” Laurie said. “We could put out a warning.”
“Out of the question,” Bingham said. “I’m not about to gamble the integrity of this office on a supposition based on three cases. Aren’t you coming to me a little prematurely? Why don’t you wait and see what John comes up with? Besides, making that kind of statement would require names, and the Andrews organization would have the mayor at my throat in an instant.”
“Well, it was just a suggestion,” Laurie said.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Bingham said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m late as it is.”
Laurie was chagrined Bingham didn’t give her suggestion more credence, but without more conclusive proof she could hardly force the issue. She only wished there was something she could do before more of the same kind of overdoses showed up on her schedule.
It was then she had a thought. Her training in forensics in Miami had involved direct on-the-scene investigation. Maybe if she toured any future scenes, some critical clue might present itself.
Laurie went to the forensic medical investigative department, where she found Bart Arnold, chief of the investigators, sitting at his desk. Between two of his innumerable telephone conversations, she told him that she wanted to be notified if any more overdoses were called in that were similar to the three that she had had. She was very explicit. Bart assured her that he’d let the others know, including the tour doctors who took calls at night.
Laurie was about to return to her office when she remembered that she should also request that the autopsies of any similar overdoses be assigned to her. That meant seeing Calvin.
“It always worries me when one of the troops wants to see me,” Calvin said when Laurie poked her head in his office. “What is it, Dr. Montgomery? It better not be about scheduling your vacation. With the current case load, we’ve decided to cancel all this year’s vacations.”
“Vacation! I wish!” Laurie said with a smile. Despite his gruff manner, she had a genuine fondness and respect for Calvin. “I wanted to thank you for assigning me those two overdose cases this morning.”
Calvin raised an eyebrow. “Well, this is a first. No one ever thanked me for assigning him a case. Why do I have the feeling there’s more to this visit?”
“Because you are naturally suspicious,” Laurie teased. “I truly have found the cases interesting. More than interesting. In fact I’d like to request that any other similar case that comes in be assigned to me.”
“A grunt looking for work!” Calvin said. “It’s enough to make a poor administrator’s heart glow. Sure. You can have all you want. Just so I don’t make any mistakes, what do you mean by similar? If you took all our overdoses you’d be here ’round the clock.”
“Upscale overdose or toxicity cases,” Laurie said. “Just like the two you gave me this morning. People in their twenties or thirties, well educated, and in good physical condition.”
“I’ll personally see that you get them all,” Calvin said cheerfully. “But I have to warn you now. If you put in for overtime, I’m not paying.”
“I’m hoping there will be no overtime,” Laurie said.
After saying goodbye to Calvin, Laurie returned to her office and sat down to work. The positive meeting with Calvin had compensated for the meeting with Bingham, and with a modicum of peace of mind, Laurie was able to concentrate. She was able to accomplish more work than she’d expected and signed out a number of cases including most of the weekend’s autopsies. She even had time to counsel a devastated family about the “crib death” of their infant. Laurie was able to assure them they were not at fault.
The only problem that intruded during the early afternoon was a call from Cheryl Myers. She told Laurie that she’d been unable to find any medical conditions in Duncan Andrews’ past. His only brush with a hospital had occurred nearly fifteen years ago when he broke his arm during a high school football game. “You want me to keep looking?” Cheryl asked after a pause.
“Yes,” Laurie said. “It can’t hurt. Try to go back to his childhood.” Laurie knew that she was hoping for nothing less than a miracle, yet she wanted to be complete. Then she could turn the whole problem over to Calvin Washington. She decided Lou had been right: if the powers-that-be wanted to distort the record for political expediency, they should do it themselves.
By late afternoon Laurie’s thoughts drifted back to the drug cases. On a whim she decided to check out where Evans and Overstreet lived. She caught a cab on First Avenue and asked to go to Central Park South. Evans’ address was near Columbus Circle.
When the cab arrived at the destination, Laurie asked him to wait. She hopped out of the cab to get a good look at the building. She tried to remember who else lived around there. It was some movie star, she was sure. Probably dozens of stars lived nearby. With a view of the park and its proximity to Fifth Avenue, Central Park South was prime real estate. In Manhattan it didn’t get much better than that.
Standing there, Laurie tried to picture Robert Evans striding confidently down the street and turning into his building, briefcase in hand, excited about the prospects of a social evening in New York. It was hard to jibe such an image with so untimely and profligate a demise.
Getting back in the cab, Laurie directed the driver to Marion Overstreet’s: a cozy brownstone on West Sixty-seventh Street a block from Central Park. This time she didn’t even get out of the car. She merely gazed at the handsome residence and again tried to imagine the young editor in life. Satisfied, she asked the confused driver to take her back to the medical examiner’s office.
After the confrontation with Bingham that morning over her visit to Duncan Andrews’ apartment, Laurie had not intended going inside either victim’s building. She’d merely wanted to see them from the outside. She didn’t know why she’d had the compulsion to do so, and when she got back to the medical examiner’s, she wondered if it had been a bad idea. The excursion had saddened her since it made the victims and their tragedies more real.
Back in her office, Laurie ran into her office-mate, Riva. Riva complimented Laurie on the beauty of her roses. Laurie thanked her and stared at the flowers. In her current state of mind, they had changed their ambience. Although they had suggested celebration that morning, now they seemed more the symbol of grief, almost funereal in their appearance.
Lou Soldano was still irritated as he drove over the Queensboro Bridge from Manhattan to Queens. He felt like such a fool having set himself up so conveniently for rejection. What had he been thinking, anyway? She was a doctor, for Chrissake, who’d grown up on the East Side of Manhattan. What would they have talked about? The Mets? The Giants? Hardly. Lou was the first to admit that he wasn’t the most educated guy in the city, and except for law enforcement and sports, he didn’t know much about most other things.
“Do you ever see your kids?” Lou said out loud, doing a mockingly crude imitation of Laurie’s much higher voice. With a short little yell, Lou pounded the steering wheel and mistakenly honked the horn of his Chevrolet Caprice. The driver in front of him turned around and threw him a finger.
“Yeah, to you too,” Lou said. He felt like reaching down and putting his emergency light on the dashboard and pulling the guy over. But he didn’t. Lou didn’t do things like that. He didn’t abuse his authority, although he did it in his fantasy on a regular basis.
“I should have taken the Triborough Bridge,” he mumbled as the traffic bogged down on the Queensboro. From the last third of the bridge all the way to the juncture with Northern Boulevard it was stop and go, and mostly stop. It gave Lou time to think about the last time he had seen Paul Cerino.
It had been about three years previously when Lou had just made detective sergeant. He was still assigned to Organized Crime at the time and had been pursuing Cerino for a good four years. So it was a surprise when the operator at the station had said that a Mr. Paul Cerino was on the line. Confused as to why the man he was after was calling him, Lou had picked up the phone with great curiosity.
“Hey, how you doing?” Paul had said as if they were the best of friends. “I have a favor to ask of you. Would you mind stopping at the house this afternoon when you leave work?”
Having been invited to a gangster’s house had been such a weird occurrence that Lou had been reluctant to tell anybody about it. But finally he’d told his partner, Brian O’Shea, who’d thought he’d gone crazy for accepting.
“What if he’s planning on doing you in?” Brian asked.
“Please!” Lou had said. “He wouldn’t call me up here at the station if he was going to bump me off. Besides, even if he decided to do it, he wouldn’t get anywhere near it himself. It’s something else. Maybe he wants to deal. Maybe he wants to finger somebody else. Whatever it is, I’m going. This could be something big.”
So Lou went with great expectations of some major breakthrough that he thought might even have resulted in a commendation by the chief. Of course the visit was against Brian’s better judgment, and Brian insisted on going with him but waiting in the car. The deal had been that if Lou didn’t come out in a half hour, Brian was going to call in a SWAT team.
It was with a lot of anxiety that Lou had mounted the front steps of Cerino’s modest house on Clintonville Street in Whitestone. Even the house’s appearance added to Lou’s unease. There was something wrong about it. With the huge amount of money the man had to be making from all his illegal activities plus his only legal endeavor, the American Fresh Fruit Company, it was a mystery to Lou why he lived in such a small, unpretentious house.
With a final glance back at Brian, whose concerns had only served to fan Lou’s anxiety to a fevered pitch and with a final check to make sure his Smith and Wesson Detective Special was in its holster, Lou rang the front bell. Mrs. Cerino had opened the door. Taking a deep breath, Lou had entered.
Lou laughed heartily, bringing tears to his eyes. The experience was still capable of doing that after three years. While still laughing, Lou glanced into the car immediately to his left. The driver was looking at him as if he were crazy, laughing as he was in such abominable traffic.
But the traffic notwithstanding, Lou could still laugh at the shock he had had when he’d stepped into Cerino’s house that day expecting the worst. What he had unexpectedly walked into was a surprise party for himself in celebration of his having been promoted to detective sergeant!
At the time Lou had been recently separated from his wife, so the promotion had gone unnoticed except at the station. Somehow Cerino had heard about this and had decided to give him a party. It had been Mr. and Mrs. Cerino and their two sons, Gregory and Steven. There’d been cake and soda. Lou had even gone out to get Brian.
The irony of the whole thing had been that Lou and Paul had been enemies for so long they had almost become friends. After all, they knew so much about each other.
It took Lou almost an hour to get out to Paul’s, and by the time he mounted the front steps, it was just about the same time of day as when Paul had thrown the surprise party. Lou could remember it as if it had been yesterday.
Looking through the front windows, Lou could see that the living room lights were on. Outside it was getting dark even though it was only five-thirty. Winter was on its way.
Lou pressed the front doorbell and heard the muted chimes. The door was opened by Gregory, the older boy. He was about ten. He recognized Lou, greeted him in a friendly fashion, and invited him inside. Gregory was a well-mannered boy.
“Is your dad home?” Lou asked.
No sooner had he asked than Paul appeared from the living room in his stocking feet clutching a red-tipped cane. A radio was on in the background.
“Who is it?” he asked Gregory.
“It’s Detective Soldano,” Gregory said.
“Lou!” Paul said, coming directly toward Lou and extending a hand.
Lou shook hands with Paul and tried to see his eyes behind a pair of reflective sunglasses. Paul was a big man, moderately overweight, so that his small facial features were sunk into his fleshy face. He had dark hair cut short, and large, heavily lobed ears. On both cheeks were red patches of recently healed skin. Lou guessed it had been from the acid.
“How about some coffee?” Paul said. “Or a little wine?” Without waiting for a response, Paul yelled for Gloria. Gregory reappeared with Steven, the younger Cerino. He was eight.
“Come in,” Paul said. “Sit down. Tell me what’s been happening. You married yet?”
Lou followed Paul back into the living room. He could tell that Paul had adapted well to his reduced visual acuity, at least in his own home. He didn’t use the cane to navigate to the radio to turn it off. Nor did he use it to find his favorite chair, into which he sank with a sigh.
“Sorry to hear about your eye problem,” Lou said, sitting opposite Paul.
“These things happen,” Paul said philosophically.
Gloria appeared and greeted Lou. Like Paul, she was overweight—a buxom woman with a kind, gentle face. If she knew what her husband did for a living, she never let on. She acted like the typical, lower-middle-class suburban housewife who had to scrimp to get along on a budget. Lou wondered what Paul did with all the money he had to be accumulating.
Responding to Lou’s positive reply regarding coffee, Gloria disappeared into the kitchen.
“I heard about your accident just today,” Lou said.
“I haven’t told all my friends,” Paul said with a smile.
“Did this involve the Lucia people?” Lou asked. “Was it Vinnie Dominick?”
“Oh no!” Paul said. “This was an accident. I was trying to jump-start the car and the battery blew up. Got a bunch of acid in my face.”
“Come on, Paul,” Lou said. “I came all the way out here to commiserate with you. The least you can do is tell me the truth. I already know that the acid was thrown into your face. It’s just a matter of who was responsible.”
“How do you know this?” Cerino asked.
“I was specifically told by someone who knows,” Lou said. “In fact it ultimately came from a totally reliable source. You!”
“Me?” Paul questioned with genuine surprise.
Gloria returned with an espresso for Lou. He helped himself to sugar. Gloria then retreated from the room. So did the boys.
“You have awakened my curiosity,” Paul said. “Explain to me how I was the source of this rumor about my eyes.”
“You told your doctor, Jordan Scheffield,” Lou said. “He told one of the medical examiners by the name of Laurie Montgomery, and the medical examiner told me. And the reason I happened to be talking to the medical examiner was because I went over there to watch a couple of autopsies on homicide victims. The names might be familiar to you: Frankie DePasquale and Bruno Marchese.”
“Never heard of them,” Paul said.
“They are Lucia people,” Lou said. “And one of them, curiously enough, had acid burns in one of his eyes.”
“Terrible,” Cerino said. “They certainly don’t make batteries the way they used to.”
“So you’re still telling me that you got battery acid in your eyes?” Lou asked.
“Of course,” Paul said. “Because that’s what happened.”
“How are the eyes doing?” Lou asked.
“Pretty good, considering what could have happened,” Paul said. “But the doctor says I’ll do fine as soon as I have my operations. First I have to wait a while, but I’m sure you know about that.”
“What are you talking about?” Lou said. “I don’t know anything about eyes except how many you got.”
“I didn’t know much either,” Paul said. “At least not before this happened. But I’ve been learning ever since. I used to think they transplanted the whole eye. You know, like changing an old-fashioned-type radio tube. Just plug the thing in with all the prongs in the right place. But that’s not how it works. They only transplant the cornea.”
“That’s all news to me,” Lou said.
“Want to see what my eyes look like?” Paul asked.
“I’m not sure,” Lou said.
Paul took off his reflective sunglasses.
“Ugh,” Lou said. “Put your glasses back on. I’m sorry for you, Paul. It looks terrible. It looks like you have a couple of white marbles in your eyes.”
Paul chuckled as he put his glasses back on. “I would have thought a hardened cop like you would have felt satisfaction that his old enemy took a fall.”
“Hell no!” Lou said. “I don’t want you handicapped. I want you in jail.”
Paul laughed. “Still at it, huh?”
“Putting you away is still one of my ultimate goals in life,” Lou said agreeably. “And finding that acid burn in Frankie DePasquale’s eye gives me some hope. At this point it looks mighty suspicious that you were behind the kid’s murder.”
“Aw, Lou,” Paul said. “It hurts my feelings that you’d think something nasty about me after all these years.”