6:45 a.m., Monday
Manhattan
The alarm went off and Laurie went through her usual routine of rapidly fumbling with it to get it turned off. As she set the clock on her windowsill, she realized that for the first time in many days she’d not awakened with the anxiety of having had her recurrent nightmare. Apparently her conscience had been temporarily appeased by her visit with Bob Talbot.
But as Laurie slipped into her sheepskin slippers and turned on the bedroom TV to the local news, she began to feel progressively nervous about what the day would bring vis-á-vis Dr. Bingham. She was particularly anxious to get a copy of the paper to see Bob Talbot’s piece and how prominently it would be featured. It was quite apparent Bingham would suspect her as the source. What would she say if he asked her directly? She doubted she would be able to lie to the chief.
Pausing in the kitchen on her way to the bathroom, Laurie hazarded a glance out at the tiny wedge of sky she could see from her window. The dark swirling clouds suggested that the weather had not improved since yesterday.
Later, after her shower and with a second cup of coffee balanced on the edge of the sink, Laurie started applying her makeup, all the time going over various scenarios of what she might say to Dr. Bingham. In the background she heard the familiar theme music to Good Morning America as the show came on the air. A little later she heard the equally familiar happy voices of the hosts.
As Laurie was about to apply her lipstick she heard Mike Schneider come on and talk about more weapons of mass destruction that a UN team had found in Iraq. Laurie had her upper lip done and was about to do the lower when she flinched. She’d heard Mike Schneider say a surprising name. It was her name!
Laurie dashed into the bedroom and turned up the volume. Her expression changed from disbelief to horror as Schneider gave an overview of her overdose series starting with Duncan Andrews, son of senatorial hopeful Clayton Andrews. He went on to cite three cases unfamiliar to Laurie: Kendall Fletcher, Stephanie Haberlin, and Yvonne Andre. He mentioned the double overdose at George VanDeusen’s. Most disturbing of all, he repeated Laurie’s name, saying that according to Dr. Laurie Montgomery, there was reason to believe these deaths were deliberate homicides, not accidental overdoses, and that the whole affair potentially represented an extraordinary cover-up on the part of the New York City police and the medical examiner’s office.
As soon as Mike Schneider moved on to other news, Laurie dashed into her living room and literally threw papers aside searching for her address book. Finding Bob Talbot’s number, she punched it into the telephone.
“What did you do to me?” she screamed as soon as he picked up the phone.
“Laurie, I’m sorry,” Bob said. “You must believe me. It wasn’t my fault. To get the story into the morning paper my editor had me write up a memo to him. I wrote that your name was not to be included, but he stole the story from me. It was totally unethical in every regard.”
Laurie hung up the phone in disgust. Her heart was pounding. This was a disaster, a catastrophe. She’d surely be out of a job. There was no question of Bingham’s response now; he’d be furious. And after this, where would she ever find a job in forensics?
Laurie walked over to the window and gazed out at the sad, refuse-strewn warren of neglected backyards. She was so distressed she felt numb. She couldn’t even cry. But as she stood there looking at the depressing vista, her emotions began to change. After all, her actions had come from a need to follow her conscience. And Bingham had admitted, during her call to him yesterday, that he knew her intentions were good.
Laurie’s initial fear of total calamity mellowed. All at once she didn’t think she would be terminated. Reprimanded, yes; suspended, possibly; but fired, no. Turning from the window, she went back into the bathroom to finish her makeup. The more she thought about the situation, the calmer she became. She could see herself explaining that she had been true to her sense of responsibility as a person as well as a medical examiner.
Returning to the bedroom for the last time, Laurie completed her dressing. Then, gathering her things, she left her apartment.
As she was standing at the elevator awaiting its arrival, she noticed a newspaper in front of a neighbor’s door. Stepping over to it, she slipped it from its plastic cover. There on the front page as a second headline was the story of her overdose series. There was even an old picture of her taken in medical school. Laurie wondered where the picture had come from.
Opening the paper to the proper page, Laurie read the first few paragraphs, which were a repeat of Mike Schneider’s summary. But, true to tabloid-style journalism, there was much more lurid detail, including reference to a number of victims having been stuffed into refrigerators. Laurie wondered where that distortion had come from. She certainly hadn’t mentioned anything like that to Bob Talbot. There was also more emphasis on the alleged cover-up, making it sound far more sinister than Mike Schneider had.
Hearing the elevator arrive behind her, Laurie dropped the newspaper in front of the proper door and hurried back before the elevator left. When she was halfway into the car, she heard Debra Engler’s hoarse voice.
“You shouldn’t read other people’s papers,” the woman said.
For a moment Laurie stood holding the insistent elevator door from closing. She wanted to turn around and bash her umbrella against Debra’s door to frighten the woman. But she controlled herself, and finally boarded.
As she descended, Laurie’s calmness crumbled and was replaced by apprehension of meeting with Bingham. Laurie dreaded confrontations. She had never been good at them.
Paul Cerino was hunched over his favorite meal of the day: breakfast. He was enjoying a hearty feast of eggs over easy, pork sausage, and biscuits. He was still wearing the same metal patch over his eye, but he was feeling terrific.
Gregory and Steven were momentarily quiet, eating their own choice of sugar-coated breakfast cereal which they had selected from a bewildering choice of single serving boxes. Each had his own empty box in front of him which he was studying intently. Gloria had just sat down after having retrieved the newspaper from the front stoop.
“Read me about yesterday’s Giants and Steelers game,” Paul mumbled with his mouth full.
“Oh my!” Gloria said, staring at the front page.
“What’s the matter?” Paul asked.
“There’s a story about a bunch of drug deaths of wealthy and educated young people,” Gloria said. “Says here they think they were murders.”
Paul choked violently, spraying most of the food that he’d had in his mouth out over the table.
“Daaad!” Gregory whined. A layer of partially chewed egg and sausage had settled on the surface of his Sugar Pops.
“Paul, are you all right?” Gloria questioned with alarm.
Paul held up a hand to indicate he was fine. His face had become as red as the heeling patches of skin on his cheeks. With his other hand he picked up his orange juice and took a drink.
“I can’t eat this,” Gregory said looking at his cereal. “It’s going to make me puke.”
“I can’t either,” Steven said, who tended to do just about everything Gregory did.
“Get yourselves clean bowls,” Gloria directed. “Then pick another cereal.”
“Better read me that article about the drug deaths,” Paul said with a hoarse voice.
Gloria read the whole article straight through. When she was finished, Paul headed for his den.
“Aren’t you going to finish your breakfast?” Gloria called after him.
“In a minute,” Paul said. He closed the door of the den behind him and pressed the button on his automatic dialer that would connect him to Angelo.
“Who the hell is this?” Angelo muttered sleepily.
“Did you read this morning’s paper?”
“How am I going to read this morning’s paper? I’ve been sleeping. I was out doing you know what until all hours.”
“I want you, Tony, and that harebrained pill-pusher Travino over here this morning,” Paul said. “And read the paper on the way. We got a problem.”
“Franco!” Marie Dominick said with surprise. “Isn’t this a little early for you?”
“I have to talk with Vinnie,” Franco said.
“Vinnie’s still sleeping,” Marie said.
“I figured he was, but if you could please wake him up—”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” Franco said.
“Well, come on in then,” Marie said as she opened the door wide.
Franco stepped inside. “Go on into the kitchen,” Marie said. “There’s coffee already made.”
Marie disappeared up a short flight of steps while Franco wandered into the kitchen. Vinnie’s little boy, Vinnie Junior, was seated at the table. The six-year-old was busy slapping a short stack of pancakes with the back side of a spoon. His older sister, Roslyn, age eleven, was at the stove poised to turn over the next batch of flapjacks.
Franco poured himself a cup of coffee. Then he wandered into the living room and sat on a white leather sofa and gazed at the new peppermint-colored shag carpet. He was amazed. He didn’t think you could buy shag carpet anymore.
“This better be good!” Vinnie thundered as he came into the room. He was dressed in a silky, paisley print robe. His hair, which was normally immaculately slicked back, was virtually standing on end.
Instead of explaining, Franco handed Vinnie the paper. Vinnie grabbed it and sat down. “So what am I supposed to be looking at?” he growled.
“Read the article about drug deaths,” Franco said.
Vinnie’s forehead wrinkled as he read. He was silent for about five minutes. Franco sipped his coffee.
“So what the hell?” Vinnie said, looking up. He slapped the paper with the back of his hand. “What the hell are you doing waking me up for this?”
“See those names at the end of the list? Fletcher and the other ones? I followed Angelo and Tony last night. They whacked those people. My guess is that they’ve whacked the whole bunch.”
“But why?” Vinnie demanded. “Why with cocaine? They giving the stuff away?”
“I still don’t know why,” Franco admitted. “I don’t even know if Angelo and Tony are on their own or taking orders from Cerino.”
“They’re taking orders,” Vinnie said. “They’re too stupid to do anything on their own. God! This is a disaster. The whole city is going to be crawling with feds and narcs on top of normal, everyday cops. What the hell is Cerino doing? Has he gone crazy? I don’t understand.”
“I don’t either,” Franco said. “But I just established a connection that goes through a couple of people who know Tony. Someone will get in touch with you.”
“We got to do something,” Vinnie said, shaking his head. “We can’t let this go on.”
“It’s hard to know what to do until we know what Cerino’s up to,” Franco said. “Give me one more day.”
“Only one,” Vinnie said. “After that we move.”
Laurie was filled with dread as she faced her office building. What a difference a day made! Yesterday and the day before she had breezed in and out like she owned the place. Now she was afraid to cross the threshold. But she knew it was what she had to do. The calmness she’d felt in her apartment had vanished.
As she drew closer, she saw that a swarm of restless reporters had already descended on the place to get the story—her story. Her thoughts had been so focused on Bingham, she hadn’t been thinking of them. There were at least as many there now as there had been for the preppy murder II case. Maybe more.
Might as well get it over with, she decided. Entering the reception area, she was instantly recognized. Microphones were pushed in her face along with a cacophony of questions and the pop of camera flashes. Laurie pushed her way through to the inner door without a word. A uniformed security man checked her photo identification before admitting her. The reporters were unable to pursue her beyond that door.
Trying to maintain her composure, Laurie went directly to the ID office. Vinnie was there reading his paper. Calvin was there too.
Laurie gazed into the black man’s face. He stared back at her, hiding his feelings. His eyes were like black marbles, perfectly framed by his wire-rimmed glasses.
“Dr. Bingham wants to see you,” Calvin said flatly. “Unfortunately he can’t see you until he finishes dealing with these reporters. He’ll call you in your office.”
Laurie would have liked to try to explain, but there wasn’t much she could say. And Calvin didn’t seem interested. He returned to whatever work he was doing when Laurie had entered. Laurie decided to check the autopsy schedule before going to her office.
Her name was not on the list. She noticed the three names she’d read in the newspaper: Kendall Fletcher, Stephanie Haberlin, and Yvonne Andre. Apparently they were new cases that fit her series.
Laurie approached Calvin. “I guess you know I’d like to do the posts on these overdoses,” she said.
Calvin looked up from his work. “Personally I don’t care what your preferences are,” he said. “The fact of the matter is that you are to go to your office and wait for Dr.
Bingham’s call.”
Embarrassed at this obvious snub, Laurie glanced at Vinnie, but he seemed riveted to the sports page as usual. If he’d heard the exchange, he wasn’t about to show it.
Feeling like a child banished to her room, Laurie went up to her office. Deciding she might as well try to get some work done, she sat at her desk and pulled out some folders. She was just about to start when she sensed someone’s presence. She looked to the open doorway and saw a rumpled Lou Soldano. He didn’t look happy.
“I personally want to thank you for making my life miserable,” Lou said. “Not that I wasn’t under enough stress from the commissioner before your little revelation to the press, but this just puts the icing on the cake.”
“They distorted what I said,” Laurie said.
“Oh, sure!” Lou said with sarcasm.
“I never said anything about a cover-up,” Laurie said. “All I said was the police didn’t believe the affair involved them. That’s essentially what you told me.”
“My own little mischief-maker. It’s like your call to Internal Affairs wasn’t enough. You had to be sure to really get me.”
“That call was deserved,” Laurie snapped. “And talk about calls, you couldn’t have been much ruder when I called you yesterday. I’ve had quite enough of your glib sarcasm.”
Laurie and Lou glared at each other until Lou broke off and averted his gaze. He stepped into the room and sat down in his usual chair.
“The comment on the phone was juvenile,” he admitted. “I knew it the second it came out of my mouth. I’m sorry. The problem is that I’m jealous of the guy. There, I said it. Whatever is left of my ego, you can kick around as much as you like.”
Laurie’s anger subsided. She let her head fall into her hands, her elbows on the desk. “And I’m sorry if I caused you any trouble at work,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “I certainly didn’t mean to. But you know how desperate I’d become. I had to do something in order to live with myself. I couldn’t see any more of these people die without trying something.”
“Did you have any idea of the upheaval you’d be causing?” Lou asked. “And the effects?”
“I still don’t know completely,” Laurie said. “I knew there would be some fallout from the story, otherwise I wouldn’t have given it. But I didn’t know the extent. And I didn’t know they’d distort the facts. On top of that they reneged on my condition of remaining anonymous. I haven’t seen my chief yet, but from the way the deputy chief spoke with me, it’s not going to be a pleasant talk. I could even be fired.”
“He’ll be mad,” Lou said. “But he won’t fire you. He’s got to respect your aims if not your methods. But he’s going to take a lot of heat for this. He won’t be a happy man.”
Laurie nodded. She appreciated the reassurance she’d not be terminated.
“Well, I’d love to stick around to see how this all turns out, but I’ve got to go. My office is in an uproar, too. I just had to come down here and get it off my chest. I’m glad I did. Good luck with your boss.”
“Thanks,” Laurie said. “And I’m glad you came too.”
After Lou left, Laurie put in a call to Jordan. She could have used some moral support, but he was in surgery and wasn’t expected back in the office until much later.
Laurie was just settling down to work again when there was a knock on her door. She looked up to see Peter Letterman standing before her.
“Dr. Montgomery?” Peter said tentatively.
Laurie welcomed him in and offered him a seat.
“Thank you,” Peter said. He sat and gazed around the office. “Nice place.”
“You think so?” Laurie questioned.
“Better than my broom closet,” Peter said. “Anyway, I won’t take too much of your time. I just wanted to let you know that I’ve finally picked up a trace contaminant or at least a foreign compound in the sample you sent up from Randall Thatcher.”
“Really!” Laurie said with interest. “What did you find?”
“Ethylene,” Peter said. “It was only a trace since the gas is so volatile, and I haven’t been able to isolate it from two other cases that I tested.”
“Ethylene?” Laurie questioned. “That’s odd. I don’t know what to make of that. I’ve heard of using ether in free basing, but not ethylene.”
“Free basing is associated with smoking cocaine,” Peter said, “not taking the drug IV the way the folks in your series did. Besides, even in smoking, ether is only used as a solvent for extraction. So I don’t know why ethylene turned up. It could even be a laboratory error for all I know. But since you’ve been so interested in the possibility of a contaminant, I wanted to let you know right away.”
“If ethylene is so volatile,” Laurie said, “why don’t you look for it in the samples from Robert Evans? Since you determined he’d died so quickly, maybe there would be more of a chance to find it if it had been involved.”
“That’s a good idea,” Peter said. “I’ll give it a whirl.”
Laurie kept her eyes on the empty doorway for a moment after Peter had left. Ethylene was hardly the kind of contaminant she’d expected. She thought that they might find some exotic central-nervous-system stimulant like strychnine or nicotine. Laurie wasn’t familiar with ethylene. She’d have to do a little research.
Glancing through the pharmacology book she and Riva kept in the office, Laurie didn’t find much on the gas. She decided to check the office library upstairs. There she found a long article on ethylene in an old pharmacology book. Ethylene was featured more prominently in the older book because it had been used as an anesthetic agent a number of years ago. It had ultimately been abandoned because it was lighter than air and flammable. Those two qualities made the gas too dangerous for use in operating rooms.
In another book Laurie found that ethylene had been noted around the turn of the century to prevent carnations in Chicago greenhouses from opening. The ethylene had been in the greenhouse illuminating gas. On a more positive note she read that the gas was used to hasten the ripening of fruit and in the manufacture of certain plastics like polyethylene and Styrofoam.
Although this background information was interesting, Laurie still didn’t see why ethylene would turn up in cocaine overdose/toxicity cases. Feeling discouraged, she replaced the books on their respective shelves and returned to her office, hoping she hadn’t missed Bingham’s call. Maybe Peter was right: his finding of ethylene had resulted from a laboratory error.
When Lou got back to police headquarters, he was handed a stack of urgent messages from his captain, the area commander, and the police commissioner. Clearly all of officialdom was in an uproar.
Going into his office, he was surprised to find a newly appointed detective sitting patiently by his desk. His suit was new, suggesting he’d only recently become a plainclothesman.
“Who are you?” Lou asked.
“Officer O’Brian,” the policeman said.
“You have a first name?”
“Yes, sir! It’s Patrick.”
“Nice Italian name,” Lou said.
Patrick laughed.
“What can I do for you?” Lou asked, trying to decide on the order in which to return his messages.
“Sergeant Norman Carver asked me to come by to try to collate the medical information you have relating to those gangland killings. You know, all those people who were also patients of Dr. Jordan Scheffield. He thought I might be good at it because I’d been premed for a while in college and had worked in a hospital summers before switching to law enforcement.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Lou said.
“I came up with something that might be important,” Patrick said.
“Uh huh,” Lou said. He stared at the messages to call the police commissioner. That was the one that was the most disturbing. He’d never gotten a message to call the police commissioner. It was like a parish priest getting a call from the pope.
“All the patients had different diagnoses,” Patrick continued, “but they did have one feature in common.”
Lou looked up. “Oh?”
Patrick nodded. “They were all scheduled to have surgery. They were all going to have operations on their corneas.”
“No kidding?” Lou said.
“No kidding,” Patrick said.
After Patrick had left, Lou tried to make sense of it. He’d been disappointed when he’d failed to find a common link between the murder victims besides the fact they’d been patients of Jordan Scheffield. But now there might be something after all. It couldn’t be simple coincidence.
Looking at his stack of phone messages, Lou decided to postpone returning the calls. He’d be better off following up on this new information. After all, he already knew what his higher-ups were calling him about. They wanted to complain about his lack of progress in the gangland murders and probably give him an earful about Laurie’s overdose series to boot. If there was a chance he could start to break the case with this cornea stuff, he’d be better off pursuing it now before he spoke to them.
Lou decided to start with the doctor himself. He figured he’d get the usual runaround, but he was determined to speak with the man, patients or no.
But when Lou asked for Jordan, Scheffield’s receptionist told him that Jordan was in surgery over at Manhattan General and that he had many cases scheduled. He wouldn’t be back in the office until late in the day.
Lou pondered his options. Returning his urgent messages still wasn’t his next choice. He decided persistence was the virtue of the day; he’d pay the eye doc another visit even if it meant barging in the operating room. He’d witnessed about a dozen autopsies that week; could surgery be much worse?
“What the hell happened?” Paul bellowed. Angelo, Tony, and Dr. Louis Travino had been hauled on the carpet. They stood like errant pupils before the school principal. Paul Cerino was seated behind his massive partners desk. He was not happy.
Dr. Travino wiped his forehead nervously with a handkerchief. He was a balding, overweight man with a vague resemblance to Cerino.
“Isn’t somebody going to answer me? What’s the matter with you people? I asked a simple question. How’d this story get into the papers?” He swatted the newspaper on his desk in front of him. “All right,” Paul said when it was clear no one was about to volunteer anything. “Let’s start from the beginning. Louie, you told me this “fruit gas’ would not be detectable.”
“That’s right,” Louie said. “It’s not. It’s too volatile. Nothing was said about the gas in the papers.”
“True,” Paul said. “But then why are they describing these overdoses as murders?”
“I don’t know,” Louie replied. “But it wasn’t because they detected the gas.”
“You’d better be right,” Paul said. “I don’t think I have to remind you I’ve been covering your sizable gambling debts. The Vaccarro family would be very unhappy with you if I suddenly wasn’t good for the money.”
“It wasn’t the gas,” Louie reiterated.
“So what was it? I’m telling you, this article has given me a very bad feeling. If someone’s screwed up, heads are going to roll.”
“This is the first suggestion of trouble,” Louie said. “Otherwise everything has been doing fine. And look at you, you’re doing great.”
“Then how did this female doc come up with the real story?” Paul asked. “This Laurie Montgomery is the same broad who blabbed to Lou Soldano about the acid being tossed in my face. Who is this chick?”
“She’s one of the medical examiners in the Manhattan office,” Louie said.
“You mean like that character Quincy that used to be on TV?” Paul asked.
“Well, it’s a little different in real life,” Louie said. “But basically the same.”
“So how did she suspect something?” Paul asked. “I thought you said there’d be no figuring this. How did this Laurie Montgomery guess what was going on?”
“I don’t know,” Louie said. “Maybe this is something we should ask Dr. Montgomery.”
Cerino considered the suggestion for a moment. “To tell you the truth,” he said, “I’d been thinking the same thing. Besides, this Laurie Montgomery could become a big pain in the ass if she keeps up the detective work. Angelo, you think you might arrange a little, er, interview with the little lady?”
“No problem,” Angelo said. “You want her, I’ll get her.”
“It’s the only thing I can think to do,” Paul said. “And after we’ve had a little chat, I think the best thing this lady doc could do is disappear. I mean completely. I’m talking no body, nothing.”
“Isn’t the Montego Bay going to be leaving soon?” Angelo asked.
“Yeah,” Paul said. “She’s about to pull anchor and head for Jamaica. Good idea. Okay, bring her to the pier. I want Dr. Louie to question her.”
“I don’t like being directly involved in something like this,” Louie said.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that,” Paul said. “You’re involved in this operation up to your eyeballs, so don’t give me any crap.”
“When do you want us to move?” Angelo asked.
“This afternoon or tonight,” Paul said. “We can’t wait around for things to get worse. Doesn’t that Amendola kid work over there at the morgue? What’s his name? The family’s from Bayside?”
“Vinnie,” Tony said. “Vinnie Amendola.”
“Yeah,” Cerino said. “Vinnie Amendola. He works at the morgue. Talk to him, maybe he’ll help. Remind him what I did for his old man when he had trouble with the union.
And take this.” He pointed to the newspaper. “I understand the lady doc’s picture’s in the paper. Use that to make sure you get the right person.”
After his guests had departed, Cerino used his automatic dialer to call Jordan’s office. When the receptionist explained that the doctor was in surgery, Cerino told her he wanted his call returned within the hour. Jordan got back to him in fifteen minutes.
“I don’t like what’s going on,” Jordan said before Paul could say a word. “When we talked about some sort of business association, you told me there would be no problems. That was two days ago and already there’s a major scandal brewing. I don’t like it.”
“Calm down, Doc,” Cerino said. “All businesses have some start-up pains. Stay cool. I just wanted to be sure you didn’t do anything foolish. Something you’d regret.”
“You got me involved in this by threatening me. Is this the same kind of scare tactic?”
“I guess that’s what you could call it,” Paul said. “Depends on your point of view. Me, I thought we were talking one businessman to another. I just wanted to remind you you’re dealing with professionals like yourself.”
The call, when it came, was from Bingham’s secretary. She asked Laurie if she would come to Dr. Bingham’s office. Laurie had said of course.
Bingham’s expression was solemn when Laurie stepped into his office. Laurie could tell he was trying to maintain his composure much as she was trying to retain her nerve.
“I truly don’t understand you, Doctor,” Bingham said finally. His face was hard, his voice firm. “You have deliberately countermanded my directive. I specifically warned you about going to the media with your own opinions, yet you willfully disobeyed me. Given such willful disregard for my authority, you leave me no choice but to terminate your employment at this office.”
“But Dr. Bingham—” Laurie began.
“I don’t want any excuses or explanations,” Bingham interrupted. “According to regulations I have the right to terminate you at my discretion since you are still within the probational first year of your employment. However, if you demand in writing a hearing on this issue, I will not block it. Beyond that, I have nothing more to say to you, Dr. Montgomery. That will be all.”
“But Dr. Bingham—” Laurie started again.
“That will be all!” Dr. Bingham shouted. The tiny capillaries that wrapped around his nostrils dilated, turning his whole nose a bright red.
Hastily Laurie scrambled from her chair and fled out of Bingham’s office. She consciously avoided the stares of the administrative secretaries who’d undoubtedly heard Bingham’s outburst. Without stopping, she went up to her office and closed the door. Sitting at her desk, she looked at its cluttered surface. She was in shock. She’d talked herself out of the possibility of being fired, yet that was exactly what had happened. Once again she found herself fighting tears and wishing that she had more control over her emotions.
With trembling fingers she opened her briefcase and emptied out all the files she had in it. Then she packed it with her personal belongings. Books and that sort of thing she’d have to come back for at a later date. She did take out the summary sheet of the overdose series from the central desk drawer and put it into her briefcase. With her coat on, her umbrella under her arm, and her briefcase in her hand, she closed and locked her door.
She didn’t leave the building immediately. Instead she went down to the toxicology lab to find Peter Letterman. She told him that she’d been let go but that she was still interested in the results of his tests with respect to her series. She asked if he’d mind if she checked in. Peter said that he wouldn’t mind at all. Laurie knew he was eager to ask about what had happened with Bingham, but he didn’t.
Laurie was about to head out when she remembered the test she’d requested from the DNA lab one floor below. She was interested to know about the sample she’d taken from Julia Myerholtz’s fingernail. What she was hoping for was something positive even though she did not expect it. To her astonishment her wish came true.
“The final result won’t be ready for a long time,” the technician explained when Laurie inquired about the status of the specimen. “But I’m ninety-nine-percent sure that the two samples came from two different people.”
Laurie was stunned. Here was another baffling piece to the puzzle. What could it mean? Was it another clue that pointed to homicide? She didn’t know. The only thing she could think to do was call Lou. She went back to her office and tried to reach him but was told that he was out. The police operator didn’t know when he’d be back and had no way to reach him unless it was an emergency. Laurie was disappointed. She realized she would also like to tell Lou about getting fired, yet she could hardly justify saying it was an emergency. She thanked the operator and didn’t leave a message. She relocked her door.
Laurie thought it best to leave via the morgue. That way she’d stand less of a chance of running into either Bingham or Calvin. She’d also have a chance to avoid the press.
However, when she reached the morgue level, she thought of one more thing she wanted to do: get the addresses and the details of the three cases that had come in overnight. Her only chance at possibly getting her job back lay in proving her allegations. If she could do that, then she thought she’d request that hearing Bingham had mentioned.
Laurie quickly changed into scrub clothes and entered the autopsy room.
As usual on a Monday morning, all tables were in use. Laurie went to the master schedule and saw that the three cases she was interested in had been given to George Fontworth. She joined him at his table. He and Vinnie had already gotten a start.
“I can’t talk to you,” George said. “I know it sounds crazy, but Bingham came down here to tell me you’d been fired and that I absolutely was not to speak to you. If you want you can call me tonight at home.”
“Just answer me this,” Laurie said. “Are these cases like the others?”
“I guess,” George said. “This is the first one, so I don’t know for sure about the others, but from glancing through the folders, I’d say so.”
“For now all I want are the addresses,” Laurie said. “Let me take the investigator’s reports for a minute, then I’ll bring them right back.”
“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this,” George said, rolling his eyes. “Just make it quick. If anybody asks, I’m going to say you came in here and took them when I wasn’t looking.”
Laurie got the papers she wanted from George’s folders and went back to the locker room. She copied down the three addresses and put them in her briefcase. Back in the autopsy room, she slipped the reports into their respective folders.
“Thanks, George,” Laurie said.
“I never saw you,” George answered.
Returning to the locker room, Laurie slowly put on her street clothes. Then, with her things in hand, she walked the length of the morgue, past the mortuary office, and past the security office. At the morgue loading dock were several mortuary vans with HEALTH AND HOSPITAL CORP. stenciled on the sides.
Walking between the vans, Laurie emerged on Thirtieth Street. It was a gray, rainy, clammy day. Opening her umbrella, Laurie began to trudge up toward First Avenue. As far as she was concerned, it was the nadir of her life.
Tony got out of Angelo’s car. He was just slamming the door when he noticed that Angelo hadn’t moved. He was still sitting behind the wheel.
“What’s the matter?” Tony asked. “I thought we were going inside.”
“I don’t like the idea of going into the morgue,” Angelo admitted.
“You want me to go in there by myself?” Tony asked.
“No,” Angelo said. “I like that idea even less.” Angelo reluctantly opened his door and stepped out. He pulled an umbrella from the floor of the backseat and snapped it open. Then he locked the car.
At the security office Angelo asked for Vinnie Amendola.
“Go on into the mortuary office,” the guard said. “It’s just ahead, on your left.”
Angelo didn’t like the city morgue any better than he’d thought he would. It looked bad and smelled bad. They hadn’t been there three minutes and already he couldn’t wait to get out.
At the mortuary office he again asked for Vinnie. He explained that it was something about Vinnie’s father. The man asked Angelo and Tony to wait there; he’d be right back with Vinnie.
Five minutes later Vinnie came into the mortuary office in his green scrub clothes. He looked upset. “What about my father?” he asked.
Angelo put an arm around Vinnie’s shoulder. “Could we speak in private?” he asked. Vinnie let himself be led into the hall.
Vinnie looked him straight in the eye. “My father has been dead for two years,” he said. “What’s this about?”
“We’re friends of Paul Cerino,” Angelo said. “We were supposed to remind you that Mr. Cerino helped your father once with the unions. Mr. Cerino would appreciate having his favor returned. There’s a doctor here by the name of Laurie Montgomery—”
“She’s not here anymore,” Vinnie interrupted.
“What do you mean?” Angelo asked.
“She was fired this morning,” Vinnie said.
“Then we need her address,” Angelo said. “Could you get that for us? And remember, this is just between us. I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out for you.”
“I understand,” Vinnie said. “Hang on, I’ll be right back.”
Angelo sat back down, but he didn’t have to wait for long. Vinnie came back with Laurie’s address and even her phone number as speedily as promised. He explained he got the information from the on-call schedule.
Relieved to be leaving the morgue, Angelo nearly jogged back to his car.
“What’s the plan?” Tony asked once Angelo had started the engine.
“No time like the present. Let’s go to the broad’s apartment now. We’re even in the neighborhood.”
Fifteen minutes later they had parked on Nineteenth Street and were walking toward Laurie’s apartment building.
“How are we going to handle this?” Tony asked.
“We’ll try the usual way,” Angelo said. “Use our police badges. As soon as we get her in the car, we’re golden.”
In the foyer of Laurie’s building they got her apartment number from her mailbox. The inner door was not much of a barrier to the likes of Angelo. Two minutes later they were in the elevator heading for the fifth floor.
They went directly to Laurie’s door and pressed her buzzer. When there was no response, Angelo hit it again.
“She must be out looking for another job,” Tony said.
“Looks like quite a set of locks,” Angelo said, studying the door.
Tony’s eyes left the door and roamed around the tiny hall. His eyes instantly locked onto Debra Engler’s. Tony tapped Angelo on the shoulder and whispered, “We got one of the neighbors looking at us.”
Angelo turned in time to see Debra’s probing eye through her narrowly opened door. As soon as his eye caught hers, she slammed the door shut. Angelo could hear her locks clicking in place.
“Damn!” Angelo whispered.
“What should we do?” Tony asked.
“Let’s go back to the car,” Angelo said.
A few minutes later they were seated in Angelo’s car in full view of the entrance to Laurie’s building. Tony yawned. In spite of himself, Angelo did the same.
“I’m exhausted,” Tony complained.
“Me too,” Angelo said. “I’d expected to sleep all day today.”
“Think we should break into the apartment?” Tony asked.
“I’m thinking about it,” Angelo admitted. “With all those locks it might take a few minutes. And I don’t know what to do about that witch in the other apartment. Did you catch her face? How would you like to wake up with that in bed with you.”
“This chick’s not bad looking,” Tony said, gazing at the picture of Laurie in the paper. “I could go for something like that.”
Lou helped himself to another cup of coffee. He was waiting in Manhattan General Hospital’s surgical lounge, where he’d surprised Jordan on their last encounter. But that time Lou had had to wait for only twenty minutes. Already he’d been there well over an hour. He was beginning to doubt the wisdom of putting this hoped-for interview with Jordan ahead of returning his superior’s calls.
Just when Lou was thinking about leaving, Jordan entered the room. He went directly to a small refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice.
Lou watched Jordan take a long drink. He waited until Jordan came over to the couch to look through the newspaper lying there. Then Lou spoke up.
“Jordan, old boy,” Lou said. “Imagine running into you here, of all places.”
Jordan frowned when he recognized Lou. “Not you again.”
“I’m touched you’re so friendly,” Lou said. “It must be all the surgery you’ve been doing that’s got you in such an affable mood. You know what they say, make hay while the sun shines.”
“Nice seeing you again, Lieutenant.” Jordan finished the juice and tossed the carton into the wastebasket.
“Just a second,” Lou said. He got up and blocked Jordan’s exit. Lou had the definite impression Jordan was being even less cooperative than he’d been during their previous meeting. He was also more upset. Beneath the brusque facade the man was definitely nervous.
“I have more surgery to perform,” Jordan said.
“I’m sure you do,” Lou said. “Which makes me feel a little better. I mean, it’s nice to know that not all your patients scheduled for surgery meet violent deaths at the hands of professional hit men.”
“What are you talking about?” Jordan demanded.
“Oh, Jordan, indignation becomes you. But I’d appreciate it if you’d cut the crap and come clean. You know full well what I’m talking about. Last time I was here I asked you if there was anything these murdered patients of yours had in common. Like maybe they were suffering from the same ailment or something. You were happy to tell me I was wrong. What you failed to tell me was that they were all scheduled to undergo surgery by your capable hands.”
“It hadn’t occurred to me at the time,” Jordan said.
“Sure!” Lou said sarcastically. He was certain Jordan was lying, yet at the same time Lou was not sure of his objectivity in judging Jordan. As Lou had recently admitted to Laurie, he was jealous of Jordan. He was jealous of the man’s tall good looks, of his Ivy League education, his silver-spooned past, his money, and his relationship with Laurie.
“It didn’t occur to me until I got back to the office,” Jordan said. “After I looked at their charts.”
“But even once you did realize this connecting factor, you failed to let me know. We’ll let that go for the moment. My question now is: How do you explain it?”
“I can’t,” Jordan said. “As far as I can tell, it’s extraordinary coincidence. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“You don’t have the slightest idea why these murders were committed?”
“None,” Jordan said. “And I certainly hope and pray there are no more. The last thing I want to happen is see my surgical population decreasing in any form or fashion, particularly in such a savage way.”
Lou nodded. Knowing what he did about Jordan, he believed this part.
“What about Cerino?” Lou asked after a pause.
“What about him?”
“He’s still waiting for another operation,” Lou said. “Is there any way this murder streak could be related to Cerino? Do you think that he’s at risk?”
“I suppose anything is possible,” Jordan said. “But I’ve been treating Paul Cerino for months and nothing has happened to him. I can’t imagine he’s involved or specifically at risk.”
“If you have any ideas, get back to me,” Lou said.
“Absolutely, Lieutenant,” Jordan said.
Lou stepped out of the way and Jordan pushed through the swinging doors and disappeared from view.
Laurie decided that even if nothing panned out, if she failed to turn up any useful information, at least she was keeping busy. And keeping busy meant she couldn’t dwell on her situation: she was unemployed in a city that was hardly cheap to live in and she might even be out of forensics. She could hardly expect a recommendation from Bingham. But she wouldn’t think about that just then. Instead she decided to follow through and get more information for her series. There were three more overdoses to be investigated. How were the bodies discovered and were the deceased seen going into their apartments that fateful evening in the company of two men?
Inside an hour, Laurie hit pay dirt at Kendall Fletcher’s apartment building, and it all sounded familiar. Fletcher had gone out to jog but had returned very soon after—with two men. The doorman never saw the two men leave the apartment. Several hours after Fletcher had returned, an unnamed tenant called to complain about noise in 25G. The tenant feared that someone inside 25G might be hurt. The superintendent responded to the call; that’s when Fletcher’s body was discovered.
Laurie had less luck at Stephanie Haberlin’s. The woman lived in a converted brownstone with no doorman. Laurie decided to leave that case for the time being and head on to the third and final location.
Yvonne Andre lived in a building similar to Kendall Fletcher’s. Laurie made use of her medical examiner’s badge just as she had at Fletcher’s. The doorman, who introduced himself as Timothy, was more than happy to help. Just as with Kendall Fletcher, Ms. Andre had entered her building along with two men. Timothy couldn’t describe the men, but he distinctly remembered their coming.
When Laurie asked who’d found the body, Timothy replied that Jose, the super, had. Laurie asked if she could speak with him. Timothy said of course. He called out to a lean man in a tan uniform who was at that moment repairing a piece of furniture in the foyer. Jose immediately joined them and introductions were made.
“So how was it that you found the body?” Laurie asked.
“The night doorman called me asking me to check the Andre apartment.”
“Let me guess,” Laurie said. “The night doorman had been called by a tenant complaining that strange noises were coming from the Andre apartment.”
Jose and Timothy gazed at Laurie with surprise and respect.
“Ah,” Jose said with a smile. “You’ve been talking with the police.”
“Where in the apartment did you find the body?” Laurie asked.
“In the living room,” Jose said.
“What did the apartment look like?” Laurie asked. “Was anything broken? Did it look as if there’d been a struggle?”
“I didn’t really look around,” Jose said. “Not after I spotted Ms. Andre. The police were here, of course, but no one has touched anything. You want to see it?”
“I’d love to,” Laurie answered.
They went directly to Yvonne’s apartment on the fourth floor. Jose opened the door with his passkey and stepped aside.
Laurie went in first. She hadn’t taken more than five steps in the door when she nearly collided with an elegantly dressed, middle-aged woman who had responded to the sound of the key in the lock. The woman was quite stunning although she looked as if she’d been crying. She clutched a tissue in her hand.
“Excuse me,” Laurie said with embarrassment. She was appalled that the apartment was occupied.
The woman started to say something when she recognized Jose.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Andre,” Jose said. “I didn’t know anyone was here. This is Dr. Montgomery from the medical examiner’s office.”
“Who is it, dear?” A tall, gray-haired man appeared in the doorway to the kitchen.
“It’s the superintendent,” Mrs. Andre managed. “And this is Dr. Montgomery from the medical examiner’s office.”
“From the medical examiner’s office here in Manhattan?” Mr. Andre questioned.
“That’s right,” Laurie said. “I’m terribly sorry for this intrusion. Jose suggested I come up here. I had no idea you’d be here.”
“Nor did I,” Jose added quickly.
“It’s all right,” Mrs. Andre said. She raised the tissue to dab at the corners of her eyes as she wistfully looked around the living room. “We were just going through some of Yvonne’s things.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Mr. Andre said. He abruptly turned and disappeared back toward the kitchen.
“I can return at a later time,” Laurie said, taking a step back toward the door. “I’m terribly sorry about your loss.”
“Oh, don’t go,” Mrs. Andre said, holding out a hand toward Laurie. “Please. Come in. Sit down. It’s better for me to talk about it.”
Laurie glanced at Jose. She wasn’t sure what she should do.
“I’ll leave you people,” Jose said. “If you need anything, please call.”
Laurie wanted to leave. The last thing she should be doing was consoling the loved ones of the deceased. Look where it had gotten her when she’d tried to comfort Sara Wetherbee, Duncan Andrews’ girlfriend. But Laurie didn’t feel she could simply walk out on the obviously bereaved mother now that she’d burst in on her. With some misgivings Laurie allowed herself to be guided toward the sitting area. Mrs. Andre sat on a love seat. Laurie took a side chair.
“You can’t imagine what a shock this has been to us,” Mrs. Andre said. “Yvonne was such a good, generous daughter, selfless to a fault. She was always devoting herself to one charitable cause or another.”
Laurie nodded sympathetically.
“Greenpeace, Amnesty International, NARAL. You name a good liberal cause, chances were she was active in it.”
Laurie knew she didn’t need to say much. It was enough just to listen.
“She had two new ones,” Mrs. Andre said with an aggrieved laugh. “At least they were new to us: animal rights and organ donation. It’s such an irony that she died of a heart attack. I think she’d really hoped some of her organs would be used to a good purpose someday. Oh, not anytime soon, mind you, but she very much did not want to be buried. She was quite adamant about it; she thought it was a terrible waste of resources and space.”
“I wish more people felt as your daughter did,” Laurie said. “If they did, doctors could really begin to save more lives.” She wanted to be very careful not to contradict the poor woman’s notion that her daughter had died of a heart attack, not because of cocaine.
“Maybe you’d like to have some of Yvonne’s books,” Mrs. Andre said. “I don’t know what we are going to do with them all.” Clearly the woman was desperate to talk to someone.
Before Laurie could respond to her generous offer, Mr. Andre stormed back into the room. His face was flushed.
“What’s the matter, Walter?” Mrs. Andre asked. Her husband was clearly upset.
“Dr. Montgomery!” Mr. Andre sputtered, ignoring his wife. “I happen to be on the Board of Trustees of Manhattan General Hospital. I also happen to know Dr. Harold Bingham personally. Having spoken with him earlier about my daughter, I was rather surprised when you showed up. So I called him back. He is on the phone now and would like a word with you.”
Laurie swallowed with some difficulty. She got up and walked past Mr. Andre into the kitchen. Hesitantly, she picked up the phone.
“Montgomery!” Bingham thundered after Laurie answered. She had to move the receiver a few inches from her ear. “What in God’s name are you doing at Yvonne Andre’s apartment? You’ve been fired! Do you hear me? I’ll have you arrested for impersonating a city official if you keep this up! Do you understand me?”
Laurie was about to reply when she caught sight of a business card tacked to a bulletin board on the wall behind the phone. It was a business card for a Mr. Jerome Hoskins at the Manhattan Organ Repository.
“Montgomery!” Bingham shouted again. “Answer me. What the hell do you think you’re up to?”
Laurie hung up without saying a word to Bingham. With trembling hand, she took the card off the board. Suddenly the pieces fit together, and what a terrible, hideous picture they formed. Laurie almost couldn’t believe it, yet from the moment everything clicked, she knew the awful, inexorable truth could not be refuted. The thing to do, of course, was to call Lou. But before she did that, there was one other place she wanted to visit.