Laurie studied Jordan’s face. Lou had said he’d seemed nervous when questioned about his patients’ deaths. Laurie didn’t see any nervousness now. All she saw was a deliberate denial: he’d just rather not think about any unpleasantness.
“Positive things like the fact that you operated on Paul Cerino yesterday?” Laurie asked.
If Jordan caught the facetiousness in her tone, he didn’t let on. “That’s the ticket,” he said, responding eagerly to a change in the subject. “I can’t wait to do the second eye and see the last of him.”
“When will that be?” Laurie asked.
“Within a week or so,” Jordan said. “I just want to make sure his first eye goes well. I shudder every time I think about the possibility of complications. Not that I expect any. His case went perfectly well. But he refused to stay in the hospital overnight so I can’t be a hundred percent sure he’s getting the medication he needs.”
“Well, if he didn’t, it wouldn’t be your fault,” Laurie said.
“I’m not sure Cerino would see it that way,” Jordan said.
After dessert and coffee, Laurie agreed to go back to see Jordan’s apartment in the Trump Tower. She was impressed the moment she went through the door. Directly in front of her, almost at the same height as Jordan’s apartment, was the illuminated top of the Crown Building. Walking into the living room, Laurie could see south down Fifth Avenue to the Empire State Building and to the World Trade Center beyond. Looking north she could see a wedge of Central Park with its serpentine pathways fully illuminated.
“It’s gorgeous,” Laurie said. She was transfixed by the view of the New York skyline. As her eyes swept the horizon, she realized that Jordan was standing directly behind her.
“Laurie,” he said softly.
Turning around, Laurie found herself enveloped by Jordan’s muscular arms. His angular face was illuminated by reflected light streaming in through the windows from the golden apex of the Crown Building. With his lips slightly parted, he leaned forward intending to kiss her.
“Hey,” she said, disengaging herself. “How about an after-dinner drink?”
“Your wish is my command,” Jordan said with a rueful smile.
Laurie was a little surprised at herself. Surely she was not so naive to believe Jordan’s gesture wasn’t expected. After all, she’d gone out with the man nearly three nights in a row, and she did find him attractive. Yet for some reason she was beginning to have serious second thoughts.
“Well?” Tony mumbled as Angelo came back to the table from the phone outside the men’s room. Tony’s mouth was full. He’d just finished shoveling in a huge bite of tortellini con panna. Lifting up his napkin, he wiped off the ring of cream and cheese from his lips.
Angelo and Tony were in a small all-night restaurantsub shop in Astoria. It was Tony’s idea to stop, but Angelo didn’t mind since he had to call Cerino anyway.
“Well?” Tony repeated after he’d swallowed the tortellini in his mouth. He washed it down with mineral water.
“I wish you wouldn’t talk with food in your mouth,” Angelo said as he sat down. “It makes me sick.”
“I’m sorry,” Tony said. He was already busy stabbing tortellini with his fork in preparation for the next bite.
“He wants us to go out again tonight,” Angel said.
Tony shoveled the forkful of tortellini into his mouth, then said, “Great!” It sounded more like “rate.”
Having had yet another disgusting look at the mash of pasta in Tony’s mouth, Angelo reached over and picked Tony’s bowl from the table and crammed it upside down on Tony’s place mat.
Tony flinched at the sudden movement and stared at his upturned bowl with shocked surprise. “Why did you do that?” he whined.
“I told you not to eat with your mouth open,” Angelo snapped. “I’m trying to talk with you and you keep eating.”
“I’m sorry, all right?”
“Besides it pisses me off about Cerino sending us out,” Angelo said. “I thought we were finally finished with all this crap.”
“At least the money is good,” Tony said. “What are we supposed to do?”
“We’re supposed to stick to the supply side,” Angelo said. “We might be finished with the demand side, which is fine by me. That’s where we got into trouble.”
“When?” Tony asked.
“As soon as you get your ass out into the car,” Angelo said.
Fifteen minutes later, as they were approaching the Queensboro Bridge, Angelo spoke up: “There’s another thing that bothers me about this. I don’t like the timing. Late Saturday night is not a good time. We may have to change things around and be creative.”
“Why don’t we just use the phone?” Tony said. “We can make sure things are copacetic before we do anything else.”
Angelo shot a glance in Tony’s direction. Sometimes the kid surprised him. He wasn’t dumb all the time.
13
* * *
9:15 a.m., Sunday
Manhattan
Bending over and trying to point the umbrella into the wind, Laurie slowly made her way up First Avenue. It was hard for her to believe that the weather could change as much as it had in a single day. Not only was it windy and rainy, but the temperature had plummeted during the night to just a tad above freezing. Laurie had taken her winter coat out of its mothballed storage container for the occasion.
Standing on the corner, Laurie vainly waved at the few cabs that streaked past, but all were occupied. Just when she had resigned herself to walking to the office, a vacant taxi pulled up to the curb. She had to leap away to keep from being splashed.
Having finally made significant progress on her paperwork the day before, Laurie was not planning on working that Sunday, yet she felt compelled to go to the office because of a superstitious feeling. It was her idea that if she’d made the effort to go, there wouldn’t be any additional cases in her series.
Stomping off the moisture in the reception area, Laurie unbuttoned her coat and walked through to the ID office. No one was there, and nor was there a schedule for the day’s cases. But the coffee machine was on and someone had made coffee. Laurie helped herself to a cup.
Leaving her coat and umbrella, Laurie descended a floor to the morgue and walked back to the main autopsy room. The lights were on, so she could tell it was in use.
The door creaked open to her touch. Only two of the eight tables were occupied. Laurie tried to recognize who was working. With the goggles, face masks, and hoods, it was difficult. Just when she was about to go into the locker room to change, someone noticed her and, leaving the autopsy table, came over to speak with her. It was Sal D’Ambrosio, one of the techs.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Sal asked.
“I live here,” Laurie said with a laugh. “Which doctor is on today?”
“Plodgett,” Sal said. “What’s the problem?”
“No problem,” Laurie said. “Who’s at the other table?”
“Dr. Besserman,” Sal said. “Paul called him; we got a lot of cases today. More than usual.”
Laurie nodded to Sal, then called over to Paul. “Hey, Paul. Anything interesting?”
“I’d say so,” he replied. “I was going to call you later. We got two more overdoses that can go into your series.”
Laurie felt her heart sink. So much for superstition. “I’ll be right in,” she said.
Once she had changed into her full protective gear, Laurie went to Paul’s table. He was working on the remains of a very young woman.
“How old?” Laurie asked.
“Twenty,” Paul said. “College student at Columbia.”
“How awful!” Laurie said. This would be by far the youngest in her series.
“That’s not the worst of it,” Paul said.
“How so?” Laurie asked.
“Dr. Besserman is doing the boyfriend,” Paul said. “He’s a thirty-one-year-old banker. That’s why I thought you’d be interested.
Apparently they injected themselves simultaneously.”
“Oh no!” Laurie felt almost dizzy: as a double tragedy the incident was doubly poignant. She moved over to Dr. Besserman’s table. He was just lifting the internal organs out of the body. Laurie looked at the dead man’s face. There was a large discolored bruise on his forehead.
“He convulsed,” Dr. Besserman said, noticing Laurie’s curiosity. “Must have hit his face on the floor. Or it could have happened in the refrigerator.”
Laurie switched her attention to Dr. Besserman. “This man was found in a refrigerator?” she asked.
“That’s what the tour doctor told us,” Dr. Besserman said.
“That’s the third one, then,” Laurie said. “Where was the girlfriend?”
“She was in the bedroom on the floor,” Dr. Besserman said.
“Find anything special on the post so far?” Laurie asked.
“Pretty routine for an overdose,” Dr. Besserman said.
Laurie stepped back to Paul’s table and watched him slice off several samples of liver.
“What kinds of specimens have you been sending up to Toxicology on these cases?” he asked when he noticed Laurie by his side.
“Liver, kidney, and brain,” Laurie said. “In addition to the usual fluid samples.”
“That’s what I thought,” Paul said.
“Have you found anything remarkable on this case?” Laurie asked.
“Not so far. Certainly consistent with a cocaine overdose. No surprises. But we have the head to go.”
“I hear you have a lot of cases today. Since I’m already here would you like me to help?”
“It’s not necessary,” Paul said. “Especially since Dr. Besserman’s come in.”
“Are you sure?” Laurie asked.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m sure.”
Going through all the paperwork on the cases, Laurie got the names of the victims as well as the male’s address. It had been at the male’s apartment that the bodies had been found. Then she went back to the locker room and changed. She was extremely disheartened. There was something particularly tragic about two young lovers losing their lives so senselessly. She began to regret anew Bingham’s decision not to inform the public about the potentially tainted drug. If he had, those two people might be alive today.
With sudden resolve, Laurie decided to call Bingham. If this Romeo and Julietstyle tragedy didn’t wake him up to the fact that they were potentially facing a major public-health crisis, nothing would.
Upstairs in her office she found Bingham’s home number in the directory. Taking a deep breath, she placed the call.
Bingham himself answered. “This is Sunday morning,” he said crisply when he understood who was on the other end of the line.
Laurie immediately told him about the two new overdose cases. Once she had finished, she was met with silence. Then Bingham said sharply, “I fail to see why you felt compelled to call me about this on a Sunday.”
“If we had made a statement, this couple might be alive today,” Laurie said. “Obviously we can’t help them, but perhaps we can help others. With these cases I now have sixteen in my series.”
“Look, Montgomery, I’m not even convinced you have a bona fide series, so stop throwing the term around as if it’s an a priori assumption. Maybe you have a series, maybe you don’t. I appreciate your good intentions, but have you come up with any proof? Has the lab come up with a contaminant?”
“Not yet,” Laurie admitted.
“Then as far as I’m concerned, this conversation is just a rehash of the one we had the other day.”
“But I’m convinced we can save lives—”
“I know you are,” Bingham said. “But I’m also convinced it is not in the best interests of the department and for the city as a whole. The media will want names, and we are not prepared to give names, not with the pressure we’re under. And it’s more than Duncan Andrews’ family who’d like to keep these cases out of the headlines. But I am meeting with the commissioner of health this week. In all fairness to you I will present the issue to him and he can decide.”
“But, Dr. Bingham—” Laurie protested.
“That’s enough, Laurie. Goodbye!”
Laurie looked at the phone with frustration. Bingham had hung up on her. She slammed the phone down in anger. The idea that he would take the problem to the commissioner was not a consolation to her. As far as she was concerned, it was merely shuffling the problem from one political hack to another. She also felt Bingham had been closest to the real reason for keeping a lid on the series when he mentioned Duncan Andrews. Bingham was still worried about the political ramifications of going public with a connected name.
Laurie decided to give Jordan a call. Since he didn’t work for the city and was beholden to no special group or interest, maybe he could speak out. Laurie wasn’t sure he’d be inclined to get involved, but she decided to chance it. Jordan picked up on the second ring but sounded out of breath when he answered.
“I’m on my exercise bike,” he explained when Laurie asked. “Good to hear from you so soon. I hope you had a nice evening. I know I did.”
“It was lovely,” she said. “Thank you again.” It had been a nice evening and Laurie had been relieved when Jordan didn’t pressure her after that brief, aborted kiss.
Laurie filled Jordan in on the latest additions to her overdose series. To her relief he sounded genuinely upset.
“Now I have a question for you,” Laurie said. “And a favor to ask. The medical examiner is not willing to make a public statement about my series. I want it made because I’m convinced it will save lives. Do you know any other way to get this information to the public and might you be willing to put the word out?”
“Wait a second,” Jordan said. “I’m an ophthalmologist. This isn’t exactly my area of expertise. You want me to make some kind of statement about a series of drug deaths? No way, it’s inappropriate.”
Laurie sighed. “Would you think about it?”
“I don’t need to think about it,” Jordan said. “This is the type of thing I have to stay clear of, pure and simple. Remember, you and I are coming at medicine from the opposite ends of the spectrum. I’m in the clinical end. I’ve got a very high profile clientele. I’m sure they wouldn’t want to hear I’m mixed up in any drug affair no matter which side of the law I’m on. They’d start to wonder about me, and before I knew what was happening, they’d be going to someone else. Ophthalmology is extremely competitive these days.”
Laurie didn’t even try to argue. She understood more clearly than ever: Jordan Scheffield was not about to help her. She merely thanked him for his time and hung up.
There was only one other person to whom Laurie could turn. Although she was far from optimistic about the reception she’d meet there, she swallowed her pride and called Lou. Since she didn’t have his home number, she called police headquarters to leave word for him. To her surprise, he returned her call almost immediately.
“Hey, how are you?” He sounded pleased to have heard from her. “I knew I should have given you my home number. Here, let me give it to you now.” Laurie got a pen and paper and jotted the number down.
“I’m glad you called,” Lou continued. “I got my kids here. You want to come down to SoHo for some brunch?”
“Another time,” Laurie said. “I’ve got a problem.”
“Uh-oh,” Lou said. “What is it?”
Laurie told him about the double overdose and her conversations with Bingham and Jordan.
“Nice to know I’m at the bottom of your list,” Lou commented.
“Please, Lou,” Laurie said. “Don’t play wounded. I’m desperate.”
“Laurie, why are you doing this to me?” Lou complained. “I’d love to help you, but this is not a police matter. I told you that the last time you brought it up. I can understand your problem, but I don’t have any suggestions. And if you want my opinion, it’s not really your problem. You’
ve done what you could and you’ve informed your superiors. That’s all you can expect from yourself.”
“My conscience won’t let me leave it at that,” Laurie said. “Not while people are dying.”
“What did big bucks Jordan say?” Lou asked.
“He was afraid his patients wouldn’t understand,” Laurie said. “He said he couldn’t help me.”
“That’s a pretty flimsy excuse,” Lou said. “I’m surprised he’s not falling all over himself trying to prove what a man he is by helping his damsel in distress.”
“I’m not his damsel,” Laurie said. Even as the words came out of her mouth, she knew she shouldn’t be rising to his bait.
“Not always charming, that prince of yours, eh?”
Laurie hung up on Lou. The man could be so infuriatingly rude. She got her things together, including the address of the double-overdose scene, and was ready to go when the phone started to ring. Figuring it was Lou, she avoided answering. The phone rang about twenty times before it stopped just as she reached the elevator.
Laurie hailed a cab and headed for the address on Sutton Place South. When she arrived, she flashed her medical examiner’s badge at the doorman on duty and asked to see the superintendent. The doorman readily obliged her. “Carl will be down in a minute. He lives right here in the building so he’s almost always available.”
A diminutive man with dark hair and a thin black moustache soon appeared and introduced himself as Carl Bethany. “I guess you’re here about George VanDeusen?” Carl asked.
Laurie nodded. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d like to view the scene where the bodies were found. Is the apartment empty?”
“Oh, yeah,” Carl said. “They took the bodies out last night.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Laurie said. “I want to be sure there aren’t any family members up there. I don’t want to disturb anyone.”
Carl said he’d have to check. He conferred with the doorman, then returned to assure Laurie that the VanDeusen apartment was vacant. Then he took her up to the tenth floor and unlocked the door for her. Stepping aside, he let Laurie go in first.