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.
15
* * *
4:15 p.m., Monday
Manhattan
Lou Soldano was back in the surgical lounge at Manhattan General for the second time that day. But on this visit he wouldn’t have long to wait. This time he’d called the operating room supervisor and as
ked when Dr. Scheffield would be through with his surgery. Lou had timed his arrival so that he’d catch Jordan just as he was coming out.
After waiting for less than five minutes, Lou was pleased to see the good doctor as he strode confidently through the lounge and into the locker room. Lou followed, hat in hand and trench coat over his arm. He kept his distance until Jordan had tossed his soiled scrub shirt and pants into the laundry bin. It had been Lou’s plan to catch the man in his skivvies, when he was psychologically vulnerable. It was Lou’s belief that interrogation worked better when the subject was off balance.
“Hey, Doc,” he called softly. Jordan spun around. The man was obviously tense.
“Excuse me,” Lou said, scratching his head. “I hate to be a bother, but I thought of something else.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Jordan snapped. “Colombo?”
“Very good,” Lou said. “I didn’t think you’d get it. But now that I have your attention, there is something I wanted to ask you.”
“Make it fast, Lieutenant,” Jordan said. “I’ve been stuck over here all day and I got an office full of unhappy patients.” He went to the sink and turned on the water.
“When I was here earlier, I mentioned that the patients who’d been killed were all waiting for surgery. But I failed to ask what kind of operations they were scheduled to have. I mean, I was told they were going to be corneal operations of some sort. Doc, fill me in. Just what was it you were going to do for these people?”
Jordan stood up from having been bent over the sink. Water dripped from his face. He nudged Lou to the side to get at the towels. He took one and vigorously dried his skin, making it glow.
“They were going to have corneal transplants,” Jordan said finally, eyeing himself in the mirror.
“That’s interesting,” Lou said. “They all had different diagnoses but they were all going to get the same treatment.”
“That’s right, Lieutenant,” Jordan said. He walked away from the sink to his locker. He spun the wheel on the combination lock.
Lou followed him like a dog. “I would have thought different diagnoses required different treatments.”
“It’s true these people all had different diagnoses,” Jordan explained. He began dressing. “But the physiological infirmity was the same. Their corneas weren’t clear.”
“But isn’t that treating the symptom and not the disease?” Lou asked.
Jordan stopped buttoning his shirt to stare at Lou. “I think I have underestimated you,” he said. “You are actually quite right. But often where the eye is concerned, we do precisely that. Of course, before you perform a transplant you have to treat the cause of the opacity. You do that so you can be reasonably sure the problem will not recur in the transplanted tissue, and with the proper treatment, it generally doesn’t.”
“Gee,” Lou said, “maybe I could have been a doctor if I’d had the chance to go to an Ivy League school like you.”
Jordan went back to his buttoning of his shirt. “That comment was much more in character,” he said.
“One way or the other,” Lou said, “isn’t it surprising that all your murdered patients were scheduled for the same operation?”
“Not at all,” Jordan said as he continued to dress. “I’m a superspecialist. Cornea is my area of expertise. I’ve just done four today.”
“Most of your operations are corneal transplants?” Lou asked.
“Maybe ninety percent. Even more, lately.”
“What about Cerino?” Lou asked.
“Same thing,” Jordan said. “But with Cerino I’ll be doing two procedures, since both eyes were affected equally.”
“Oh,” Lou said. Once again he was running out of questions.
“Don’t get me wrong, Lieutenant. I’m still shocked and distressed to know that these patients of mine were murdered. But knowing that these patients were killed, I’m not at all surprised to know they were all slated for corneal transplants. As my patients, almost by definition that would have to be expected. Now, is there anything else, Lieutenant?” He pulled on his jacket.
“Was there anything about the corneal transplants these people were waiting for that set them apart from other recipients?”
“Nope,” Jordan said.
“What about Marsha Schulman? Could she have been associated with these patients’ deaths?”
“She wasn’t waiting for an operation.”
“But she’d met the people,” Lou said.
“She was my main secretary. She met practically everyone who came into the office.”
Lou nodded.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, Lieutenant, I really must go to the recovery room to check on my last case. Good seeing you again.” With that, he was gone.
Discouraged again, Lou returned to his car. He’d been so sure that he’d hit on the crucial fact when Patrick O’Brian had come into his office to tell him that the dead patients were all to have the same operation. Now Lou thought it was just another dead end.
Lou pulled out into the street and instantly got bogged down in traffic. Rush hour was always murder in New York, and on rainy days it was even worse. When Lou glanced over at the sidewalk, he realized the pedestrians were moving faster than he was.
With time to think, Lou tried to review the facts of the case. He had a hard time getting past Dr. Jordan Scheffield’s personality. God, how he hated the guy. And it wasn’t just because of Laurie, although there was that. The guy was so smug and condescending. He was surprised Laurie didn’t see it.
Suddenly the car behind Lou’s rammed into his. His head snapped back, then forward. In a fit of anger, Lou jammed on the emergency brake and leaped out. The guy behind him had gotten out, too. Lou was chagrined to see that the man was at least two hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle.
“Watch where you’re going,” Lou said, shaking his finger. He walked around to check the back of his Caprice. There was a bit of paint from the guy’s car on his bumper. He could have played tough cop but he chose not to. He rarely did; it took too much effort.
“Sorry, man,” the other driver said.
“No harm done,” Lou said. He got back into the car. Inching forward in the traffic, he turned his head to the left and right. He hoped he wouldn’t suffer any whiplash.
Suddenly the glimmer of an idea started to take shape in Lou’s head. Getting hit had worked some sense into him. How could he not have seen? For a moment he stared into space, mesmerized by the solution that had crystallized so suddenly in his brain. He was so deep in thought, the big guy behind him had to beep to get him to move ahead.
“Holy crap,” Lou said aloud. He wondered why it had not occurred to him before. As hideously outlandish as it was, all the facts seemed to fit.
Snapping up his cellular phone, he tried Laurie at the medical examiner’s office. The operator told him she’d been terminated.
“What?” Lou demanded.
“She’s been fired,” the operator said and hung up.
Lou quickly dialed Laurie’s home number. He kicked himself for not having tried to call her earlier to find out what had happened when she saw her chief. Obviously the meeting had not gone well.
Lou was disappointed to get Laurie’s answering machine. He left a message for her to call him ASAP at the office and if not there, at home.
Lou hung up the phone. He felt badly for Laurie. Losing her job had to have been an enormous blow for her. She was one of those rare people who liked her job as much as Lou liked his.
“There she is!” Tony cried. He gave Angelo a shove to wake him up.
Angelo shook his head, then squinted through the windshield. It had gotten dark during the short time he’d been asleep. His mind felt fuzzy. But he could see the woman Tony was pointing at. She was only ten feet from her building and heading for the door.
“Let’s go,” Angelo said. He piled out of the car, then almost fell on his face. His left leg had gone to sleep in the weird position he’
d assumed when he’d closed his eyes.
Tony was significantly ahead as Angelo tried to run on a leg that felt more like wood than bones and muscle. By the time he got to the door, the leg was feeling like pins and needles from the crotch down. He pulled open the door to see Tony already conversing with the woman.
“We want to talk with you down at the station,” Tony was saying, trying to imitate Angelo.
Angelo could see that he was holding his badge too high so that Laurie Montgomery could read what it said if she so chose.
Angelo pulled Tony’s arm down and smiled. He noticed that Laurie was as good-looking a woman as Tony had guessed from the photo.
“We’d like to talk to you just for a few moments,” Angelo said. “Purely routine. We’ll have you back here in less than an hour. It has to do with the medical examiner’s office.”
“I don’t have to go anyplace with you.”
“I don’t think you want to create a scene,” Angelo said.
“I don’t even have to talk with you.”
Angelo could tell Laurie was not going to be an easy broad. “I’m afraid we have to insist,” he said calmly.
“I don’t even recognize you men. What precinct are you from?”
Angelo cast a quick glance over his shoulder. No one was coming into the building. This pickup was going to take force. Angelo glanced at Tony and gave a tiny nod.
Getting the message, Tony reached into his jacket and pulled out his Beretta Bantam. He pointed it at Laurie.
Angelo winced as Laurie let out an ear-piercing scream that could have awakened the dead as far away as Saint John’s Cemetery in Rego Park.
With his free hand, Tony reached out and grabbed Laurie by the neck, intending to force her to the car. Instead, he got a briefcase in the groin. He doubled over in pain. As soon as he straightened back up, Tony pointed his gun at the woman’s chest and fired two quick shots. Laurie went down instantly.
The shots were deafening; Tony hadn’t put his silencer on, not thinking he’d have to resort to force. The smell of cordite hung in the air.