Blindsight

10

Ordinarily Laurie would be pleased to have slept through the night. Although no one from the medical examiner’s office had called her to report any more upscale overdose cases for her series, she wondered if that meant there had been no such overdoses or, as her intuition suggested, there had been and she had simply not been called. She dressed as quickly as she could and didn’t even bother with coffee, so eager was she to get to work and find out.

The moment she stepped inside the medical examiner’s office, she could tell that something out of the ordinary had happened. Once again there was a group of reporters huddled in the reception area. Laurie felt the knot in her stomach tighten as she wondered what their restless presence could mean.

Going directly to the ID office, she helped herself to a cup of coffee before doing anything else. Vinnie, as usual, had his nose in the sports page. Apparently none of the other associate medical examiners had yet arrived. Laurie picked up the sheet at the scheduling desk to check the cases to be posted that day.

As her eyes ran down the list, she saw four drug overdoses. Two were scheduled for Riva and two were scheduled for George Fontworth, a fellow who’d been with the office for four years. Laurie flipped through the folders intended for Riva and glanced at the investigator’s report sheet. Judging by the Harlem addresses, Laurie figured they were the common crack-house deaths. Relieved, Laurie put the folder down. Then she picked up the two for George. Reading the first investigator’s report, her pulse quickened. The deceased was Wendell Morrison, aged thirty-six, a medical doctor!

With a shaky hand, Laurie opened the last folder: Julia Myerholtz, aged twenty-nine, art historian!

Laurie breathed out. She hadn’t been aware that she’d been holding her breath. Her intuition had been correct: there’d been two more cocaine overdose cases with similar demographics as the others. She felt a mixture of emotions including anger about not having been called as she’d requested and confirmation that her fears had come to pass. At the same time she felt sorry there had been two more potentially preventable deaths.

Laurie went straight to the forensic investigator’s office and found Bart Arnold. She knocked loudly on his door and walked in before he had a chance to invite her.

“Why wasn’t I called? I spoke to you specifically about this. I told you I wanted to be called on cocaine overdoses that fall within certain demographic parameters. Last night there were two. I wasn’t called. Why?”

“I was told you were not to be called,” Bart said.

“Why not?” Laurie questioned.

“I wasn’t given a reason,” Bart said. “But I passed the word on to the tour doctors when they came on duty.”

“Who told you this?” Laurie asked.

“Dr. Washington,” Bart said. “I’m sorry, Laurie. I would have told you myself, but you had already gone for the day.”

Laurie abruptly turned and walked out of Bart’s office. She was more angry than hurt. Her worst fears had been confirmed: she hadn’t been overlooked accidentally, there was a deliberate effort going on to keep her out of the way. Just outside the police liaison office she saw Lou Soldano.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Lou asked.

Laurie stared at him. Didn’t the guy ever get any sleep? Once again he looked as if he’d been up all night. He hadn’t shaved and his eyes were red-rimmed. His close-cropped hair was matted down on his forehead.

“I’m quite busy, Lieutenant,” Laurie said.

“Just a moment of your time,” Lou repeated. “Please.”

“All right,” Laurie relented. “What is it?”

“I had a little time to think last night,” Lou said. “I wanted to apologize for being such a boob yesterday afternoon. I came on a little stronger than I should have. So, I’m sorry.”

The last thing she’d expected from Lou was an apology. Now that it was being offered, she was gratified to hear it.

“As kind of an explanation,” Lou continued, “I’m under a lot of pressure from the commissioner about these gangland-style murders. He thinks that since I’d spent time on organized crime, I should be the one to solve them. Unfortunately he’s not a patient man.”

“I guess we’re both pretty stressed,” Laurie said. “But your apology is accepted.”

“Thank you,” Lou said. “At least that’s one hurdle out of the way.”

“So what brings you here this morning?”

“You haven’t heard about the homicides?”

“What homicides?” Laurie asked. “We get homicides every day.”

“Not like these,” Lou said. “More gangland stuff. Professional hits. Two couples here in Manhattan.”

“Floating in the river?” Laurie asked.

“Nope,” Lou said. “Shot in their homes. Both of the couples were well-to-do, one in particular. And the wealthier one is also politically connected.”

“Uh-oh,” Laurie said. “More pressure.”

“You’d better believe it,” Lou said. “The mayor is livid. He’s already chewed out the commissioner, and guess who the commissioner has decided to target: yours truly.”

“Do you have any ideas?” Laurie asked.

“I wish I could tell you I did,” Lou said. “Something big time is going on, but for the life of me I don’t have a clue as to what it is. The night before last there were three similar hits in Queens. Now these two in Manhattan. And there doesn’t seem to be any organized-crime connection. Certainly not with the two last night. But the m.o. of the killers is definitely gangland style.”

“So you’re here for the autopsies?” Laurie asked.

“Yeah,” Lou said. “Maybe I can get a job here after I’m fired from the police department. I’m spending as much time here as in my office.”

“Who’s doing the cases?” Laurie asked.

“Dr. Southgate and Dr. Besserman,” Lou said. “How are they, all right?”

“They’re excellent. Both are very experienced.”

“I’d kinda hoped you’d be doing them,” Lou said. “I was beginning to think we worked well together.”

“Well, you’re in good hands with Southgate and Besserman,” she assured him.

“I’ll let you know what we find,” Lou said. He fumbled with his hat.

“Please do,” Laurie answered. All of a sudden she had that same feeling that she’d gotten on previous days. Lou seemed to become painfully self-conscious, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

“Well… I’m glad I ran into you,” Lou said, avoiding Laurie’s eyes. “Well… I’ll see you. ’Bye.” Lou turned and started back toward the police liaison office.

For a second Laurie watched Lou’s lumbering gait and again was impressed by a sense of the man’s loneliness. She wondered if he had intended asking her out once again.

For a minute after Lou disappeared from view, Laurie forgot where she’d been headed. But her anger returned the minute she remembered Calvin’s attempt to get her off her overdose series. With a renewed sense of purpose, she marched to Calvin’s office and knocked on the open door. She was inside facing him before he had a chance to say a word.

She found Calvin seated behind a mountain of paperwork. He looked up over the tops of his wire-rimmed reading glasses that were dwarfed by his broad face. He didn’t seem happy to see her. “What is it, Montgomery?”

“There were two more overdoses last night similar to the kind that I am interested in,” Laurie began.

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know,” Calvin said.

“I know this is scheduled as a paper day for me, but I would appreciate it if you would let me do the autopsies. Something tells me these cases are related. By my doing them all, maybe I’ll make some connections.”

“We went over this on the phone,” Calvin said. “I told you I think you are getting carried away. You’ve become less than objective.”

“Please, Dr. Washington,” Laurie pleaded. She hated to beg.

“No! Goddamn it!” Calvin exploded. He slammed an open palm on his desk, sending some of his papers flying. He stood up. “George Fontworth is doing the overdoses, and I want you to stick to your own work. You’re behind in signing out some of your cases as it is. I don’t think I need to tell you. Now, I don’t need this kind of aggravation. Not with the pressure this office is under.”

Laurie nodded, then walked out of the office. If she weren’t so enraged, she would probably have been in tears. Leaving Calvin’s office, she went directly to Bingham’s.

This time Laurie waited to be asked in. Bingham was on the phone, but he waved her in.

Laurie got the impression Bingham was speaking to someone at city hall, since his side of the conversation reminded her of speaking with her mother. Bingham was saying “yes,” “certainly,” and “of course” over and over.

When he finally hung up and peered at Laurie she could tell he was already exasperated. It was not an opportune time for her visit. But since she was already there, and there was no one else to whom she could appeal, Laurie pressed on.

“I’m being deliberately prevented from further involvement with these upscale overdose cases,” she said. She tried to sound firm but her voice was filled with emotion. “Dr. Washington will not let me perform the relevant autopsies that have come in today. He made sure I wasn’t called to any of the scenes last night. I don’t think barring me from these cases is in the best interests of the department.”

Bingham put his face in his hands and rubbed, particularly his eyes. When he looked up again at Laurie his eyes were red. “We’re dealing with a lot of bad press about possibly mishandling a Central Park murder case; we’ve got a rash of brutal, professional homicides that are on top of the usual nighttime New York mayhem; and on top of that, you’re in here causing trouble. I don’t believe it, Laurie. Truly I don’t.”

“I want to be allowed to pursue these cases,” Laurie said evenly. “Now there are at least fourteen. Someone has to be looking at the whole picture. I think I’m the person to do it. I’m convinced we’re on the brink of a widespread disaster. If there is a contaminant, and I’m convinced there is, we must issue a public warning!”

Bingham was incredulous. Gazing up at the ceiling and throwing his hands up in the air, he muttered to himself: “She’s been on the staff for about five months and she’s telling me how to run the department.” He shook his head. Then he turned his attention back to Laurie. This time he sounded a lot fiercer.

“Calvin is an able administrator. In fact, he is more than able. He’s excellent. What he says goes. You hear me?! That’s it; the issue is closed.” With that, he turned his attention to the pile of letters stacked in his in-box.

Laurie headed straight for the lab. She decided it was better to keep moving. If she paused to think about these last two interviews, she might do something rash she’d later regret.

She was looking for Peter Letterman but ran into John DeVries instead. “Thanks for putting in a good word for me with the chief,” she said sarcastically. As angry as she was, she couldn’t contain herself.

“I don’t like to be pestered,” John said. “I warned you.”

“I wasn’t pestering,” Laurie snapped. “I was merely asking you to do your job. Have you found a contaminant?”

“No,” John said. He pushed past her without giving her the courtesy of a more detailed reply.

Laurie shook her head. She wondered if her days at the New York Medical Examiner’s Office were numbered.

She found Peter over in the corner of the lab, working on the largest and newest of the gas chromatographs.

“I think you should try to avoid John,” he said. “I couldn’t help overhearing.”

“Believe me, I wasn’t looking for him,” Laurie answered.

“I haven’t found any contaminant, either,” Peter said. “But I’ve been running samples on this gas chromatograph. It has what they call a “trap.’ If we’re going to pick something up, this is the apparatus that will do it.”

“Keep at it,” Laurie said. “We’re up to fourteen cases now.”

“I did learn something,” Peter said. “As you know, cocaine naturally hydrolyzes to benzoylecgonine, ecgonine methyl ester, and ecgonine.”

“Yes,” Laurie said. “Go on.”

“Each batch of cocaine that is made has a unique percentage of these hydrolysates,” Peter said. “So by analyzing the concentrations, you can make a pretty educated guess as to the origin of the samples.”

“And?” Laurie asked.

“All the samples that I’ve recovered from the syringes have the same percentages,” Peter said. “That means the cocaine has all come from the same batch.”

“Meaning the same source,” Laurie added.

“Exactly,” Peter said.

“That’s what I suspected,” Laurie said. “It’s nice to have it documented.”

“I’ll let you know if I find any contaminant with this machine.”

“Please do,” Laurie said. “If I had proof of a contaminant I think Dr. Bingham would make a statement.” But as she returned to her office, Laurie wondered if she could be sure of anything.

“Don’t hold my arm!” Cerino shouted. Angelo had been trying to guide him through the entrance to Jordan Scheffield’s office. “I can see more than you think I can.” Cerino was carrying his red-tipped cane but wasn’t using it. Tony came in last and pulled the door shut.

One of Jordan’s nurses guided the group down the corridor, making sure that Cerino was comfortably seated in one of the examination chairs.

When Cerino came to Jordan’s office, he did not use the usual entrance, and he bypassed the waiting room altogether. That was the customary modus operandi for all of Jordan’s VIP patients.

“Oh dear!” the nurse said as she eyed Tony’s face. There was a deep scratch that extended down from in front of his left ear to the corner of his mouth. “That’s a nasty cut on your cheek. How’d you get it?”

“A cat,” Tony said, self-consciously putting a hand to his face.

“I hope you got a tetanus shot,” the nurse said. “Would you like us to wash it out?”

“Nah,” Tony said, embarrassed at the attention in front of Cerino.

“Let me know if you change your mind,” the nurse said, heading for the door.

“Gimme a light,” Paul said as soon as the nurse had left the room. Angelo hastily lit Paul’s cigarette, then pulled one out for himself.

Tony found a chair off to the side and sat down. Angelo remained standing a little to Cerino’s left and a little behind. Both he and Tony were exhausted, having been roused out of bed for Cerino’s unexpected doctor’s visit. Both were also still suffering the late effects of the experiences at the last two hits, particularly Angelo.

“Here we are in Disneyland again,” Paul said.

The room stopped and the wall lifted. Jordan was poised at the edge of his office with Cerino’s record in hand. As he stepped forward he immediately smelled the cigarettes.

“Excuse me,” he said. “There is no smoking in here.”

Angelo nervously looked around for someplace to deposit his smoldering cigarette. Cerino grabbed his arm and motioned for him not to move.

“If we want to smoke, we’re going to smoke,” Paul said. “Like I told you when you called me on the phone, Doc, I’m a bit disappointed in you and I don’t mind telling you again.”

“But the instruments,” Jordan said, pointing toward the slit lamp. “Smoke is detrimental to them.”

“Screw the instruments, Doc,” Paul said. “Let’s talk about you blabbing all over town about my condition.”

“What are you talking about?” Jordan asked. He’d known Cerino was angry about something from their phone call. He’d figured it had something to do with the wait for a suitable cornea transplant. But Cerino’s true complaint came as a complete surprise to him.

“I’m talking about a detective by the name of Lou Soldano,” Paul said. “And a broad by the name of Dr. Laurie Montgomery. You talked to the broad, the broad talked to the detective, and the detective came to me. And I’ll tell you something, Doc. It pisses me off. I was trying to keep the details of my little accident a secret. For business purposes, you understand.”

“We doctors sometimes discuss cases,” Jordan said. He suddenly felt very warm.

“Give me a break, Doc,” Paul said derisively. “I hear this supposed colleague is a medical examiner. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not dead yet. And if you two had been consulting for some strange reason, she wouldn’t have blabbed to a homicide detective. You’ll have to give me a better explanation than that.”

Jordan was at a loss. He couldn’t think of any plausible excuse.

“The bottom line, Doctor, is that you haven’t respected my confidentiality. Isn’t that the fancy word you doctors use? The way I understand it, I could go to a lawyer and slap a malpractice suit on you, couldn’t I?”

“I’m not sure…” Jordan couldn’t even complete a phrase. He was instantly aware of his legal vulnerability.

“Now I don’t want to hear any of your double-talk,” Paul told him. “I probably won’t go to a lawyer. You know why? I have lots of friends who are cheaper than lawyers and a hell of a lot more effective. You know, Doc, my friends are kind of like you: specialists for kneecaps, leg bones, and knuckles. I can just imagine what it would do to your practice if you happened to have your hand crushed by a car door.”

“Mr. Cerino…” Jordan said in a conciliatory tone, but Paul cut him off.

“I think I’ve made myself clear, Doc. I’m counting on you not to go blabbing anymore. Am I right?”

Jordan nodded. His hands were trembling.

“Now, Doc, I don’t mean to make you nervous. I want you in nothing but good shape. ’Cause that’s what you’re going to put me in: good shape. I was very pleased when your nurse called this morning to say I could come in for my operation.”

“I’m glad, too,” Jordan said, trying to regain some of his professionalism and composure. “You’re lucky your chance came up so quickly. The waiting period has been much shorter than usual.”

“Not short enough for me,” Paul said. “In my line of work you have to have all your senses and then some. There are any number of sharks who’d love to put me out to pasture or worse. So let’s get it over with.”

“Fine by me,” Jordan said nervously. He laid Cerino’s record on the lens stand. Straddling a small wheeled stool, he pushed up to Cerino’s ophthalmic examination chair. Swinging around the slit lamp, he motioned for Cerino to put his chin on the chin rest.

Reaching below with a trembling hand, Jordan switched on the slit lamp. As he did so he got a whiff of garlic from Cerino’s breath.

“I understand you’ve been doing more surgery than usual lately,” Paul said.

“That’s true,” Jordan replied.

“As a businessman myself I would imagine you’d like to do as much surgery as possible,” Cerino said. “I imagine that’s where the big bucks are.”

“That’s also true,” Jordan said. He moved the slit lamp’s beam so that it fell across Cerino’s badly scarred cornea.

“I have some ideas about keeping your surgery up,” Cerino said. “Would that interest you?”

“Of course,” Jordan said.

“Fix me up first, Doc,” Cerino said. “If you do, we’ll remain friends. Then who knows? Maybe we can do some business.”

Jordan wasn’t certain he wanted to be friends with this guy, but he certainly didn’t want to be enemies. He had a feeling Paul Cerino’s enemies didn’t last too long. He was determined to do his best by Cerino. And he’d already made up his mind: he wouldn’t be sending the man a bill.

Laurie put down her pen and leaned back in her desk chair. She’d been struggling to keep her mind on her paperwork, but she wasn’t making much headway. Her thoughts kept drifting back to those drug overdoses. She couldn’t believe she wasn’t down in the autopsy room working on the two cases that had come in overnight.

She’d resisted the temptation to sneak down and watch as Fontworth went about his business. Calvin would have exploded if he’d seen her.

Laurie looked at her watch. She decided it was late enough to slip downstairs to see if Fontworth had turned up anything. No sooner had she stood up than Lou walked in.

“On your way out?” he asked.

Laurie sat back down. “It’s probably better if I don’t.”

“Yeah?” said Lou.

She could tell he wasn’t sure what she was talking about.

“It’s a long story,” Laurie said. “How are you doing? You look exhausted.”

“I am,” Lou admitted. “I’ve been up since three. And doing autopsies with people other than you is just plain work.”

“Are they finished?” Laurie asked.

“Hell, no,” Lou said. “I’m the one who’s finished. I couldn’t stand up any longer. But it will probably take the two doctors all day to finish the four cases plus the dog.”

“The dog?”

“Clipper,” Lou said. “At one of the homes the killer shot the dog as well as the man and the woman. But I’m only kidding. They’re not autopsying the dog.”

“Find out anything useful?” Laurie asked.

“I don’t know. The caliber of the bullets looks similar to the cases in Queens, but we’ll have to wait to hear what Ballistics says before we’re certain they’re from the same guns. And of course Ballistics is weeks behind.”

“No ideas yet?” Laurie asked.

Lou shook his head. “Afraid not. The Queens cases suggested a restaurant connection, but the two cases downstairs have nothing to do with the business. One guy was a big-shot banker who’d contributed heavily to the mayor’s campaign. The other is an executive for one of the big auction houses.”

“Still no organized-crime association?” Laurie asked.

“Nope,” Lou said. “But we’re still working on it. There’s no question that these were professional hits. I’ve got two more investigative teams on these two Manhattan cases.

Between the three teams in Queens and these two new ones, I’m running out of manpower. The only positive break so far is that the housekeeper at one of the homes is still alive. If she makes it, we’ll have our first witness.”

“I’d like to get a break with my series,” Laurie said. “If only one of these overdoses wouldn’t die. I wish I had some manpower to try to find the source of the coke that’s killing all these people.”

“You think it’s from a single source?”

“I know so,” Laurie said. She explained how Peter had determined it scientifically.

Just then Lou’s beeper sounded. Lou checked the number. “Speaking of manpower,” he said, “that’s one of my boys. May I use your phone?”

Laurie nodded.

“What is it, Norman?” Lou asked once he got through. Laurie was flattered that Lou put the call on speakerphone so she could hear.

“Probably nothing,” Norman said. “But I thought I’d tell you anyway. I’ve found one note of commonality in these three cases: a doctor.”

“Really?” Lou said. He rolled his eyes at Laurie. This wasn’t exactly the break he had been looking for. “That’s not the sort of association that’s going to be much help in this kind of murder case, Norman.”

“I know,” Norman said. “But it’s the only thing that’s turned up. Remember you told me that Steven Vivonetto and Janice Singleton were both terminal?”

“Yeah,” Lou said. “Was one of the Kaufmans terminally ill too?”

“No, but Henriette Kaufman had a medical condition she was being treated for. And she was seeing the same doctor that Steven Vivonetto and Janice Singleton were seeing.

Of course, Steven and Janice were seeing about a dozen doctors. But there was one doctor who was seeing all three.”

“What kind of a doctor?” Lou asked.

“An eye doctor,” Norman said. “His name is Jordan Scheffield.”

Lou blinked. He couldn’t believe what he’d heard. He glanced at Laurie. Her eyes registered equal surprise.

“How did you find this out?” Lou asked.

“Just by accident,” Norman replied. “After you told me about Steven and Janice being terminal, I looked into everybody’s health. I didn’t even realize the connection until I got back to my office and started going over all the material that had been coming in. Do you think it’s important?”

“I don’t know,” Lou said. “It’s certainly weird.”

“You want me to follow up on it in any way?”

“I wouldn’t even know how to follow up. Let me think about it and I’ll get back to you. Meanwhile keep the investigation going.”

Lou hung up the phone. “Well, it’s a real small world. Either that or that boyfriend of yours really gets around.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Laurie said irritably.

“I’m sorry,” Lou said. “I forgot. Your male acquaintance who happens to be a friend.”

“You know, the night that Marsha Schulman disappeared, Jordan told me that his office had been broken into. Someone had gone through his records.”

“Some had been stolen?” Lou asked.

“No,” Laurie said. “Apparently some had been copied. I had him check Cerino’s record; it was one of the ones that had been disturbed.”

“No kidding!” Lou said. He sat in bemused silence for a few minutes.

Laurie was quiet, too.

“It doesn’t make a lot of sense,” Lou said at last. “Could the Lucia family have gotten involved because Cerino is seeing Scheffield? I’m trying to fit Cerino’s rival, Vinnie Dominick, into the picture, but I can’t make any sense of it.”

“One thing we could do is check the gangland-style homicides that came in today. See if any of them are Jordan’s patients.”

Lou’s face brightened. “You know, that’s a good idea. Glad I thought of it.” His smile told Laurie he was kidding.

In mock anger Laurie threw a paper clip at him.

Five minutes later, dressed in scrubs, Laurie and Lou entered the autopsy room. Luckily Calvin was nowhere in sight.

Both Southgate and Besserman were on their second cases. Southgate was almost finished; the Kaufmans were fairly straightforward cases, given their simple head wounds. Besserman’s cases were more difficult. First he had Dwight Sorenson, who had three bullet paths to trace. The work had been laborious and time-consuming, so Besserman was just starting on Amy Sorenson when Lou and Laurie got there.

With the permission of the respective doctors, Laurie and Lou glanced through the folders on each case. Unfortunately, the medical histories were meager.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Laurie said. She went to the phone and called Cheryl Myers.

“Cheryl, I’ve got a favor to ask,” Laurie said.

“What is it?” Cheryl asked cheerfully.

“You know the four Manhattan homicides we got today?” Laurie said. “The ones that everybody’s up in arms about? I want to know if any of them have ever seen an ophthalmologist by the name of Jordan Scheffield.”

“Will do,” Cheryl said. “I’ll call you back in a few minutes. Where are you?”

“I’m down in the pit,” Laurie said.

Laurie told Lou they’d hear back soon. Then Laurie went over to George Fontworth. He was just finishing up the second of his two overdose cases: Julia Myerholtz.

“Calvin said I wasn’t supposed to talk with you today,” George told her. “I don’t want to cross him.”

“Just answer me this. Was the cocaine mainlined?”

“Yeah,” George said. His eyes darted around the room as if he expected Calvin to come thundering by.

“Were the autopsies normal except for signs of the overdose and toxicity?” Laurie asked.

“Yes,” George said. “Come on, Laurie, don’t put me in this situation.”

“One last question,” Laurie said. “Were there any surprises?”

“Just one,” George said. “But you know about that. I’d just not heard it was standard policy on this kind of case. I think it should have been brought up at Thursday conference.”

“What are you talking about?” Laurie asked.

“Please,” George said. “Don’t act dumb. Calvin told me it was your doing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Laurie said.

“Oh, God!” George said. “Here comes Calvin. ’Bye, Laurie.”

Laurie turned in time to see Calvin’s hulking figure enter through the swinging door. Even dressed in his scrubs and protective gloves, there was no mistaking that body.

Laurie quickly stepped away from George’s table, making a beeline for the master sheet of the day’s autopsies. She wanted to have a cover in case Calvin asked why she was there. Quickly, she searched for Mary O’Connor’s name. Finding it, she noted that Paul Plodgett had been scheduled for the autopsy. He was at the far table near the wall. Laurie joined him.

“I’ve found a lot of stuff,” Paul said when Laurie asked how the autopsy was going.

Laurie glanced over her shoulder. Calvin had gone directly to Besserman’s table.

“What’s your feeling about the cause of death?” Laurie asked. She was relieved that Calvin hadn’t seen her, or if he had, he didn’t seem concerned about her presence.

“Undoubtedly cardiovascular,” Paul said, gazing down at Mary O’Connor’s body. The woman was considerably overweight. The face and head were a deep blue, almost purple.

“A lot of pathology?” Laurie asked.

“Enough,” Paul said. “Moderate coronary disease for starters. Also the mitral valve was in pretty bad shape. The heart itself seemed awfully flabby. So there are a lot of candidates for the final culprit.”

Laurie thought Jordan would appreciate the news.

“She’s awfully purple,” Laurie commented.

“True,” Paul said. “Quite a bit of congestion in the head and the lungs. Must have been a lot of terminal, agonal effort. She didn’t want to die, poor lady. She apparently even bit her lip.”

“Really?” Laurie asked. “Do you think she had some kind of seizure?”

“Could have,” Paul said. “But it’s more like an abrasion, like she was chewing her lip.”

“Let’s see.”

Paul reached over and drew back Mary O’Connor’s upper lip.

“You’re right,” Laurie said. “What about the tongue?”

“Normal,” Paul said. “That’s why I doubt there was a seizure. Maybe she had a lot of terminal pain. Well, perhaps the microscopic of the heart will show something pathognomonic, but I bet this case will fall into that category of an unknown coup de grace, at least specifically. In general I know it was cardiovascular.”

Laurie nodded but looked at Mary O’Connor. Something bothered her about the case. It was triggering a memory she couldn’t quite put a finger on.

“What about these petechiae on her face?” Laurie asked.

“It’s consistent with terminal heart disease,” Paul said.

“This much?”

“As I said, there must have been a lot of agonal effort.”

“Would you mind letting me know what you find on microscopic?” she asked. “She was a friend’s patient. I know he’ll be interested in what you find.”

“Will do,” Paul said.

Laurie saw that Calvin had moved from Besserman to Fontworth. Lou had wandered back to Southgate’s table. Laurie headed over to him.

“Sorry,” she said to Lou as she came alongside.

“No problem,” Lou said. “I’m starting to feel right at home here.”

“Hey, Laurie, the phone’s for you,” a voice yelled out over the general background noise of the busy autopsy room. Laurie walked to the phone, cringing that her presence had been so blatantly broadcasted. She didn’t dare look in Calvin’s direction. She picked up the receiver: it was Cheryl.

“I wish all your requests were so easy,” Cheryl said. “I called over to Dr. Scheffield’s office and the secretary couldn’t have been more helpful. Henriette Kaufman and Dwight Sorenson were both patients. Does that help you?”

“I’m not sure,” Laurie said. “But it is interesting indeed. Thanks.”

Laurie went back to Lou and told him what she had learned.

“Wow!” he said. “That takes it out of the realm of coincidence. At least I think it does.”

“Five for five,” Laurie said. “The possibility of that happening by chance is extremely small.”

“But what does it mean?” Lou asked. “It seems like an awfully strange way to get at Cerino, if that’s what it’s about. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I agree,” Laurie said.

“One way or the other,” Lou said, “I’ve got to look into it immediately. I’ll be in touch.” He was gone before Laurie could say so much as goodbye.

Laurie hazarded one last glance at Calvin. He was still talking with George and didn’t seem the least perturbed by her presence.

Back in her office, Laurie called Jordan. As usual he was in surgery. Laurie left a message for him to please call back.

Trying to go back to work, Laurie wasn’t much more successful than she’d been earlier. Her mind was in a turmoil concerning her precarious job situation from having alienated so many people, her overdose series, and the odd coincidence that Jordan was treating a string of five gangland-style murder victims.

Laurie’s thoughts drifted back to Mary O’Connor. She suddenly remembered what she’d been trying to think of earlier. The abrasions on the lip, the florid petechiae, and the face’s deep purple discoloration suggested “burking,” the suffocation by compressing the chest while occluding the mouth.

With that thought in mind, Laurie phoned down to the autopsy room and asked for Paul.

“I’ve had a thought,” Laurie said once he was on the line.

“Shoot,” Paul said.

“What do you think about burking as a possible cause of death in the O’Connor case?”

Her suggestion was met with silence.

“Well?” Laurie questioned.

“The victim was in Manhattan General,” Paul said. “She was in a private room in the Goldblatt wing.”

“Try to forget where she was,” Laurie said. “Just look at the facts.”

“But as forensic pathologists we’re supposed to take the scene into consideration. If we didn’t, we’d misdiagnose tons of cases.”

“I understand that,” Laurie said. “But sometimes the scene can be misleading. What about homicides set up to look like suicides?”

“That’s different,” Paul said.

“Is it?” Laurie questioned. “Anyway I just wanted you to give burking some thought. Think about the lip abrasion, the petechiae, and the amount of congestion of the face and the head.”

As soon as Laurie put down the receiver, the phone rang. It was Jordan.

“I’m glad you called,” Jordan said. “I was about to call you. I’m up in surgery and I only have a second. I’ve got a number of cases, including, you’ll be glad to hear, Mr. Paul Cerino.”

“I am glad-” Laurie said.

“And I have a favor to ask,” Jordan said, cutting Laurie short. “In order to get Cerino on the schedule, I’ve had to do some juggling. So I’m going to be stuck here until late.

Could we take a raincheck on our dinner plans? How about tomorrow night?”

“I suppose,” Laurie said. “But Jordan, I have some things I have to talk to you about now.”

“Make it fast,” Jordan said. “My next patient is already in the operating room.”

“First, about Mary O’Connor,” Laurie said. “She had heart disease.”

“That’s reassuring,” Jordan said.

“Do you know anything about her personal life?”

“Not much.”

“What would you say if I told you she’d been murdered?”

“Murdered!” Jordan sputtered. “Are you serious?”

“I don’t know,” Laurie admitted. “But if you told me she had twenty million dollars and was about to cut her wicked grandson out of her will, the possibility of murder might enter into my thinking.”

“She was well-off but not wealthy,” Jordan said. “And do I have to remind you that you were supposed to make me feel better about her death, not more uneasy?”

“The doctor who did her autopsy is convinced that she died from heart disease,” Laurie said.

“That’s better,” Jordan said. “Where did this murder question originate?”

“My fertile imagination,” Laurie said. “Plus some other rather startling news. Are you sitting down?”

“Please, Laurie, no games. I was due in the OR ten minutes ago.”

“Do the names Henriette Kaufman and Dwight Sorenson mean anything to you?” Laurie questioned.

“They’re two of my patients. Why?”

“They were your patients,” Laurie said. “They were both killed last night along with their spouses. Their autopsies are going on as we speak.”

“My God!” Jordan said.

“And that’s not all,” Laurie said. “The night before last three other patients of yours were murdered. All of them were shot in a manner that suggests an organized-crime connection. At least that’s what I’ve been told.”

“Oh, my God,” Jordan said. “And Paul Cerino was in my office threatening me just this morning. This is a nightmare.”

“How did he threaten you?” Laurie asked.

“I don’t even want to discuss it,” Jordan said. “But he’s quite angry with me and I’m afraid I have you to thank.”

“Me?”

“I wasn’t going to bring this up until we got together,” Jordan said, “but now that we’re on the subject-”

“What?”

“Why did you tell a detective Soldano about my treating Cerino?”

“I didn’t think it was a secret,” Laurie said. “After all, you talked about it at my parents’ dinner party.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Jordan said. “But how did you happen to tell a homicide detective of all people?”

“He was here observing autopsies,” Laurie said. “Cerino’s name came up in relation to some homicides: several gangland-style execution victims pulled out of the East River.”

“Oh, boy,” Jordan said.

“I’m sorry to be the Greek messenger with all this bad news.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jordan said. “And I guess I’m better off knowing. Thankfully I’ll be doing Cerino this evening. At this point the sooner I get rid of him the better.”

“Just be careful,” Laurie said. “Something strange is going on. I’m just not sure what.”

Jordan didn’t need Laurie to remind him to be careful, not after Cerino’s threat to crush his hands. And now this news that five of his patients had been murdered and another one dead, possibly also murdered. It was too much.

Preoccupied with this bizarre yet terrifying set of circumstances, Jordan got up from the chair in the surgical lounge of the Manhattan General Hospital and traipsed into the OR. He wondered if he should go to the police and tell them about Cerino’s threat. Yet if he did go to the police, what would they do? Probably nothing. What would Cerino do? Probably what he threatened. Jordan shivered with fear at the thought and wished that Cerino had never walked through his door.

As he scrubbed his hands, Jordan tried to think of why five and possibly six of his patients would be killed. And what about Marsha? But try as he might, he couldn’t think of a reason. Holding his hands in the air, he pushed into the operating room.

Surgery for Jordan was a cathartic experience. He was relieved to be able to lose himself in the exacting procedure of a corneal transplant. For the next few hours he completely forgot about threats, mob hits, Marsha Schulman, and unsolved homicides.

“Wonderful job,” the junior resident commented after Jordan had finished.

“Thank you,” Jordan said. He beamed. Then, to the nursing staff, he added: “I’ll be in the surgical lounge. Let’s turn the room around as soon as possible. The next case is one of my VIPs.”

“Yes, your Highness,” the scrub nurse teased.

Walking back to the surgical lounge, Jordan was glad that Cerino was next. He just wished it was already over. Although complications were rare for Jordan, they did occur. He shivered to think of the consequence of a postoperative infection: not for Cerino, for himself.

Gripped by his scary thoughts, Jordan was oblivious of his surroundings. And when he sank into one of the armchairs in the lounge and closed his eyes he hadn’t noticed the man sitting directly across from him.

“Good afternoon, Doctor!”

Jordan opened his eyes. It was Lou Soldano.

“Your secretary told me you were up here,” Lou said. “I told her it was important that I talk with you. I hope you don’t mind.”

Jordan sat bolt upright and his eyes nervously darted around the room. He knew Cerino had to be close, probably in the holding area at that moment. And that meant that the tall gaunt fellow would be around someplace. Cerino had insisted on it, and the administration had agreed. Jordan did not relish the idea of Cerino’s man seeing him with Lou Soldano. He didn’t want to be forced to explain it to Cerino.

“Certain facts have come up,” Lou continued. “I’m hoping you might have some explanations.”

“I have another operation,” Jordan said. He started to get up.

“Sit down, Doctor,” Lou said. “I only want a minute of your time. At least at the moment. We’ve been puzzling over five recent homicides which we have reason to believe were done by the same person or persons, and the only way we have been able to associate them so far, other than the manner in which they were killed, is that they were your patients. Naturally we’d like to ask you if you have any idea why this has happened.”

“I’d just been informed about it an hour ago,” Jordan said nervously. “I haven’t the slightest idea why. But I can tell you there is no way that it could involve me.”

“So we can assume they have all paid their bills?” Lou asked.

“Under the circumstances, Lieutenant,” Jordan snapped, “I don’t think that is a very funny comment.”

“Excuse my black humor,” Lou said. “But guessing how much that office of yours had to cost and knowing you have a limo-”

“I don’t have to talk with you if I don’t want to,” Jordan said, interrupting Lou and again motioning to get up.

“You don’t have to talk with me now,” Lou said. “That’s true. But you’d have to talk with me eventually, so you might as well try to cooperate. After all, this is one hell of a serious situation.”

Jordan sat back. “What do you want from me? I don’t have anything to add to what you already know. I’m sure you know much more than I.”

“Tell me about Martha Goldburg, Steven Vivonetto, Janice Singleton, Henriette Kaufman, and Dwight Sorenson.”

“They were patients of mine,” Jordan said.

“What were their diagnoses?” Lou asked. He took out his pad and pencil.

“I can’t tell you that,” Jordan said. “That’s privileged information. And don’t cite my mentioning the Cerino case to Dr. Montgomery as a precedent. I made a mistake talking about him.”

“I’ll be able to get the information from the families,” Lou said. “Why don’t you just make it easy for me?”

“It’s up to the families to tell you if they so choose,” Jordan said. “I am not at liberty to divulge that information.”

“OK,” Lou said. “Then let’s talk generalities. Did all these people have the same diagnosis?”

“No,” Jordan said.

“They didn’t?” Lou questioned. He visibly sagged. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Jordan said.

Lou looked down at his blank pad and thought for a moment. Raising his eyes he asked: “Were these patients related in some unlikely way? For example, were they customarily seen on the same day, anything like that?”

“No,” Jordan said.

“Could their records have been kept together for some reason?”

“No, my records are alphabetical.”

“Could any of these patients have been seen on the same day as Cerino?”

“That I can’t say,” Jordan admitted. “But I can tell you this. When Mr. Cerino came to see me, he never saw any other patient nor did any other patient see him.”

“Are you sure of that?” Lou asked.

“Positive,” Jordan said.

The intercom connecting the surgical lounge to the OR crackled to life. One of the OR nurses told Jordan that his patient was in the room waiting for him.

Jordan got to his feet. Lou did the same.

“I’ve got surgery,” Jordan said.

“OK,” Lou said. “I’m sure we’ll be in touch.”

Lou put on his hat and walked out of the surgical lounge.

Jordan followed him to the door and watched as Lou continued down the long hallway to the main hospital elevators. He watched as Lou pushed the button, waited, then boarded and disappeared from view.

Jordan’s eyes swept the hallway for Cerino’s man. Stepping across the hall, he peered into the surgical waiting room. He was encouraged when he didn’t see the gaunt man anyplace.

Turning back into the surgical lounge, Jordan sighed. He was relieved that Lou had left. The meeting with him had left Jordan feeling more rattled than ever, and it wasn’t only because of the fear that Cerino’s man would see them talking. Jordan sensed the detective didn’t like him much, and that could mean trouble. Jordan was afraid he’d have to put up with the man’s annoying presence in the future.

Stepping into the men’s locker room, Jordan splashed his face with cold water. He needed to pull himself together to try to relax a moment before going into the OR and doing Cerino. But it wasn’t easy. So much was happening. His mind was in a turmoil.

One of the thoughts that was particularly disturbing was that he’d realized there was one way that the five homicides were related, including Mary O’Connor. He’d realized it while Lou Soldano had been talking with him, but Jordan had chosen not to say anything about it. And the fact that he had so chosen confused him. He didn’t know if the reason he’d not mentioned it was because he wasn’t sure of its significance or because it scared him. Jordan certainly did not want to become a victim himself.

Walking down toward the operating room where Paul Cerino was waiting, Jordan decided that the safest course of action for him was to do nothing. After all, he was in the middle.

Suddenly Jordan stopped. He’d realized something else. Despite all these problems, he was doing more surgery than ever. There had to be another part to it all. As he started walking again, it all began to make a kind of grotesque, malicious sense. He picked up his pace. Definitely playing dumb was the way he should handle it. It was the safest by far. And he liked to do surgery.

Pushing into the operating room, he went up to Cerino, who was significantly sedated.

“We’ll have you done in no time,” Jordan said. “Just relax.”

After giving Cerino a pat on the shoulder, Jordan turned and headed out to scrub. As he passed one of the orderlies in scrubs, he realized it wasn’t one of the orderlies. Jordan had recognized the eyes. It was the gaunt one.