Genesis

Chapter 9

May 8th

5:55 P.M.

Flashing her temporary OCME card for the guard manning the front desk, Aria pushed through the turnstile at the relatively new OCME forensic science high-rise at 421 East 26th Street. Compared with the old OCME Forensic Pathology building up the street at 520 First Avenue, it was akin to being in a different universe. To Aria it was new, modern, and cold compared with being old, dilapidated, and cold.

She had been given a tour of this impressive structure on her first day of her OCME rotation, so she knew where she was going and how to get there. The medical-legal investigator team occupied a spacious area on the fifth floor immediately adjacent to the bank of elevators.

When the elevator door opened, Aria was greeted by David Goldberg holding open the door separating the glass-enclosed elevator lobby from the MLI common office. He was short, shorter than Aria’s five-six, and appeared mildly overweight, with rounded facial features, moderately long brown hair, sleepy eyes, and a heavy five-o’clock shadow. His clothes consisted of a white shirt open at the collar, a loosened dark tie, and a brown, baggy corduroy jacket. On his head was a black-and-white yarmulke held in place with a hair clip. Aria guessed he was somewhere in his thirties and had not been captain of the football team in high school.

“Dr. Nichols?” David asked.

“No other,” Aria said.

“Welcome,” he said as he gestured for her to step out of the elevator lobby. “My desk is over yonder a bit beyond the pale.” He chuckled at his own humor as he pointed to one of the desks against the far wall, one with a lamp illuminated despite the overhead fluorescent lighting. The room was a sea of identical metal desks, each with a chair on casters. Some were neat while others were messy, reflecting their occupants. Only a few were occupied with people working. Aria guessed the evening shift had begun.

Leading the way, David took Aria to his desk, which he had seemingly partially organized as there was a clear corner on its surface. His definitely belonged in the messy category. Next to the cleared-off corner was a straight-backed metal chair, obviously for her benefit.

“Please.” David gestured for her to take a seat. He sat down in his own chair and pulled himself in to the desk. “So, you’re a pathology resident with the OCME for a month, and you are interested in the Kera Jacobsen case.”

“That’s my story,” Aria said.

“How can I help you?”

“I read your MLI report,” she said. “There is something missing.”

“Something missing?” he questioned with a hint of offense. “I don’t think there’s anything missing. What exactly do you mean?”

“I’ve been warned about who I can tell this to, but I assume you are legally in the loop. There was a surprise finding at the autopsy. The woman was ten weeks pregnant, give or take a week. That means around the first of March there had been some hanky-panky going on, which I have to assume was consensual. Nothing in your report talks about a boyfriend or lover.”

“No one said anything about a boyfriend,” David said defensively.

“Did you ask?”

“I don’t remember,” he said. “Possibly. Wait, the mother might have mentioned something. Let me look at my notes.”

After clearing off his keyboard, David brought up the Kera Jacobsen case on his monitor.

“Okay, here we go. I remember speaking with the mother and a younger sister, both of whom had no idea Kera was using drugs. When I asked them if Kera had experienced any emotional problems or physical pain that might account for the drug use, they both told me no. But then the mother admitted that Kera had broken up with a long-term boyfriend over the summer, though she added that Kera had taken it in stride, using it as an excuse to move to New York, which had been a childhood dream. The mother did say that Kera sounded a bit down on the phone over the last few weeks and just a few days ago, for the first time, talked about possibly moving back to Southern California. She said this took her completely by surprise. But other than that, the mother thought she was a happy, well-adjusted woman who was enjoying New York.”

“Did you get this long-term boyfriend’s name?” Aria asked. She knew from experience that old boyfriends could be like a bad penny and turn up when not expected. In her senior year at Princeton, she thought she had fallen in love with a fellow student named Brian Higgins. It was the first time, and turned out to be the last. When things had advanced to the brink of being consummated, she interrupted their lovemaking to make sure he understood that it might not be the best time for what they were doing since she was smack-dab in the middle of her cycle. Brian’s response was that there was never a bad time to make love with the right person. Unfortunately, that turned out to be false on both counts. Not only did she get pregnant, but he denied responsibility, claiming there was no way he could be the father, and if he was, she had seduced him against his will. Then, a year later, when she was in Boston in her first year of medical school and he in law school, he showed up, tail between his legs, hoping to patch things up. Aria had told him, appropriately enough, to go fuck himself.

“Yes, his name is Robert Barlow,” David said. “He’s a fourth-year medical student doing a sub-internship at Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center.”

“Okay, that lets him off the hook,” Aria said. She had a good idea of what surgical sub-internships were like since she had made the mistake of doing one. “What about this more recent depressive episode? Any clarification on that?”

“As far as they knew, it was only that Kera was homesick. I sensed from the mother that she was a homebody and very close to both the mother and the high-school-aged sister, who still lived at home. You’ll be able to check all this out yourself. The mother is on her way and will be here tomorrow.”

“What about this Madison Bryant, who was also mentioned in the report?” Aria asked.

“What about her?”

“You described her as a friend and coworker,” she said. “Did you get the impression they were good friends or more like acquaintances?”

“Close friends was my take,” he said. “At the same time, she said that since the holidays they hadn’t seen as much of each other as they had during the fall. Miss Bryant’s sense was that Kera was struggling with New York winter weather and preferred to stay in her warm apartment.”

“Did you ask her about Kera having any current boyfriends?” Aria said.

“I didn’t, but one of the patrolmen said he did prior to getting the apartment door open. The answer was no.”

“I guess you have investigated quite a few overdose cases,” she said.

“Tons,” he said. “We average about four a day, meaning one every six hours or so, twenty-four-seven, and I get my share.”

“Was there anything about this case that made it different from the usual?”

He stared off into the middle distance for a beat and then said: “Not really, but we don’t see cases where the syringe is still in the vein all that often, although it does happen, especially now that fentanyl has become so prevalent. The other thing I noticed was that she had quite a lot of drug available, meaning a full sack. My guess was that she’d gotten a recent delivery. That started me thinking that maybe the batch had a lot more fentanyl than she expected. We’ve seen that problem before, where the drug user assumes the new stuff is the same as the last batch. We’ll get a better idea if this played a role when the toxicology report comes back.”

Suddenly Aria’s phone sounded, indicating she had just gotten a text message. “Hang on,” she said as she got her phone out to look at the screen: Dr. Nichols, please give me a call as soon as possible. I need to see you. It’s urgent. Dr. Henderson.

“Now that’s big-time weird,” Aria said. It was her turn to stare off for a moment. She’d never gotten a text from the chief of the NYU Department of Pathology before, nor could she remember even speaking with him.

“Excuse me?” David said.

“Sorry,” she said, returning to the present. “Something has come up so we need to wrap this up for now. What I’d like is Madison Bryant’s contact information.”

“I’m not sure I should provide that information.” David knitted his brows as he turned to look off toward Bart Arnold’s desk for help. Bart was head of the MLIs, but his desk was vacant. It was obvious he had already left.

“Listen to me, Mr. Goldberg. I’m looking into the case under the direct orders of the chief medical examiner, Dr. Laurie Montgomery. You are to supply me with all the help I need, or you will be hearing directly from her. Do I make myself clear?” Aria was never troubled by exaggeration or white lies.

“Of course,” David said. He turned back to his monitor to get the information. While he was writing the address and phone numbers, Aria asked another question.

“Did you manage to talk to any of Kera Jacobsen’s neighbors?”

“Yes, I spoke with the woman who lives in apartment 4A, across from Kera Jacobsen’s 4B. Their entrance doors face each other. Her name is Evelyn Mabry. I remember because her surname is the same as my mother’s maiden name. She apparently was the last person to see Kera Jacobsen alive, which, by the way, is the best way of determining the time of death, contrary to all the forensic TV shows.”

“And when was that?” Aria asked.

“Friday late afternoon.”

“Did you get the feeling this Evelyn Mabry was good friends with Kera Jacobsen?”

“Not at all,” David said. “My impression of Miss Mabry is that she’s a mildly paranoid recluse and a hoarder. There was barely room to stand in her apartment.”

Aria could understand the recluse part but not the paranoia or hoarding. “Did you ask Evelyn Mabry about whether Kera Jacobsen had many visitors, particularly boyfriends?”

“I was thinking more about possible drug dealers, not boyfriends, but yes, I did ask her. She said that in the past Miss Jacobsen had late-night visitors once or twice a week, usually midweek, but that had dropped off of late.”

“Men or women?”

“She couldn’t say for certain because she never saw them, just heard them arrive and occasionally heard them leave.”

“What about Friday night?” Aria asked. “Did you ask her if Miss Jacobsen had any visitors then?”

“Of course I asked her about Friday night,” David said with mild offense. “She said she went to bed early and didn’t hear anything.”

“Do you expect the police to be doing any investigation?”

“I don’t,” he said. “The precinct’s detective squad wasn’t even notified. What’s to investigate?”

Plenty, she thought, but didn’t say.

“Listen,” David said. “The police don’t want to make work for themselves, especially with all these overdoses that we’re seeing. Just notifying the detectives means a lot of paperwork. You have no idea.” He handed her a three-by-five card. She took it but then immediately handed it back.

“Dr. Montgomery says we have to do this investigation in tandem,” she said, purposefully avoiding the word supervision. She had no intention of being supervised by anyone, much less by a physician assistant, yet she knew how to make it look like she had. “How about your number along with the names and contact info for the cops that took the nine-one-one call. And what’s Kera Jacobsen’s address?”

He added the additional information to the card.

“All right,” Aria said, taking the card and standing. “I’ll be in touch.”

David started to respond, but she was already weaving through the gaggle of desks on her way to the elevator.