Genesis

Chapter 12

May 8th

8:32 P.M.

Here you go, miss,” the Lyft driver said, pointing off to the right. “Have a great meal.”

Aria opened the door and got out of the black Toyota, which whisked away before she even got to the curb. For a moment she stood looking at the restaurant. She’d heard about Cipriani Downtown, located in SoHo, but had never been there. It wasn’t a big place, maybe twenty-five or so feet wide, with a bright yellow awning. How deep it was, she couldn’t tell. Despite the chill in the air, there were a half dozen or so round tables outside on the sidewalk, but all were pulled back and under the awning. Some sliding glass doors had been opened so that there wasn’t much separation between the outside tables and the inside ones. There were several gas-fired heat lamps among the outside tables, whose warmth Aria could feel on her face from where she was standing at the curb.

Having heard the restaurant was popular among the in-crowd, which was reason enough for her to avoid it, Aria wasn’t surprised it was jam-packed. Every seat at every table that could be seen was occupied, and there were a lot of tables mashed together. The bar to the left was almost completely concealed by standees. There was even a rather large group of people standing on the sidewalk near the entrance that was positioned half under a retractable metal stairway that rose up to the apparent darkness of the second floor. Most intimidating was the bright light and noise of the hundred or so competing conversations that burst out from the interior like a tsunami, especially compared with the immediate neighboring commercial establishments, which were all closed for the night and dark. To add to the confusion, waiters in white coats and bow ties were darting around carrying trays of food despite the mob of customers milling about. Busboys in less impressive white jackets without ties were collecting soiled dishes and rolling out clean tablecloths. The scene was frantic. For Aria it wasn’t promising for an interview.

After leaving Dr. Henderson’s office, she had managed to get Madison Bryant on the phone right away, which was initially encouraging. Unfortunately for Aria, the woman wasn’t at home stressed out from the Kera episode like Aria had hoped. Instead Madison had been in a taxi when the call had gone through, heading downtown to eat with someone she described as a friend. To make it less auspicious, she sounded tipsy. Even though Aria knew she was overstepping her bounds, when she declared herself to be a medical examiner who needed to talk with her as soon as possible, Madison was unintimidated. Instead of immediately agreeing, she had invited Aria to come to the restaurant if it was so important. When Aria suggested they meet after her dinner, Madison said that she hoped she wouldn’t be available after dinner, meaning that if Aria wanted to talk with her that evening, it had to be at the restaurant. With serious misgivings, she had acquiesced to the plan.

Skirting the people standing outside, some of whom were smoking, she approached the entrance. A dark-haired man in a dark jacket stood by the door, watching people go in and out. He obviously was employed by the restaurant, but in what capacity, Aria had no idea. He smiled at her as she passed. She ignored him.

Inside the restaurant was as chaotic as it looked from the outside. Although most of the tables were round, those to the far right against the wall were rectangular and had bench seats. On the walls were framed photographs. One large one was of a young woman who looked like a model wearing seriously distressed jeans not too dissimilar from Aria’s. Since she’d not been home, Aria was still dressed as she had been all day, in a white cotton designer blouse, jeans, pink leather sneakers, and her resident white medical coat. To avoid any hecklers who might catch her name, she’d removed her DR. ARIA NICHOLS NYU Medical Center name tag.

She was looking for the host, but it wasn’t an easy task. Madison had said she would leave her name with the host and say she was expecting her to join them. Pushing through the standees crowded around the bar, Aria continued deeper into the restaurant.

“Hey, baby,” a man said, holding a drink as was everyone else standing or sitting at the bar. “Are you a real doctor or one on TV?” He laughed uproariously, as did his friends. Aria ignored him just as she had the man at the door.

Once she had managed to push her way ten or fifteen feet into the restaurant, she could see that the dining room extended back farther than the room was wide. In the depths of the dining area things seemed to be a bit calmer. The party scene and the noise were all up front, mostly around the bar and the more closely grouped tables. To Aria’s chagrin there didn’t seem to be any host stand. Just when she was thinking of giving up and retreating, she spotted a man in a dark business suit, white shirt, and dark tie who was about her height and who seemed to be giving orders to the serving staff. Aria approached and caught his eye. Although he had hair almost as dark as that of the man standing at the entrance, he looked more Hispanic than Italian. She gave her name, practically shouting to be heard, and said that a Madison Bryant was expecting her.

After a moment of thought the man said: “Yes!” Then he raised an index finger and motioned for her to follow him. Aria did just that but continued to find making progress difficult. Ahead, the man, who still had his index finger raised for her benefit, seemed to effortlessly slide between standees. A moment later they broke free of the crowd and entered the back area of the dining room. Not only was it less crowded, but the noise level dropped considerably.

Like a slalom skier on a packed hillside, the host rapidly worked his way through the dining room to approach a two-top table against the back wall. He then gestured toward it and moved aside. Aria stepped up to the table and took stock of its occupants. Both Madison and her male dinner partner were African American, with Madison having a considerably lighter complexion than her muscular, bearded male companion. She was dressed casually, while he was in a white shirt open at the collar with a loosened tie. A business suit jacket hung over the back of his chair. The table was chock-full of plates, breadbasket, olive oil, and wine and water glasses. Taking up most of the space was a platter of pasta in red sauce.

“I’m Dr. Aria Nichols,” she said to the woman. “Are you Madison Bryant?”

“None other,” she said with a broad smile. “And this is Richard Abrams.” She nodded to her companion.

The host who’d momentarily disappeared produced a chair for Aria, posing a mystery from where he had found it in the crowded environment. With flair he positioned it closer to Richard than to Madison. He didn’t put it in the middle to avoid blocking the aisle for the waiters’ benefit. Without a second’s hesitation she moved it over next to Madison and sat down. Richard’s self-satisfied expression changed. He’d taken offense from being slighted.

“I want to make this as short as possible,” Aria said to Madison, totally ignoring her dining partner.

“Would you like something to drink?” the host said. “How about a Bellini?”

“They’re terrific,” Madison said excitedly. “I had two.” Then, talking directly to the host, she added: “She’ll have one!”

“You got it,” the host said and quickly disappeared.

“I need to talk to you about Kera Jacobsen,” Aria said.

“Why?” Madison demanded. Her happy mood disappeared in the blink of an eye. “Listen, I had the worst day of my life today. My friend is dead. I’m trying to recover. I talked to a medical legal investigator at the scene. After that I was dragged over there to the medical-examiner’s office, and I identified her body. I cooperated fully. Why are you bothering me now? I mean, I said everything I know. The whole situation has me bummed out. And Richard says I don’t have to talk to you if I don’t want to. And he’s a lawyer.”

Aria briefly glanced over at Richard and had to suppress a surge of anger at his interfering. She was tempted to say something along the lines that his legal advice was not necessarily true if she were a real medical examiner. But then she sensed whatever she said would only serve to get them into an argument about subpoena power and complicate the situation. She turned back to Madison. “Something has changed,” Aria said. “I did the autopsy this afternoon, and something unexpected was found.”

“What?” Madison challenged. “What could change? She’s dead. That’s not going to change.”

“No, but...” She paused. She found herself about to regurgitate the shit that Dr. Montgomery had spewed out that afternoon about the role of the forensic pathologist listening to the dead tell their stories. Feeling embarrassed about the urge, she changed tactics. “You are a social worker who I am sure understands the issues about HIPAA and the constraints it puts on us medical professionals to honor patient privacy. Correct?”

“I suppose,” Madison said. Her voice had lost a good bit of its stormy intensity.

“Because of HIPAA I cannot out-and-out tell you what was found, but in New York the autopsy record can be requested by the family or even a personal representative, and what was found will certainly be in the autopsy report that I will be dictating. So this is medical information that falls somewhere in between being part of the public record and not being part.”

Aria looked at Richard. “As a lawyer, even you must understand what I mean.”

Richard pretended to laugh. He started to say something, but she ignored him.

“So,” Aria said, redirecting her attention to Madison. “I’m going to ask you some questions that will enable you to figure out what it is that I can’t tell you. I know that sounds ridiculously indirect, but here goes... David Goldberg, the MLI, said that you had told one of the responding patrolmen that Kera did not have any current boyfriends. Do you remember saying that?”

“Yes, I did,” Madison said.

“And you considered yourself a good friend of Kera’s, so if she had had a boyfriend you would have probably known. Correct?”

“I know she absolutely didn’t have a boyfriend during the fall,” Madison said. “No question. But after the holidays, we didn’t see as much of each other socially. I mean, at work we saw each other pretty much every day. She could have had a boyfriend then. In fact, there were times that I thought that might have been the case, but she denied it when I asked her.”

“Did she ever talk about her old boyfriend from LA, Robert Barlow?”

“Back in the fall she did, but not recently.”

“Do you know if he ever came to NYC to visit her?”

“Not to my knowledge. She was over him. I’m certain.”

“Do you know if she had any other particularly good friends like yourself who she might have confided in?”

“Not that I know of. But I suppose it is possible after the holidays, like I mentioned.”

“I gather from what you have said, there is a chance she had developed some relationship with someone, possibly male, after the holidays that she kept secret from you.”

“That’s what I thought on occasion, but I didn’t know for sure and I didn’t press her on it. I mean, she was entitled to her life, so I moved on.”

“Okay,” Aria said. “I suppose by now it’s apparent enough that what was found at autopsy needs a male participant.”

Madison exchanged a glance with Richard and then returned her attention to Aria. Before anyone could respond, a waiter in a spotless white coat appeared at Aria’s side with the Bellini. He placed it in front of her, positioning the champagne glass dangerously close to the edge of the crowded table. It was the only spot available.

“Are you planning on eating something?” the waiter asked Aria. “Would you care to hear our specials for tonight?”

“No, I’m not going to eat,” Aria said.

The waiter nodded and retreated.

Aria dug into one of her side pockets and pulled out a small pad of paper. Taking one of her pens from a breast pocket, she wrote down her number. “The reality is that after the autopsy and its surprise discovery, the cause of death is not as definitive as it seemed when the autopsy began. Nor is the manner of death, if you get my drift. Unfortunately, the NYPD is not concerned about yet another overdose, and as far as I know are not investigating at all and won’t be investigating. Of course, that is entirely understandable with four overdose deaths a day in the city. I think your friend Kera Jacobsen deserves for this mysterious boyfriend/lover to be found so he can explain why it had to be you, Madison, who had the burden of finding Kera’s putrefying corpse and not he. He also needs to explain exactly what role he had in the overdose. Locating this missing male is something that I’m committed to doing.”

Aria picked up the Bellini and tossed it back. She wiped off her lips with the back of her hand as she set the empty glass back on the table. “Here’s my number in case you think of anything that might help me find this bastard.” She reached out and handed the slip of paper to Madison. She then stood up, purposefully avoided looking at Richard, and walked away without another word.