Night Shift

Chapter 15

Tuesday, December 7, 4:12 p.m.

Even the short bike ride from 26th Street to 30th Street gave Jack a chance to partially clear his head. Although he hadn’t learned anything by taking the time to go to the high-rise, the effort had helped to at least devise a plan of attack, as he was now committed to meeting with the nursing supervisor, Ronald Cavanaugh, or Ronnie, as he seemed to be known. If Jack wasn’t able to run into the man in the Emergency Department for whatever reason, he decided he’d arrange to talk to him by phone at the very least. Although he knew from experience, when you don’t know what you don’t know, it was far better to interview someone in person, because there had been times when Jack had learned more from an individual’s behavior and expressions than from their answers. One way or the other, he was going to make sure he chatted with the man.

After waiting for the traffic light to change, Jack rode across First Avenue and started down 30th Street, passing the OCME on his left. Turning in between several OCME Sprinter vans, he saw something he didn’t expect: a nondescript, black Chevy Malibu, which he recognized as Lou Soldano’s. Jack saw Lou frequently but not often twice in the same day. Getting off his bike and walking it, Jack came alongside the vehicle and noticed it wasn’t empty. Lou was sitting in the driver’s seat with his head back, mouth ajar, obviously fast asleep. Although he was surprised to see Lou, he wasn’t surprised to see him sleeping. The man notoriously burned the candle at both ends, especially on nighttime homicides, like the Seton case, and frequently took catnaps whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Rather than wake Lou immediately, Jack took his bike inside and secured it. He then came back out to the street. Knowing that sometimes Lou would wake up with a start, ready for combat, he very quietly rapped on the driver’s-side window. When Lou didn’t stir, he knocked harder. Finally, he pounded against the glass with the base of a closed fist, which finally had the desired effect. Lou straightened up, blinked a few times, then opened the car door.

“What year is it?” Lou asked, trying to be humorous. “Sorry! I was told by security that you’d just gone out, so I took the opportunity for a few winks.”

“How am I so lucky?” Jack asked rhetorically. “I usually don’t get to see you twice in the same day.”

“I know, but I needed to talk with you. Something unexpected came up.”

“Like what?”

“This might take a few minutes to explain,” Lou said. “What say we head up to your palatial office?”

“Be my guest,” Jack said, pointing toward the loading dock.

As they were rising in the slowpoke back elevator, Lou yawned loudly, smacked his lips, and said that he hadn’t felt as tired since yesterday. Jack dutifully laughed.

Inside Jack’s office, after Lou took off his winter coat and Jack took off his corduroy jacket, Jack shoved his desk chair in Lou’s direction. With its casters on the slick floor, it thumped decisively into Lou, who grabbed it and sat down backward, resting his forearms on the backrest. Jack leaned his rump against the L portion of his desk and placed his hands on his hips, staring at Lou expectantly. In his mind, Lou was not acting like himself, and Jack was intrigued.

“Well, what’s up?” Jack questioned.

Lou cleared his throat and asked him if he’d given the case that Lou had witnessed that morning any more thought.

“You mean the Seton case?” Jack questioned. “No, I haven’t. To be honest, the Sue Passero case has been dominating my mind. Why do you ask?”

“There’s been a development you should know about.”

“Oh?” Jack said. “And what might that be?”

“A suicide note has turned up.”

“Really?” Jack questioned with disbelief. This was unexpected. In his forensically oriented mind, Jack was confident that the death had been a homicide. It was nearly but perhaps not totally impossible for Sharron Seton to have shot herself considering the bullet’s path. “I’m rather surprised, to say the least. Has it been authenticated?”

“Yes, preliminarily by a handwriting expert in the crime lab.”

“Why wasn’t it found during the initial investigation?”

“It was found in the wife’s appointment book.”

“By whom?”

“The husband, Paul Seton.”

“Have you seen it?”

“Yes, I have,” Lou said. “It struck me as authentic as well. It seems that Sharron Seton has suffered with depression most of her life, for which she has been treated since she was a teenager. She was on a whole pharmacopoeia of medications that were constantly being adjusted up and down. Apparently becoming pregnant was something she couldn’t deal with and said as much in the note. Paul claims he didn’t know she was pregnant. All he knew was that her depression had taken a serious turn for the worse of late, and she was refusing to see her therapist, which they had been arguing about, and which was why he was lately sleeping in the guest room more often than not.”

“I guess this puts more of an onus on your investigative team,” Jack said.

“No doubt,” Lou said. “What I’m wondering is if this new information will influence your feelings about the manner of the death and how you will sign it out. Obviously, that is going to be critical.”

“Not really,” Jack said, groaning inwardly. “From a forensic point of view and the preponderance of evidence I can show, it’s a homicide, not a suicide.” The writing was on the wall that the case would involve a lengthy trial, reminding him how much he hated trials.

“I think the defense attorney is going to request another autopsy,” Lou said. “Does that bother you?”

“Not in the slightest,” Jack said. “It’s certainly within the defendant’s rights. I get the feeling you want this Paul Seton fellow acquitted.”

“Obviously,” Lou said. “But only if he didn’t do it.”

“If there was no break-in, he did it or was an accessory,” Jack said. “The only other possibility is that he did it in collusion with his wife. Maybe he was convinced it was in his wife’s best interests, but she couldn’t do it herself.”

Lou half laughed and waved Jack off with his hand. “That’s creative but unlikely.”

“From my perspective, it’s at least a possibility, no matter how small the probability. Nonetheless, I’m signing the case out as a homicide, though, suicide note or not. Sorry, my friend.”

“That’s okay, you have to do what you have to do. I was hoping the suicide note might change your mind. Be that as it may, let’s move on as long as I am here. What’s the story with the Passero case that had you bamboozled this morning to the point of suspecting uxoricide?”

“What the hell does uxoricide mean?”

“Wife killing,” Lou said. “When you’ve been involved with murder as long as I have, you hear all the words for it, even the Latin ones.”

“You’ll be happy to know, I’m leaning away from the husband,” Jack said with a self-deprecating smile. “But I’m still confused. Even after an autopsy, I’m without a cause or mechanism of death, and if anything, the situation is bothering me more now than it did when you and I talked earlier. I have to confess to you and you alone that I even took the time to go over to the Manhattan Memorial to do a little investigating. I talked to the doc who headed up the team that tried to resuscitate her, as well as a few other people.”

“Uh-oh!” Lou voiced. “Am I sensing you are back to playing detective? You aren’t supposed to be let out of your cage to investigate anything.”

“I know it’s frowned upon,” Jack said with a guilty smile. “And generally, it is not needed because we have such a talented Medical Legal Investigation team.”

“I happen to know directly from the big boss that it’s more than frowned upon.”

“Well, maybe so, but I’m counting on you not to mention it to the big boss,” Jack said. “Besides, the dangerous part of being a detective is when it comes down to who, whereas I’m merely caught up in how. If, when I figure out the how and it points to a who, you will be the first to know.”

“Excuse me,” Lou said. “Now you’re splitting hairs. If there is a who involved, they’re not going to take kindly to you looking into a how. Believe me! Good God! How do I allow myself to get into these weird conversations with you? For your own good, stay here in your fortress and keep away from the MMH. I distinctly remember having to save your ass over there. Besides, I happen to know that you have more than enough work to keep you busy 24/7 right here. But let’s move on. I’ve been thinking all day about what you told me this morning about Laurie, the kids, and your mother-in-law. If you want my advice, mothers always seem to know what’s best for their children. It’s in their genes. Don’t make waves!”

“That’s easier said than done,” Jack responded. “Part of the problem is that Laurie is adapting so well to being chief here at the OCME that she is bringing home the same my way or the highway attitude. Under those conditions it is becoming difficult not to make waves.”

“Okay, I hadn’t considered that. I can see how that kind of attitude could become a problem.”

“But you are probably right. I’m going to take your advice to heart and let things slide on the home front. At least this Sue Passero case is giving me something to occupy my mind.”

As Lou got to his feet Jack’s mobile rang. When he glanced at the screen, intending to silence the ringer, he saw it was Naomi Grossman. Instead, he took the call. As he did so, he waved to Lou to hold up a moment.

“Well, your persistence has paid off,” she said with no preamble.

“What did you find?” Jack asked, his hopes rising.

“Now this is just a preliminary screen, as I told you, and we will be following up with the usual full amplification process. But the rapid screen tells us that there is no inheritable genetic evidence of any channelopathy. None of the usual mutations are present.”

As quickly as Jack’s hopes rose, they now collapsed.

“I trust that providing this information as fast as we have helps your case,” Naomi said. “And, needless to say, we’ll get you the full report as soon as it is available, but it is going to be a week or two.”

Jack thanked the department head, terminated the call, and tossed his phone onto his desk. He looked over at Lou with a hangdog expression. “That was really my last hope of science providing the how,” he said. “There’s still histology and toxicology, but my intuition tells me that both are going to be negative as well.”

“Is it time for me to get involved?” Lou asked.

“Not yet,” Jack said. “But maybe soon.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Lou said. “I’ve got to run, but you stay put here.” He waved over his head as he walked out into the hallway and turned toward the elevators.

Jack looked back at the stack of unfinished autopsy folders and then over at the equivalent stack of histology slide trays. He knew he should get some of his looming paperwork done, but after the short talk with Lou and getting the disappointing call from Naomi, he was reinvigorated about the Passero case.

Picking up his phone again, Jack texted Laurie. Undoubtedly, she was at still at 421 continuing her attempt to indoctrinate the incoming mayor. In the message he told her he was leaving for the day so that she wouldn’t be looking for him when she returned to the office. When he was finished, he pocketed his phone and pulled on his jacket. From one of the coat hooks on the back of the door, he took down a backpack and put it on. His plan was to stop at the MMH, pick up Sue’s folders at the information desk, head to the ED to try to meet up with Ronnie Cavanaugh, and then go home. As he walked down toward the elevators, he mused about how nice it would be to take advantage of the mild weather and get a run in on the basketball court that evening. Some good competitive exercise would do wonders for his patience on the home front.