Pandemic

28

WEDNESDAY, 7:23 P.M.

After Jack stepped out of his apartment building’s front door, he paused on the stoop. From that vantage point he had a reasonably good view of the playground. As per usual, a basketball game was in progress, with the shirts against the skins sweeping up and down the court. Years ago, Jack had bought a bunch of oversized sleeveless red and blue jerseys to distinguish one team from the other, but no one would wear them, preferring the typical shirts-versus-skins, irrespective of the weather and temperature. At that moment it was in the mid- to upper forties.

As he stood there with the pleasant anticipation of rigorous physical activity with friends he cared about, Jack thought about his day. It had been one of the most unique that he could remember. From the cast of characters he’d met out in New Jersey, to the realization that some sort of skulduggery had gone on involving a heart transplantation, to the scary repeat of the subway cytokine death, he was hard put to think of any other day that came close.

The crowning event had been the drive home in the Escalade, with Laurie grousing in the passenger seat. Although she had been pleased to hear about the toxicology results on the police custody case, knowing the commissioner would be gratified, she was still unhappy with Jack’s fieldwork in New Jersey, especially with his flashing his New York ME badge. After she had talked with Jack that afternoon while he was still in New Jersey, she’d asked counsel if his using his badge was legal. She’d been told under no uncertain terms that it was not. When she’d related this to Jack, his insistence that he was doing it just for efficiency and not to force testimony didn’t assuage her irritation at his penchant for following his own rules.

Worse yet was that they had a marked difference of opinion about the second subway death and what to do about it in the short run. Jack had explained what he had found at autopsy and what he’d learned from John Carver. Although Laurie was in agreement with Jack that having another case did indeed point to a contagious origin, she was still unwaveringly adamant about not raising an alarm with any of the various authorities, such as the Commissioner of Health or the Commissioner of Emergency Management. For his part, Jack felt even more strongly that various agencies should be given some sort of notice in order to at least start the process of what would need to be done in the face of a major, lethal pandemic. He told Laurie that the speed these two patients had died from the time of their initial symptoms and the extent of the lung pathology were simply extraordinary.

“Do we have an actual diagnosis?” Laurie had demanded.

“No, not yet,” Jack admitted. “But we have evidence in tissue culture that a virus pathological to human cells is involved.”

He then went on to describe what he knew of Aretha’s use of a Massive Parallel Sequencing machine and her belief she’d have a diagnosis soon.

“What’s ‘soon’ mean?” Laurie had asked.

“I don’t know for sure,” Jack admitted. “To be honest, I’m not even entirely sure how the process works. It’s based on bioinformatics and uses a database called BLAST.”

“All right,” Laurie said. “Tell me this: Are you one hundred and ten percent, absolutely, without any doubt whatsoever certain that these two women died of a pathological virus? From what you told me, they hadn’t even seen each other for a month. That’s one long incubation period for a viral respiratory disease.”

As Jack remembered the conversation, he had to smile. He knew he’d made a mistake at that moment because he had paused long enough to make Laurie suspicious that there was something he’d not told her. When she’d forced the issue, he had to admit that people at the Dover Valley Hospital had seen no virus with electron microscopy in the lung exudate following a second autopsy.

“Well, there you go,” Laurie had said. “We are not alerting anyone on such shaky grounds. No way.”

“But that’s like waiting to prepare for a hurricane when the wind has already started to blow,” Jack complained.

But Laurie would hear none of it. Instead, she had subjected Jack to a prolonged lecture about what she had been learning in her role as the chief medical examiner about the realities of the political hierarchy and how it functioned or, in her estimation, malfunctioned. She was particularly concerned about the issue of emergency management.

“To tell you the honest truth,” Laurie said, “I think they have overprepared for a major influenza pandemic. Since 2004 they have had drill after drill and have set up a huge system with a hair trigger. There’s even a computer algorithm called ED Syndromic Surveillance monitoring real-time emergency room pneumonia visits. The thing that scares me is that there are no checks and balances. The reason I know so much about it is that the OCME is part of it. That’s why there are all those refrigerated trailers out in the lot by 421, which would be sent to all the hospitals in the city to try to deal with several hundred deaths a day.”

“I think the authorities have a real reason to be worried,” Jack retorted.

“Of course there is reason to be worried,” Laurie said. “It’s almost inevitable there will be an influenza pandemic with the way pigs and fowl are crammed together in the Far East, with their guts acting like virtual influenza incubators. My concern is the switch being thrown by a false alarm with no system in place to stop it. It will be like a bunch of dominoes lined up. Push the first one over and they all go over.”

“I think you are being overly pessimistic,” Jack responded. “I’m supposed to be the cynic, not you.”

“You haven’t had to endure the meetings I’ve had to endure,” Laurie said. “And if you still think I am being unreasonably pessimistic, remember what happened in Hawaii in January 2018 with the incoming missile debacle. That’s what I’m worried could happen here in New York about an influenza pandemic. It could happen so easily, and it would cause true panic.”

Suddenly Jack’s reverie was interrupted by his hearing his name called out. Looking in the direction of Columbus Avenue, he could see Warren and Flash standing beneath a streetlamp on the opposite side of the street near the entrance of the playground. Warren was carrying his basketball. He brought it every night and preferred it as the game ball, which no one questioned.

“Hey, Doc,” Warren yelled. “You coming to run or are you going to stand there all night?”

Jack responded by quickly descending his front steps and jogging across the street. Warren and Flash waited for him, and they all fist-bumped.

“You were frozen there for so long, we thought you were changing your mind about running,” Flash said.

“No way,” Jack said. “I need a workout.”

The three men commenced walking toward the basketball court, which was brightly illuminated with relatively new LED lighting that Jack had again paid to have installed. It was a far better system than the first one Jack had sponsored many years ago when he’d first come to the city. As they walked, Jack gave Warren back the keys to the Escalade and mentioned it was parked practically in the same spot it had been when he’d taken it. He thanked Warren profusely and told him that he’d gotten used to driving the behemoth and started to like it.

“It’s a great set of wheels,” Warren said. “Any time you need them and I don’t, it’s available, provided you pay that parking ticket. What did you think of Dover?”

“You described it perfectly,” Jack said. “Lakes and green hills.”

“Were you able to accomplish what you needed to do?” Warren asked. They entered the playground and passed the swings and sandbox. A couple of preteenagers were using the swings, even though that area was not lighted.

“To an extent,” Jack said. “But not completely. It’s complicated, which I won’t bore you with. But I did have one rather strange experience. I ended up having a formal lunch with a Chinese billionaire businessman in his lavish private lakeside home. Strangely enough, even though the guy grew up in China, his role model was Arnold Schwarzenegger, and he’s still lifting weights into his sixties.”

Warren stopped short, grabbing Jack’s arm in the process. “Come again?”

Jack repeated what he’d said, surprised at Warren’s reaction. Warren was still holding on to his upper arm.

“That’s a strange coincidence,” Warren said. “Does your screwing around out in Dover have anything to do with investigating something shady?”

“That’s a strange question,” Jack replied noncommittally. “Why do you ask?”

“Two reasons,” Warren said. “First and most important, the last time you were investigating a flu-like illness years ago, you attracted the Black Kings gang to our neighborhood, causing trouble. You remember that?”

“Of course I remember,” Jack said. He had a chipped front tooth from being cold-cocked by the leader of the Black Kings as a lasting souvenir. Warren and a few of his friends had saved him from further bodily harm.

“And second of all, we have an Asian dude who’s been suspiciously hanging around today since the middle of the afternoon,” Warren said. He pointed up the street toward Central Park. “See that black Chevy Suburban about halfway up the block on the right side under the streetlight?”

Jack followed Warren’s pointing finger and could clearly see the vehicle. He had learned over the years to take Warren’s misgivings seriously. He knew that Warren, with the help of a bevy of youthful eyes, kept tabs on who was in the neighborhood since he didn’t trust the police to do the same.

“What makes him stand out is that he ain’t moved,” Warren explained. “He’s been just sitting in that truck for hours, which is suspicious, to our way of thinking. I mean, I don’t know if he’s Chinese or not, but just hanging around the neighborhood is weird, if you know what I’m saying?”

“I do,” Jack said.

“You think his presence has anything to do with your bodybuilding Chinese lunch partner?” Warren asked. “Or whatever the hell you were doing out there in Jersey.”

“I can’t imagine,” Jack said, but he wasn’t entirely sure. He recalled Harvey Lauder phoning Wei Zhao after Jack’s visit, which seemed strange at the time. But why have him followed, if that was what the Chevy Suburban was up to? Zhao already knew where he lived.

“Well, we’ll keep eyes on him,” Warren said. “I like you, Doc, but you do have a drift for causing trouble. I have to give you credit there.”

The three men recommenced heading for the basketball court. Jack was silent. He couldn’t contradict Warren, as he had caused neighborhood trouble over the years, and he couldn’t help but ponder over the presence of an unfamiliar Asian driver lurking around his house and whether it had anything to do with him. Unfortunately, there was no way to know. It wasn’t as if there was anyone he could call short of Wei Zhao himself, but Jack couldn’t imagine doing that.

“What’s with the home front?” Warren asked. “Is that why you were paralyzed on your front stoop?”

“Some ways it’s worse and some ways it’s better,” Jack said. After the contentious drive home from the OCME, Jack had braced himself for the worst. But it had turned out to be not so bad. Both Dorothy and Sheldon were watching the network news when they’d arrived, and with Sheldon there, Dorothy didn’t feel obligated to interact other than to say hello. Then the two turned to PBS NewsHour, giving Jack time to interact as best he could with Emma and then with JJ, who was still deeply involved with his school diorama project. At that point Jack had ducked out for b-ball.

“The couch is still available if you need it,” Warren said.

“I appreciate it, my friend,” Jack said.

When they reached the sidelines, Warren dealt with figuring out how the three of them were going to get into the game. As the most respected player, he could have gotten into the very next game, but he held out to play with Flash and Jack. Finally, it was determined that they would have to wait for two more game cycles.

Jack used the time to warm up by doing some running in place and other calisthenics and even shooting a few practice shots with Warren’s ball when the playing teams were at the opposite end of the court. To his surprise and pleasure, he later noticed Aretha had showed up. This time her headband and wristbands were a hot pink, which were as dramatic as her yellow-green ones, especially the way they contrasted with her sneakers. He felt drab moving over and standing next to her.

“I’m glad you made it,” Jack said. “I trust you got the new samples. At autopsy the cases were identical. The lung pathology was again off the charts.”

“I got the samples,” Aretha said. “Thank you, and I’ve already inoculated new tissue cultures.”

“Great,” Jack said. “Have you spoken with Warren about getting in the game tonight?”

“Yes, and I’m happy to say I’m playing with you guys.”

“Perfect,” Jack said. He passed her Warren’s ball, but before she could step out onto the court to take a shot, the playing teams came in their direction. “And I guess there’s no need to ask you if you have any results yet from the MPS machine.”

“Correct,” Aretha joked. “You’ll be the first to know. I want to let it run another eight hours at least. The more time that passes, the higher the chances of success. I also spoke again with Connie Moran of the CDC.”

Jack again made a pained expression, as he’d done the last time they were together when she’d told him she’d contacted the CDC.

“Don’t worry,” Aretha said. “I’ve not given her any more details, and she hasn’t asked. For her it is just an unknown. But what I wanted to say is that she, too, is using the MPS machine, and they are far more experienced with it than I am. There’s a good chance they can have a result way before me.”

“If they do and come back with a weird virus, don’t spill the beans about its origins. What I didn’t tell you is that my boss at the OCME is also my wife.”

“Really,” Aretha said. “Wow. I’m impressed.”

“Well, it raises the consequences if the CDC suddenly shows up and starts nosing around. I’ll be in the doghouse big-time, domestically and professionally.”

“Got it,” Aretha said. The playing teams swept back toward the other basket as the ball changed hands. Aretha stepped onto the court and drilled a moderately long shot. Jack rebounded.

“What I also wanted to tell you is that the CDC also used the electron microscope on the sample,” Aretha said. “And contrary to what the people in New Jersey told you, they did see virus.”

“That’s interesting,” Jack said. Suddenly the thought occurred to him that Dr. Stephen Friedlander could have been lying. Prior to that moment, the idea had not entered his mind. Unfortunately, there was no way to know. It wasn’t like he could call and ask.

“Connie said she was going to email me some of the photomicrographs,” Aretha said. “I can forward them to you if you are interested.”

“By all means,” Jack said.

It took another half hour for Jack, Aretha, Warren, Flash, and Spit to get into the game, but once they did they functioned as a well-oiled machine. They won their first game so easily that they became overconfident and ended up being defeated in the second. Disgusted with themselves, they slunk off the court. No one person had been at fault. Everyone had missed baskets that they should have made.

“That’s it for me,” Jack said. Like the others, he was eager to atone for his poor performance, but he was feeling guiltier about having abandoned Laurie to deal with her parents alone than he was feeling embarrassed about his play.

“Ah, come on,” Warren pleaded. “Let’s not let these mothers feel they are better than us. One more game, that’s all I ask. Look at the way they’re strutting around like they are kings of the mountain. Shit!”

“Sorry,” Jack said. “I’m on borrowed time as it is. If I don’t go home now, I’ll have to come and park on your couch. And ultimately, you don’t want that.”

“That’s a hell of a lot better than letting these bastards think they’re so great. One game. Be a sport!”

“Sorry,” Jack said. Once he made up his mind, he was adamant. He said goodbye to Aretha and encouraged her to contact him the moment she had anything. He bumped fists with Flash and Spit and commiserated anew for their combined ignominy before starting out for home.

By now the rest of the playground was deserted. So were the sidewalks along the street. At the curb Jack waited for a yellow cab to pass before he started across, but he didn’t get far. Off to his left he saw the lights in the Chevy Suburban that Warren had pointed out earlier suddenly switch on. Then the vehicle quickly swerved out into the street and lurched forward in Jack’s direction with a screech of tires.

For the next second Jack debated whether he should dash forward to get to the other side or retreat to the curb behind him, but the delay cost him the opportunity to do either. The Suburban now screamed to a stop and the driver leaped from its cab. He was one of the tallest men Jack had ever seen, and he was armed. In his right hand he had an automatic pistol with an attached silencer. The suddenness of the episode had Jack momentarily paralyzed. It was as if he were watching the unfolding event on a screen rather than as a participant.

At the same instant the man was jumping out of the car, Jack was aware of a burst of activity from another parked SUV to his right and behind him. But he didn’t turn to see what it was. He was hypnotized by the man in front of him who’d come around the front of his SUV and raised his silenced gun with both hands and pointed it at Jack.

The noise that followed was like someone striking a couch cushion with a baseball bat, not once but quickly several times in a row. They were the kind of sounds that were felt as much as heard. Jack started, expecting he’d been shot but confused as to why he didn’t feel anything. Then, to his mounting shock, the man in front of him, who was no more than twenty feet away, fell over backward as if he’d been smacked in the face by an invisible hand.

The next thing Jack knew was that four men rushed by him, heading toward the downed individual. By now Jack had recovered enough to run ahead himself. He reached the group as three of the men hastened to hoist the stricken man off the pavement by his arms and his legs. The fourth man leaped into the Suburban, whose engine was still running. It was like a team executing a maneuver that they had practiced many times.

“What the hell is going on here?” Jack demanded. But the men, who Jack could see were all relatively young and of Asian descent, ignored him. Once they had the tall gunman off the ground, they wasted no time. They again went past Jack at a run, awkwardly carrying the stricken individual, who was not moving. At that moment the first Suburban laid a bit of rubber as it accelerated down 106th Street in the direction of Columbus Avenue.

From the direction of the playground Jack could hear someone yell his name, but he ignored it. Instead, he rushed after the mystery men lugging the wounded man. “Who are you people?” he shouted.

The busy men didn’t bother answering or even to look at Jack. They concentrated on literally tossing the unconscious man into the backseat of the second black Suburban, then jumping in themselves. Jack tried to grab the arm of one of the men but received a vicious Karate-style blow to his chest for his effort, which caused him to stagger backward to retain his footing.

With yet another screech of tires, the second Suburban sped off in the direction of the first. At the same moment, a sizable contingent of fellow basketball players reached Jack’s side, where he was standing dumbfounded in the street. Among them were Warren and Flash.

“You okay?” Flash demanded, grabbing Jack by his upper arms and looking directly into his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Jack admitted. He felt dazed. He detached himself from Flash’s grasp and glanced down at the front of himself, as if looking for signs of blood. “I guess I’m okay.”

“What the fuck was that all about?” Warren demanded.

“I don’t know,” Jack said. “I don’t even know if I was involved or not. It all happened so fast.”

“Were those gunshots we heard?” Flash demanded.

“I’m afraid so,” Jack said. “But they weren’t directed at me. The tall guy you said was hanging around the neighborhood seemed to get shot... unless the whole thing was staged.” The idea occurred to him out of the blue. The entire episode seemed unreal.

Jack got his mobile phone out of the gym bag he always brought to the playground to carry a towel and extra wristbands. He turned on the flashlight app and walked back to where he thought the guy had been shot, if he had been shot.

Warren and a few others followed him. “What the hell are you looking for?” Warren asked.

“Blood,” Jack said. “But I don’t see any.” He turned off the light.

“I saw what happened,” Warren said. “Granted, I was back on the basketball court, but I saw the dude get shot. No question. What’s going on, Doc? I need to know. I can’t have this kind of shit happening around here. Sometimes I can’t decide if having you in the neighborhood is an addition or a liability. These other dudes also looked possibly Chinese from where I was. Were they?”

“I’m not sure,” Jack said. “They were Asian. That I’m sure of. And young, like college age. None of them spoke, or I don’t think they did. It all happened so fast.” Jack started to dial 911, but Warren grabbed his hand and stopped him.

“Who are you calling?” Warren asked.

“The police,” Jack said.

“Why?” Warren asked.

“I can’t believe you’re even asking,” Jack said. “Someone seems to have been shot. You even said so yourself.”

“Yeah, but why call the police? What the fuck are they going to do at this point? You tell them you think someone got shot and was taken away in one of two black Suburbans. That’s bullshit. You’re just going to cause yourself and the neighborhood a lot of grief for nothing.”

“The idea of not calling the police didn’t even occur to me,” Jack said.

“Well, I think you should give it some serious thought,” Warren said. “For me, as a black man, I wouldn’t call. There’s no victim, and they sure ain’t going to stop and search all one hundred thousand black Suburbans that are roaming around the city tonight, so there isn’t going to be a victim. You’re a medical examiner, and you know all that shit about corpus delicti. I tell you, the police are going to do zip except use it as an excuse to stop and harangue every black kid around here wearing a hoodie.”

Jack pondered the situation because he truly respected Warren and cared about the neighborhood. He also again questioned if he’d been involved in the episode or somehow just caught up in it by accident. Yet he remembered the man pointing the gun at him, and Warren had said the man had been hanging around since midafternoon. Combining that with having met more Chinese people earlier today than he ever had made it hard to dismiss. Yet was it a coincidence? He had no idea.

“What about this Chinese billionaire you had lunch with?” Warren asked. “Did you guys leave on an okay note?”

“Not entirely,” Jack admitted. “But I was the one who was bent out of shape. The man had me probed, personal life and all, and it provoked me enough to leave before I did something or said something I’d regret.”

“What is it that you were investigating out there? You didn’t answer my question earlier about whether it involves anything shady.”

“There is possibly something shady,” Jack said. “But certainly not something I would imagine could lead to murder.”

“You’re beating around the bush, Doc,” Warren complained. “Tell me straight!”

“I was looking into some sort of irregularity in the way a transplant organ was obtained for a young woman who I autopsied on Monday,” Jack began. “I don’t know if you are aware, but there’s a very elaborate system set up so that the allocation of available organs is fair. Unfortunately, there are episodes where the system is perverted, like for celebrities, because the supply doesn’t come close to the demand, and it can be a life-threatening situation.”

“That sounds pretty serious to me,” Warren said. “Did any of the people you met act pissed you were out there asking questions?”

“Quite the contrary,” Jack said. “They treated me like a hero, since it had taken me some effort to identify the woman I autopsied. They weren’t aware that she’d died, and it was important for them to know, as they were responsible for her surgery. The Dover Valley Hospital is a recently certified transplant center, and they need to follow their cases closely.”

“All right, Doc,” Warren said. “What’s it going to be? You going to call the cops or not? If you are, we’re out of here. If you’re not, we’ll go back and run a few games.”

“I don’t know,” Jack said as he continued to dither. Yet he was slowly calming down and able to think more clearly. What he realized was that he didn’t know whether it was a crime not to report a crime. And if he was involved, whether he’d be considered an accessory after the fact.

“I think I have to call,” Jack said.

“Okay,” Warren said. “It’s your decision. But I tell you what, I’ll have some kids watching out for strange cars along your block. I’ll let you know if those dudes or any of their friends come back.”

“Thank you, Warren,” Jack said as he fist-bumped his friend. Jack was appreciative of the offer. From past experience, Jack knew that when Warren said he’d keep an eye out, he meant it.

As Jack dialed 911 and put the phone to his ear, Warren herded all the other players together and announced that b-ball was over for the night. He specifically said he didn’t want any witnesses to be available when the police arrived.

When the 911 operator came on the line, Jack described what had happened and gave his name and location. After making sure Jack felt safe, the operator told him to remain where he was and that police officers from the Twenty-fourth Precinct would be dispatched immediately.

“I still think you are making a mistake,” Warren called out, as he and all the others, including Aretha, started home, with most heading in the direction of Columbus Avenue.

Jack waved to indicate he had heard, but didn’t call out. Crossing the street, he went to his stoop and sat on the top step. A bit of light shown out through the door lights. It was a dark night, with isolated puddles of illumination under the widely spaced streetlamps. Even the lights on the basketball court had gone out with no one playing. His heart, which had been racing, began to slow.

Within minutes, Jack could hear the typical undulations of an approaching siren in the distance. As he waited for the police to arrive, he planned what he would say. Then, because of the unreality of the experience, his mind went back to the thought that the episode possibly had been elaborately staged. The main trouble with the idea was that there would have to have been a reason, and Jack couldn’t think of one. Had he been caught in the situation by chance? He doubted it. According to Warren, the Suburban had been sitting there for hours, only to pull out into the street just at the exact moment he’d stepped off the curb. At the same time, thinking of the event as a true attempt on his life was equally as mystifying and confusing. Not only was he forced to explain why someone would want him dead, he’d have to explain why he’d been saved and by whom. It would mean there were two unknown groups: one that wanted him eliminated for an unknown reason and another that wanted to make sure he wasn’t.

The undulating police siren eased off as the squad car made the turn from Central Park West onto 106th Street. It then drove toward Jack much faster than Jack thought reasonable. In the back of his mind he could hear Warren advising him not to call the police. Certainly, if there had been kids playing in the street, which they often did, they could have been in jeopardy.

The police car skidded to a stop and two uniformed officers leaped from the vehicle, donning their peaked hats in the process. With their hands on their holstered guns as if they thought they might have to use them, they scanned the area. It made Jack wonder what the message was that they had gotten. Both were Caucasian, with one decidedly older and heavier than the other. Simultaneously, they saw Jack as he got to his feet.

“Are you Jack Stapleton, who put in the call about gunplay in the street?” the older one called out.

“I am,” Jack said as he passed between parked cars and walked out into the street to face the policemen. He squinted from a small LED flashlight held by the younger cop, who was shining it directly in Jack’s face.

“An Asian man was shot by four other Asian men,” Jack began. “Either that or the five men were a troupe and playacting very convincingly.” Jack went on to describe what had happened as far as he could remember. He said on the spur of the moment that he thought the taller Asian man was aiming the gun at him, but he admitted that might not have been the case. Jack explained that the shooters were in a second Suburban behind Jack, essentially putting Jack in between them. “It all happened so fast, it’s hard to remember the details,” he added.

“Did you happen to catch any of the vehicles’ tag numbers?” the older policeman asked. He eyed Jack’s beat-up, drab workout clothes. Jack wondered if he thought he was homeless.

“No,” Jack said. “It was dark and, as I said, it all went down so quickly. I wouldn’t even be able to tell you what state the plates were from.”

“Where exactly was the location that this individual was supposedly shot?” the younger officer asked. Jack could tell by his tone that he was skeptical of the whole story, which Jack understood was unique, since homicide perpetrators generally didn’t make a habit of collecting their victims.

“Just about where your squad car is,” Jack said.

The older officer directed the younger to back up the vehicle. When the younger emerged from behind the wheel, he now had a monstrous flashlight.

“Okay, where, exactly?” the older man asked.

Jack tried to remember how the Suburban was oriented and then how the tall man had come out of the car before pointing the gun in Jack’s direction. “Somewhere around here,” Jack said, indicating with his finger a circular area ten to twelve feet in diameter.

The younger officer used the light to illuminate the pavement in the indicated area. It was powerful enough to turn night into day. All three searched. There was no blood.

“Are you sure you didn’t imagine this?” the older policeman said, looking askance at Jack.

“Were there any other witnesses?” the younger policeman asked.

Instead of lying and saying no to witnesses, Jack explained that he was a medical examiner at the OCME who had been playing basketball on the now darkened court. He pointed out the playground. He also pointed out his house, saying he was the landlord. This new information dramatically altered the atmosphere of the interrogation and increased the respect the two officers showed him.

“It is still a very strange story, sir,” the older policeman added after a bit more discussion. “By the way, my name is Sergeant Bob Adams. This is Officer Stan Perkins.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Jack said. “I appreciate your responding to my nine-one-one call. But I’d like to ask, what exactly are you going to do about this episode?”

“We’ll file a report and alert the detective division,” Sergeant Adams said, tripping over his words. “I don’t know what else we can do. Whether the detectives do any follow-up is up to them. I mean, without a body or some blood, there isn’t much to go on. Is there something specific you would like us to do or think we ought to do? Would you like us to request some surveillance?”

“I guess not,” Jack said. Although Jack wasn’t terribly surprised that the policeman was essentially saying nothing would be done, once again he was impressed with Warren’s street smarts. Warren had guessed the police would do little under the circumstances. Jack just hoped the second part of Warren’s prediction wasn’t correct — namely, that the cops would use the event as an excuse to harass black teenagers in the neighborhood. That had been a problem in the past and might happen again if police surveillance was instituted.

“We’ll also let the duty desk know about the incident,” Officer Perkins said. “They will alert any patrols tonight to look out for suspicious behavior involving Suburbans with Asian drivers.”

“I think they’re long gone,” Jack said.

“I think you’re right,” Sergeant Adams said.

After the police had left, Jack wearily climbed the stairs up to the apartment. Although he hadn’t played as much basketball as usual, he felt particularly exhausted. He wondered if it had to do with the scary and weird shooting or all the running around he’d done that day. The frustrating part about the day was that despite all the effort, he really wasn’t any closer to a definitive cause of Carol Stewart’s death, and now Helen VanDam’s, nor to understanding the curious details surrounding Carol’s lifesaving surgery.

Getting his keys out to open the apartment door, Jack took the opportunity to check the time. Inwardly he groaned when he saw it was almost 9:30. The guilt of having abandoned Laurie to her parents, which had kept him from playing a third basketball game, came back with a vengeance. He was certainly much later than he had intended.

Jack paused for a moment to think what he would say. He thought about using the shooting as an excuse but then quickly nixed the idea. If he’d been an integral part of the event, which was still a possibility, Laurie would insist he be more forthcoming about what he had been up to that day. He was reasonably sure that if Laurie heard the details, she’d demand he turn the whole affair over to the authorities. Since he was not willing to do that as of yet, he thought it might be best not to bring up the shooting. After all, he rationalized, he didn’t know for sure it involved him.

As it turned out, Jack’s reception was far better than he’d feared, even though he had ended up being gone for two hours. Apparently, the children had been uncommonly angelic, including Emma. Consequently, Laurie was in a fine mood and wasn’t at all captious about his playing, and Sheldon proclaimed he was jealous of the exercise, wishing he was thirty years younger so he could have participated. Jack had smiled at this suggestion but inwardly was glad Sheldon was not thirty years younger. Not everybody could play street basketball, as it was more a contact sport than the uninitiated imagined. Dorothy was the only one who attempted to poison the atmosphere by making a point of complaining that Jack had not been available to help put the children to bed. To her credit, Laurie immediately came to Jack’s aid by describing how easy it had been, even with Emma, who was often a struggle to get to nod off.

Despite the unexpected general bonhomie, the moment it was socially appropriate, Jack excused himself to take a quick shower. While he did so, Laurie was happy to warm up the pasta they had had for dinner.