Vector

Chapter 15

Tuesday, October 19

7:30 p.m.

Jack liked to work after hours. With few people in the building and no phone calls to distract him, he was able to get much more done than he could during the day. The only person he’d seen over the previous hour had been one of the janitors, who’d whisked by the door with a large dust mop.

For efficiency’s sake, he’d spread himself all around the one office, bunching similar tasks for different cases in the same location. He’d even arrogated Chet’s desk, where he’d set up his microscope for examining the histology slides. Taking advantage of the wheels on his desk chair, he moved from station to station.

“My God, I’m homeless,” a voice said, breaking the silence.

Jack glanced up to see Chet looking forlornly at his commandeered desk.

“Ah, the missing ME!” Jack said. “Talk about me going out in the field! Where on earth have you been? I haven’t seen you since early this morning.”

“I told you I was going to the pathology conference,” Chet said.

“You did?”

“Of course I did,” Chet said. “In the ID room this morning over coffee.”

“Sorry, I guess I forgot,” Jack said. He remembered being preoccupied about his planned apology to Laurie. “I’m kinda in a fog. A lot’s going on.”

“It looks like a cyclone hit this office.”

“I suppose it does,” Jack said. “Here, let me get my stuff off your desk.”

“Hey, not on my account,” Chet said. “I’ve just stopped in to pick up my briefcase. It’s got my exercise clothes. I’m heading over to the gym.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to move my junk?”

“Absolutely,” Chet said. He gingerly stepped over folders Jack had strategically placed around the floor. “You should have come to the conference. It was one of the best I’ve attended.”

“Really?” Jack questioned without interest. He’d turned his attention back to the prisoner-in-custody case, whose slides had appeared in a miraculously short time from the histology lab.

“The last seminar was particularly fantastic,” Chet continued. He pulled open the top drawer of his file cabinet and lifted out his briefcase. “It was on zoonoses. You know, diseases of animals that people can get.”

“I know what zoonoses are,” Jack said absently.

“What made it so good was that a number of city veterinarians were on the panel,” Chet said. “I was bowled over by the number of animal diseases which they’re constantly contending with. It’s incredible.”

“No kidding,” Jack said vaguely. He was trying to find the slides of David Jefferson’s brain, particularly the sections of the temporal lobe.

“And I’m not just talking about the ones you hear about in the media like rabies in raccoons. In fact, one of the guys said that just today there was a major die-off of sewer rats in Brooklyn way out in Brighton Beach.”

Jack’s head popped up. “What was that?”

“As usual, you’re not listening to me,” Chet complained.

“I just missed the last part.”

Chet repeated what he’d said about the rats.

“And this was in Brighton Beach?” Jack asked. He stared off.

“Yes!” Chet said, mildly miffed. As usual it irritated him the way Jack could tune him out. “Why does Brighton Beach surprise you?”

Jack didn’t answer. It was as if he was in a trance.

“Hello!” Chet called, waving his hand in front of Jack’s face. “Earth to Jack! Come in please!” Chet shook his head. “God, I haven’t used that phrase since the third grade.”

“What did the rats die of?” Jack asked. “Was it plague or something like that?”

“No!” Chet said. “That’s the big mystery. They haven’t been able to come up with a cause yet. But they’re very concerned. And just to add to the mystery, two out of the hundreds of dead rats they’ve collected had cutaneous ulcers that turned out to be anthrax.”

“Now that is weird!” Jack said. “Do they think the others had anthrax?”

“No, not at all,” Chet said. “They’ve pretty much ruled out bacteria as the culprit, including anthrax. Now they’re focusing mostly on some kind of virus. The anthrax is just a curious corollary.”

“This is the second time I’ve heard about Brighton Beach today,” Jack said. “And before that, I never knew it existed.”

“What amazed me was to learn that this kind of problem, maybe not quite as dramatic as with the rats, occurs all the time. We just don’t hear about it. These veterinary epidemiologists are busy guys.”

“Do they have any idea where the anthrax came from?” Jack asked.

“Nope,” Chet said. “But it has them thinking that maybe some of the rats are hosts, which is not what the textbooks say. I tell you, it’s fascinating stuff.”

“Let me tell you about my Brighton Beach case,” Jack said. “Do you have a minute?”

“Provided it doesn’t take too long,” Chet said while peeking at his watch. “I don’t want to miss this particular aerobics class. There’s this one girl with a figure to die for who only comes on Tuesday nights.”

Jack gave a quick synopsis of Connie Davydov, focusing on the diagnostic mystery. Jack listed all the agents he’d been considering. Then he asked Chet if he had any ideas.

Chet screwed up his face and pondered for a few moments. He shook his head. “I think you’ve pretty well covered the landscape.”

“It is kinda curious that Connie Davydov suddenly dies from what I think was a mysterious poisoning the day there’s a major rat die-off in the same town.”

“Whoa!” Chet said with a smile. “That’s a giant leap of association, unless, of course, Ms. Davydov spent some quality time during the previous twenty-four hours in the sewer or a portion of the town’s rat population hung out in her apartment.”

Jack ran the fingers of both hands through his hair, while laughing at Chet’s absurd suggestions. “Of course you’re right! But what a strange coincidence, especially when you add the anthrax to the picture, and the case of human anthrax I had yesterday here in Manhattan. What a couple of days!”

“Well, I’m going to leave you to ponder these mysteries,” Chet said. “While I go ponder another more enjoyable one in aerobics class.”

“Excuse me, Dr. Stapleton!”

Jack and Chet turned to see Peter Letterman standing in the doorway in his long white coat with its inevitable pattern of colorful stains. He was holding a computer printout.

“Peter!” Jack said eagerly. He searched the man’s face for a hint of his news, but Peter’s delicate features were unrevealing.

“I’ve run all the assays you suggested,” Peter said.

“And?” Jack questioned expectantly. It was like waiting for the envelope to be opened at the Academy Awards.

Peter handed Jack the printout. Jack scanned it. He had no idea what he was looking at.

“Everything came out negative,” Peter said guiltily. “I haven’t found anything.”

“Nothing?” Jack questioned. He looked up. He was dismayed.

Peter shook his head. “I’m sorry. I know you were counting on a positive so I ran some of the assays several times. Everything came back negative.”

“Oh, crap!” Jack said. He threw up his hands. “So much for my intuition. Maybe even my job.”

“You checked for carbon monoxide?” Chet asked.

“Absolutely,” Peter said.

“And cyanide?” Chet asked.

“Everything that Dr. Stapleton requested plus a few drugs he didn’t mention.”

“Thank you very much,” Jack said. “At the moment I might not sound as appreciative as I should, but I am thankful for you staying late and doing this.”

“If you can think of anything else you want me to test for, give me a call.”

“Right,” Jack said.

Peter left.

“Oh, well,” Jack said. He threw his pen onto his desk. Then he started gathering together all the disparate papers from the various cases and jamming them into their folders.

Chet watched for a few minutes. “If I can think of anything else to test for, I’ll give you a call.”

Jack gave him a weak smile and continued straightening up.

“Are you heading home?” Chet asked.

“Yup,” Jack said. “I think I need a little physical activity myself.”

After saying goodbye, Chet left. As Jack moved his microscope over onto his own desk, he thought about all the strange events over the previous twenty-four hours. It was all a mystery, yet he had to smile. Such conundrums were, after all, what he liked about the job.

After locking his office door, Jack glanced down the hall toward Laurie’s. It was closed. Obviously, Laurie had left without saying goodbye. Jack shrugged. He really didn’t know what to do about her.

Downstairs, Jack unlocked his bike and rolled it out of the receiving dock. After getting it down to the pavement, he got on and cycled out onto First Avenue.

As usual, the ride home was an opportunity for Jack to break away literally and figuratively. Rush hour traffic had already abated, and he flew. The sun had set an hour or so earlier and the sky was a silvery blue-violet that deepened to indigo with every passing moment. In the middle of the darkened park he even got to see stars twinkling in the firmament.

Entering his own street, Jack headed directly for the chain-link fence separating the basketball court from the sidewalk. As he pulled to a stop, he saw what he wanted to see: a game in progress. As the men swept down the court in his direction, he noticed that Warren and Flash were already playing, although on opposing teams.

With a sense of urgency, Jack carried his bike up to his apartment and tore off his clothes. Redressed in his basketball gear, he thundered down the stairs and out across the street. When he arrived at the game’s sidelines, he was slightly out of breath.

Unfortunately, another game had started in the time Jack had taken to get on his togs, which meant he’d have to wait one or maybe two games to get into the friendly fray. As usual, Warren’s team had won so he was still on the court. Flash, on the other hand, was standing in the midst of those waiting to play. Jack walked over to him.

“Hey, man, how’s it going?” Flash said when he caught sight of Jack. It was the typical B-ball court, offhand manner of greeting, even though they’d spent a good part of the afternoon together.

“It’s going fine,” Jack said. “You doing okay?”

“So far,” Flash said. He didn’t look at Jack but rather kept his eyes glued to the game in progress. “I’d be better if we’d won the last game.”

“Listen,” Jack said. “I gave the laboratory all the samples I took from your sister today. So they’re in the works. I want to make sure you’re going to be patient and not do anything rash.”

“I’m cool,” Flash said.

“Glad to hear it,” Jack said. He was reluctant to tell Flash about the lab results just yet. Despite the negative results on the assays Peter had run, Jack was still inclined to intuit that Connie had been poisoned in some way or another.

“I’m curious about where she lived,” Jack said. “You mentioned it was in an area with small wooden cottages. Is it an historic area?”

“I don’t think it’s historic,” Flash said. “But it’s old.”

“How old?”

“Man, I don’t know,” Flash said. “What are you asking me this for?”

Jack shrugged. “Like I said, I’m curious. There aren’t too many parts of New York City that still have cottages. Could they be a hundred years old?”

“Something like that, I suppose,” Flash said. “I think they must have been summer cottages at some point.”

Jack nodded as he tried mentally to visualize a group of old wood-framed houses built as summer cottages a hundred years ago. What immediately came to mind was that their plumbing might be rudimentary at best. In fact, they might even have septic systems instead of being connected to the city sewer.

“What was the address again?” Jack asked. “Was it Fifteen Oceanview Lane?”

“Yeah, that was it,” Flash said. “Why do you ask? Are you going to go out there?”

“I might,” Jack said. “Sometimes medical examiners have to visit the site of the death in order to reconstruct the series of events preceding it. But, of course, that’s usually when the body is still where it was found.”

“But I was told she died at Coney Island Hospital,” Flash said.

“That’s very true,” Jack said. He gave Flash a pat on the back. “But it was supposedly in her bathroom where she got into trouble. Anyway, I’ll keep you informed about whatever I learn.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Flash said.

Jack picked up one of the loose basketballs and took it over to one of the side baskets. He thought he’d warm up by taking a few jump shots. While he did, he mulled over the coincidence of Connie Davydov’s dying from some unknown poison, possibly in her bathroom in the same town where there was a die-off of sewer rats, also caused by some unknown agent.

Jack tossed the ball through the hoop and then watched it bounce in decreasing amplitude until it was stationary. His mind was churning. As crazy as the notion sounded, he couldn’t help but question if Connie and the rats might have succumbed to the same agent. What if it had been some kind of gas and the drains in Connie’s bathroom didn’t have functioning traps? The trouble was, sewer gas stank, and the EMTs would have noted it.

“Ah, it’s impossible,” Jack voiced out loud. He went over and picked up the ball. He tried to think of other things, but he couldn’t. As he took practice shots his mind kept dredging up Connie and the rats and images of the Brighton Beach summer cottages.

Laurie put down the dessert menu and shook her head. “I’m stuffed,” she said. “I can’t possibly eat dessert.”

“Do you mind if I order something that we could both nibble on?” Paul asked. “I know how much you like chocolate.”

“Of course,” Laurie said. “As long as you understand that you’re going to have to eat nine-tenths of it. But I’ll have a decaf cappuccino.”

“Coming up!” Paul said. He raised his hand to get the waiter’s attention.

The evening had gone well, and Laurie was feeling considerably better than she had earlier after talking with Lou and Jack. When Laurie had first gotten home she’d considered canceling the week-old plans she had made with Paul to go to the ballet at Lincoln Center followed by dinner. But after some time by herself she decided that the information she’d gotten from Lou and Jack didn’t necessitate an angry confrontation. She wasn’t entirely confident what they’d said was true, and even if it was, she was more than willing to hear an explanation. It was more the surprise of it all that had upset her.

“How about some dessert wine?” Paul asked.

Laurie smiled and shook her head. They’d had a wonderful red wine with dinner, and Laurie was luxuriating in its afterglow. She knew she’d had quite enough alcohol.

Paul had arrived for the evening with more flowers and an apology for his insensitivity that morning. He’d assured her that he understood her commitment to her work, and he even went so far as to say that he truly admired and valued that she had such a commitment.

As they’d talked, Laurie had been tempted to bring up the issue of the nature of his work in the context of the discussion of hers, but decided against it. In the face of his sincere apology, she didn’t want to seem unappreciative or insensitive. She’d decided to wait for a more opportune time.

And then there’d been the other surprise. Paul had told her that he’d managed to change the Budapest trip until the following weekend in hopes that her schedule would permit her to go. He’d even said she had all week to decide.

The dessert arrived, and it was a piece of vertical chocolate art. At its core was a moist, dark, flourless chocolate cake that Laurie could not resist. After a taste she smacked her lips with delight.

Paul had ordered a brandy. When it arrived, he swirled it, smelled it, and then took a taste. Satisfied, he leaned back and smiled. He was the picture of contentment.

“There’s something I want to ask you, Paul,” Laurie said, sensing there could not be a better time to bring up the work issue. “I know when I asked you this question this morning, it seemed confrontational. I didn’t mean it to be, and I certainly don’t mean it to be now, but I’d like to know what kind of business you are in.”

Paul stopped swirling his brandy and regarded Laurie with his coal-black eyes. “Why do you want to know?” he asked with a calm, even voice.

“As your future wife, I’d think you’d want me to know,” Laurie said with some surprise. She didn’t expect his response to be a question. “If you didn’t know what I did, I’d certainly want to tell you.”

“My response this morning was to ask if it mattered,” Paul said. “Does it?”

“It could,” Laurie said. “Take my job. My own mother has this distorted idea that it’s ghoulish. You could have felt the same way.”

“Well, I certainly don’t.”

“I’m glad,” Laurie said. “But you get my point. I don’t think my mother would have married my father if he’d been a medical examiner, at least I don’t think so.”

“Are you trying to tell me that if my business is something you don’t approve of, you won’t marry me?”

“Paul, this is not an argument,” Laurie said. “Now you are scaring me by making this discussion into something it needn’t be. Please tell me what your business is.”

“I’m in the defense business,” Paul said with an edge to his voice.

“Okay, that’s a start,” Laurie said. She looked down into the swirled surface of her cappuccino. “Can you be a little more specific?”

“What is this, an inquisition?” Paul demanded.

“No, Paul, as I said, this is a discussion.”

“And such an entertaining discussion!” Paul said sarcastically.

“Why are you being so defensive? This doesn’t sound like you.”

“I’m being defensive because too many people have the same prosaic response about the arms business.”

“And you think I’m going to have the same response?”

“It’s possible.”

“What is it you sell?”

“I sell arms. Isn’t that enough? Can’t we talk about something else?”

“You mean like cannons, bombs, or guns.”

“A little of all of them,” Paul said. “Whatever is in demand.”

“What about Bulgarian AK-47 assault rifles?” Laurie asked.

“Sure,” Paul said, surprised at such a specific question. “It’s one of my preferred products. It’s a reliable, inexpensive, well-made weapon. Much better than the Chinese version.”

Laurie closed her eyes. She could see a montage of images of Brad Cassidy’s body and his grieving parents. She remembered how she’d felt when Shirley Cassidy said that her son was selling Bulgarian AK-47s to other skinheads. To think that Paul could be involved in such things was hard to comprehend, especially recalling the mayhem from guns she’d witnessed over the years in her professional position as a medical examiner.

Laurie took a deep breath. She was conscious her emotions were getting the best of her, and in such circumstances she knew she had a tendency toward tears. She didn’t want to cry. Whenever she did, it irritated her to no end because it invariably precluded further discussion. She opened her eyes and looked at Paul. She read his expression as defensively arrogant.

“Do you ever think of the consequences of the guns you sell?” Laurie asked. She wanted to keep the conversation going.

“Of course,” Paul said flippantly. “They provide people with the ability to defend themselves in a dangerous world.”

“What about when the guns end up in the hands of violent, right-wing fringe groups?” Laurie asked. “Like skinheads?”

“They have a right to defend themselves just like anyone else.”

“The problem is, with such bigoted hate groups, the guns tend to get used and they kill people.”

“Guns don’t kill people,” Paul said cavalierly. “People kill people.”

“Now you’re sounding like a National Rifle Association spokesperson,” Laurie said.

“The NRA has some very good points,” Paul said. “Like the fact that the Constitution itself very specifically gives us the right to bear arms. When the government intervenes like it did with the Omnibus Crime Bill, it’s acting blatantly unconstitutionally.”

Laurie stared at her potential fiancé-to-be and shook her head. She couldn’t believe they could be so far apart on such an important issue when they were so compatible in so many other ways.

Paul tossed his napkin onto the table. “I’m frankly disappointed that your response to my business has turned out to be exactly the hackneyed one I was worried about. Now you know why I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“I’m disappointed myself,” Laurie said. “I don’t like to think of you selling guns, particularly those Bulgarian assault rifles, wherever it is you sell them. I mean, you don’t sell them in this country anymore, do you?”

“It’s against the law, thanks to the unconstitutional Omnibus Crime Bill,” Paul said.

“That’s not what I asked,” Laurie said. “I know they are banned. I asked you if you sold them.”

Laurie stared at Paul. For a few moments he didn’t respond. His only movement was the rise and fall of his chest with his respiration. Their eyes were locked in a kind of duel.

“Aren’t you going to answer?” Laurie demanded incredulously.

“It’s such a stupid question,” Paul said haughtily, “I don’t think it deserves an answer.”

“But I’d like one,” Laurie said defiantly.

Paul took a drink from his brandy snifter, held the liquor in his mouth for a moment, then swallowed. “No, I don’t sell Bulgarian AK-47s in the United States. Are you satisfied?”

Laurie took a sip from her cappuccino. She didn’t answer herself while she mulled over the conversation. She wasn’t satisfied at all. In fact she was angry about the way Paul had responded to her reasonable questions. The good side was that the anger chased away her tendency toward tears. Enflaming her further, Paul was regarding her with an irritating superciliousness.

“Frankly I’m not pleased about any of this,” Laurie said. “What prompted me to ask about the nature of your work was that I had been told you were in the arms business.”

“By whom?” Paul demanded.

“I don’t think that’s relevant,” Laurie said. “But from the same source, I was told that you were convicted of cocaine possession. Is there anything you’d like to say about that?”

Paul’s eyes blazed in the reflected glow from the candle on the table. “This truly is an inquisition,” he snapped.

“You can call it what you like,” Laurie said. “From my perspective, it’s clearing the air. These are issues which I should have heard from you, not someone else.”

Without warning Paul stood up. His chair tipped over backward and crashed to the floor. Other diners looked up from their quiet meals. Several waiters rushed over to right the chair.

“I’ve had just about as much of this as I can take,” Paul snarled. Angrily he reached into his pocket and yanked out his billfold. He took several hundred-dollar bills and tossed them contemptuously onto the table.

“This should cover the entertainment,” he said. Then he walked out of the restaurant.

Laurie was mortified. She’d heard about such scenes occurring in public but certainly had never been involved in one herself. Timidly she picked up her cappuccino and took a few sips. Intellectually she knew it was silly for her to pretend that she wasn’t bothered by what had transpired, but she couldn’t help herself. She felt bound to maintain a charade of calm decorum. She even waited until she finished her coffee to request the check.

When she emerged from the restaurant fifteen minutes later, she was mildly concerned that Paul might be waiting for her. She was relieved when he wasn’t because she didn’t want to talk to him, at least not for a while. She stood at the curb to get her bearings. The restaurant was on Columbus Avenue on the Upper West Side. She was about to raise her hand to flag down a taxi to take her downtown when she realized she was only twenty or so blocks from Jack’s. She decided to pay him a visit. More than anything else, she needed a friend.

When she got into a cab and gave Jack’s address, the driver, who was a born and bred New Yorker, turned around and asked her to repeat it. After she had, he raised his eyebrows as if to say she was crazy, and they were off.

With little traffic, the ride went quickly. The driver turned left off Columbus as soon as he could and headed north on Central Park West. Laurie had to point out Jack’s building because there was no number.

“You gonna be all right, miss?” the driver inquired after she’d paid. “This is a rough neighborhood.”

Laurie assured the man she’d be fine and got out of the cab. Reaching the sidewalk she looked up at the facade of Jack’s building. It looked as sad as always with only a small piece of its decorative cornice still intact and two windows on the third floor boarded up.

Every time Laurie visited she couldn’t help but marvel anew that Jack was still living there. She understood about the basketball, but she thought he could find a better maintained building even if he wanted to stay in the neighborhood.

The foyer was in worse shape than the facade. At one time it had been rather grand, with a mosaic floor and marble walls. Now it was only a shadow of its former self. The floor was missing more than half of its tesserae and the walls were stained and graffiti-filled. None of the mailboxes had functioning locks. Trash littered the corners.

Laurie didn’t bother with the buzzer system. She knew it didn’t work. Besides, the inner door had been broken into in the distant past and never repaired.

As Laurie climbed the stairs, her resolve waned. After all, it was late, and she’d not called and was coming uninvited. She also wasn’t even sure how much she wanted to talk about her evening before she’d had time to mull it over herself.

On the second-floor landing she stopped. From behind the door of the front apartment she heard yelling and screaming. She remembered that Jack had said there was an interminable argument going on in there. It made her sad to think people had such trouble getting along with each other.

Laurie debated whether she should proceed. It wasn’t until she thought about how she’d feel if the tables were turned — how she’d feel if Jack showed up suddenly at her apartment when he was needing a friend. Realizing she’d be flattered, she pushed on. When she got to his door, she knocked. There was no bell.

When the door was yanked open, Laurie had to suppress a smile. The look of surprise on Jack’s stubbled face reminded her of the kind of exaggerated expression a pantomimist might employ. Jack was in his boxer shorts, a V-necked T-shirt, and backless slippers. A medical book was in his hand. He obviously hadn’t expected company except, perhaps, for Warren or one of his other local basketball cronies.

“Laurie!” Jack said as if she were an apparition.

Laurie merely nodded.

For an extended moment they just looked at each other.

“Can I come in?” Laurie finally asked.

“Of course,” Jack said, embarrassed that he’d-not invited her in sooner. He stepped to the side. As he closed the door, he remembered his state of undress. Quickly he disappeared into the bedroom to find some shorts.

Laurie walked into the center of the room. There wasn’t much furniture: a couch, a chair, a bookcase made out of cinderblocks and bare lumber, and a couple of small tables. There were no paintings or pictures on the walls. The only light came from a floor lamp next to the couch, where Jack had obviously been reading. The rest of the room was lost in shadow. An open bottle of beer was on a small side table. A medical dictionary was open on the floor.

Jack reappeared moments later tucking a shirt into khaki shorts. He looked apologetic.

“I hope I’m not bothering you,” Laurie said. “I know it’s late.”

“You’re not bothering me in the slightest,” Jack said. “In fact, it’s a nice surprise. Can I take your coat?”

“I suppose,” Laurie said. She slipped out of it and handed it to him. He made a beeline for his closet.

“How about a beer?” Jack said as he searched for a hanger.

“No, thanks,” Laurie said. She sat down in the frayed and tattered armchair. Her eyes roamed the room. She knew something about what motivated Jack’s domestic asceticism, and it depressed her further. It had been eight years since Jack’s family had been killed in the commuter plane crash, and Laurie wished he felt freer to enjoy his life.

“How about something else?” Jack asked as he came into the cone of light from the floor lamp. “Water, tea, or juice? I even have Gatorade.”

“I’m fine, actually,” Laurie said. “I just had a big dinner.”

“Oh,” Jack said simply. He sat down on the couch.

“I really do hope you don’t mind me dropping in on you like this,” Laurie said. “I was at a restaurant not too far away on Columbus Avenue near the Museum of Natural History.”

“I’m pleased,” Jack said. “I’m glad to see you.”

“So I just thought I’d stop by,” Laurie said. “Since I was so close.”

“It’s okay,” Jack said. “Really. I don’t mind at all. Honest.”

“Thanks,” Laurie said.

“Did something happen at dinner?” Jack questioned.

“Yes,” Laurie said. “A bit of unpleasantness.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “Was it because of what Lou and I told you this afternoon?”

“That had something to do with it,” Laurie said.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Laurie said. “I suppose that sounds illogical, since I’ve come here to see you instead of going home to my apartment to be by myself.”

“Hey, nobody’s going to force you to talk about something you don’t want to talk about.”

Laurie nodded.

Jack couldn’t tell if she was really okay or if she was on the verge of tears.

“Let’s talk about you,” Laurie said, breaking the silence.

“Me?” Jack questioned uneasily.

“I heard that Warren Wilson came by the office today,” Laurie said. “What was that all about?”

Laurie was well acquainted with Warren and knew that he’d never visited the morgue. She and Jack had double-dated with Warren and his girlfriend, Natalie Adams, back when she and Jack had been seeing a lot of each other. They’d even gone on a wild trip to Equatorial Africa together.

“Did you ever meet Flash Thomas?” Jack asked.

Laurie shook her head. “Not that I recall.”

“He’s another one of the basketball regulars,” Jack explained. “His sister suddenly and inexplicably died sometime last night.”

“How awful,” Laurie said. “Did they want you to look into it?”

Jack nodded. “It’s quite a story. Do you want to hear it?”

“I’d love to,” Laurie said. “But first maybe I’ll take you up on the offer of something to drink. I’d love a glass of water.”

While Jack went into the kitchen, he started telling the story of his afternoon. Laurie settled back and was instantly entertained. When she heard about Randolph Sanders’s antics, she was indignant. “The nerve of sending the body out!” she said with emotion. “After you went to the effort of going all the way out there.”

Jack shrugged. “To tell you the truth, I wasn’t all that surprised. In my estimation, he’s always had a chip on his shoulder towards us Manhattan MEs.”

“I think he feels as if he’s been unfairly passed over either as the Brooklyn chief or the deputy chief over here,” Laurie said.

“He’s been passed over, all right, but for good reason,” Jack added.

When Jack got to the part about forcing his way into the funeral home to get the body fluid samples from Connie Davydov, Laurie found herself laughing so hard, she choked on her water.

Jack went on to tell Laurie about all the possible causes of death he’d come up with. He ended by admitting that Peter Letterman had found nothing; all the assays were negative, even the stomach contents.

“Interesting,” Laurie said while she pondered all the points Jack had raised. “Too bad you couldn’t have done a quick autopsy.”

“I was lucky to get the skin sample,” Jack said. “But what specifically would you have been looking for, other than the usual?”

“The EMTs specifically said she was cyanotic?” Laurie questioned.

“Yup,” Jack said. “And they found low arterial oxygen when she got to the hospital to confirm it. That’s why I thought the culprit was some drug that had depressed her respiration. I was so sure that when Peter reported he’d come up with zilch, I was stunned.”

“I would have liked to make sure she didn’t have a congenital right-to-left shunt that had reopened.”

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” Jack said.

“Well, it would explain the clinical situation.”

“Any other ideas?” Jack asked. “Does any particular kind of poison or drug overdose come to mind?”

“If Peter didn’t find anything in her stomach contents, I can’t imagine what it could be,” Laurie said. “But did you consider methemoglobinemia?”

“No, but isn’t that rather rare?” Methemoglobinemia was a condition where the hemoglobin was rendered incapable of carrying oxygen.

“Well, you’re asking me for something that causes cyanosis,” Laurie said. “You should at least consider the nitrates and nitrites which can cause methemoglobinemia. Even the sulfonamides.”

“But wouldn’t that only be with someone who was congenitally susceptible?” Jack asked.

“Probably in relation to the sulfonamides,” Laurie said. “But not necessarily with the nitrates and nitrites. Still, if you want to be complete, you have to consider it.”

“Okay, you’re right,” Jack said. “I’ll ask Peter to assay for them in the morning. Anything else?”

Laurie thought for a few more minutes, but then shook her head.

“There’s one more twist to this story,” Jack said. He then went on to tell Laurie about the rat die-off in the same Brooklyn neighborhood where Connie Davydov had lived.

“Do you think there’s an association?”

Jack shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, but it is a curious coincidence.” He told Laurie that Connie apparently lived in an old cottage in an enclave of similar buildings. He mentioned his idea about the plumbing being primitive.

“Seems like a far-fetched connection to me. If something deadly leaked up from the sewer, why would it only be in one house?”

“You got me,” Jack admitted. “But let’s go on to my other mystery.” Next, Jack told Laurie about Ted’s further analysis of the tiny glittering star. “It’s as if the star were made of flypaper and dropped into a bowl of anthrax spores.”

“Why is it that you get all the interesting cases?” Laurie teased.

“Come on!” Jack said. “I’m serious. Can you explain it? Remember, I cultured all around the star, including the blotter it was sitting on and the desk itself. The PCR test is so sensitive it can detect as little as just a few spores. Everything was clean.”

“You’ve stumped me again,” Laurie said. She glanced at her watch. “Wow! It’s after midnight, and I’m keeping us both up.” She got to her feet.

“Are you going to be okay?” Jack asked. “You’re welcome to stay here. You can have the bed. Half the time I fall asleep out here on the couch anyway.”

“Thanks for the offer,” Laurie said. “You’ve been very hospitable, but I really should go home. I don’t have clothes for tomorrow or anything else.”

“It’s your call,” Jack said. “You’re more than welcome. But if you do go, at least promise me you’ll give me a buzz when you get home. It’s late to be wandering around even your neighborhood.”

“Will do,” Laurie said. She gave Jack a sustained hug.

Jack accompanied Laurie down the stairs and walked her to the corner. It was much easier to catch a cab on Central Park West.

As Laurie rode downtown she thought about the evening. She was thankful for Jack’s hospitality and friendship. Talking with him — even just about work — had calmed her down considerably and provided her with some perspective. What had disturbed her most about the episode with Paul was her inability to have a dialogue with him. She didn’t think of herself as being so rigid that she couldn’t agree to disagree on certain points, although that didn’t include his possibly selling illegal weapons But if she and Paul couldn’t communicate, then Laurie saw no future for the relationship irrespective of their apparent day-to-day compatibility.

By the time Laurie got to her own street, her thoughts had turned to the case Jack had told her about, and she smiled anew about his experience in the funeral home. She hoped he’d not get into trouble for it or for the visit to the Brooklyn ME’s office. She was well aware that Harold Bingham and Calvin Washington had little patience for Jack s maverick methods despite their appreciation of his intelligence and competence

As Laurie undid the myriad locks on her door, her neighbor’s door creaked open. As per usual, Laurie caught a fleeting glimpse of Debra Engler’s frizzy gray hair and bloodshot eye. Debra saw fit to remind Laurie of the lateness of the hour.

Laurie didn’t respond. Her neighbor’s nosiness at any hour of the day or night was the only thing Laurie couldn’t stand about her living arrangement. She slammed her apartment door in protest and redid all the locks. She’d been directly rude to the woman on several occasion and had even told her to mind her own business, all without success.

Laurie petted Tom-2 and took off her coat in that order. Her affectionate Burmese was insistent and would have climbed up her leg if she tried to execute the two moves in reverse order. She even had to put the purring cat on her lap while she phoned Jack.

“Are you still awake?” Laurie questioned when Jack answered with a sleepy-sounding voice.

“Mostly,” Jack answered.

“I’m checking in, as requested,” Laurie said. “I’m home safe.”

“I wish you’d stayed,” Jack said.

Laurie wondered what he truly meant, but from previous experience, she knew better than to try to get him to explain. Besides, it was late. Instead she said, “I thought about Connie Davydov on the way home.”

“Did you come up with any new ideas?”

“I did,” Laurie said. “I thought of something else you could have Peter look for.”

“Good. What is it?”

“Botulinum toxin,” Laurie said. “It would have to be a high level, meaning she’d gotten a big dose.”

There was a silence.

“Jack, are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” Jack said. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious,” Laurie said. “What do you think about botulism as the cause of death?”

“To use your words, it seems far-fetched,” Jack said. “There were no cranial nerve or bulbar symptoms or, for that matter, any symptoms reported suggestive of botulism. Supposedly she walked into the bathroom and collapsed.”

“But botulinum toxin certainly depresses respiration and would cause cyanosis,” Laurie said.

“Yeah, but how many cases are there in a year?”

“More cases than of anthrax,” Laurie said. “And you just had one of those.”

“Okay, I get your point,” Jack said. “I’ll add it to the list along with the nitrates, nitrites, and sulfonamides that I’ll give to Peter in the morning.”

“Thanks for being there for me tonight,” Laurie said. “It meant a lot to me.”

“Hey, any time!” Jack said.

Laurie hung up the phone and snuggled briefly with Tom-2. The thought went through her mind that Jack would be so wonderful if he... if he didn’t act like Jack. Laurie laughed at the absurdity of the thought and got up to get ready for bed.