Robin Cook - Death Benefit

“You get the impression that he lives down here.”

“I’ll be happy if I don’t see that face again.”

“I should think so,” said Pia. “If we come back down here, it means we’re dead.”

Back in the land of the living, George called the on-call pathology resident. Dr. Simonov agreed to meet with them and asked that they come up to the clinical path lab. When Pia and George found him, Simonov was taking a break in a small windowless office with a giant mug of strong coffee on the desk in front of him.

“So what can I do for you guys? It’s not often I get called by medical students. What’s up?”

Simonov was Russian but had lived in the West long enough to almost completely lose his accent. Only the occasional dropped article gave him away. He’d gone to both college and medical school in the States.

“We’re wondering if there was an autopsy performed today on either Dr. Rothman or Dr. Yamamoto or both,” George said. He had suggested to Pia that he do the talking this time. She didn’t care. “They died early this morning when-”

“Yes, I know who they were,” Simonov said. “Everybody in the medical center knows about them. Why are you asking?”

“There are questions about how quickly they died,” Pia said before George could speak. “It was a relentless downhill course despite maximum treatment so that we-”

“No autopsies were done on them here,” Simonov said, cutting Pia off. “Not a lot of autopsies are done anymore in general. It’s a pity, but it is reality. There’s no money. But Rothman and Yamamoto, they would not have been done here under any circumstances. Having died like they did of an infectious disease while working meant that they are definitely medical examiner cases, pure and simple. All we did here was put the bodies in body bags, seal them up, and decontaminate the exterior. They were then picked up by the OCME.” He spelled out the acronym, explaining it stood for Office of the Chief Medical Examiner.

“I know what the OCME is. So do you know the results?”

“Results!” Simonov laughed at Pia’s question. “Maybe in three weeks or more,” he said. “They get a lot of bodies down there, and they generally take their time.”

“Down where?” Pia said. “Where exactly is the OCME?”

“You gonna go down there now? I wouldn’t advise it. But, okay, whatever. It’s on East Side, First Avenue and Thirtieth Street, near NYU Medical Center.”

“Thanks. If we call them up, do you think they’ll answer our questions?”

“Now?”

“Tomorrow.”

“How would I know? Maybe they never had medical students asking questions. But then again it is affiliated with NYU Medical Center, which is a teaching hospital. For all I know they may have a medical student elective.”

“Who should we call? Should we ask for someone in particular?”

“I knew one of the MEs, but he’s no longer there. But they have a PR department. I’d call them. Maybe call the medical legal investigator on the case.”

“Do you think they’d tell us the results if we called?” George asked.

“You mean call the ME’s office?” Simonov smiled and let out a quick, knowing laugh. “You think in this great big city bureaucracy you can just call and they jump and tell you results? Not in a million years. This case is important, they were important guys. It’s going to be a media event. There’s probably going to be lawsuits about safety, that kind of thing. Since it’s an infectious case, the autopsies have probably already been done, but they’re not going to release any results for three, four weeks after the toxicology screens are completed. But there’s not going to be general access to the information, and they definitely won’t give the results to a couple of green medical students.”

“You’re probably right,” Pia said. She knew more than most people about city institutions.

“If I were you, find something else to do. But it’s your life. If you insist on looking into the case, I’d go down there. I wouldn’t try calling on the phone. If you’re there in person and meet with someone who more or less takes pity on you or likes you, you might learn something.” Simonov winked at Pia. She got his inference but ignored it.

“So if you’re really committed,” Simonov continued, “go to the OCME. Just don’t count on getting any answers. As for calling, you might as well call three-one-one.” Simonov was referring to the citizens’ help line-people called to report a cat stuck up a tree or a loud movie set on the street. Simonov checked his watch and picked up his coffee.

“If you decide to call three-one-one, tell them there’s still a big pothole on my street. Been there since Thanksgiving.”

Back out in the rainy night, Pia and George slogged along 168th Street, keeping as far away from the curb as they could. Every time a yellow cab zipped by, it splashed water up onto the sidewalk.

“Well, that was almost useless,” Pia managed against the wind.

“I’m not sure I’d write it off as useless. He reminded us about the politics involved. He also emphasized that there’s undoubtedly going to be a thorough investigation as a prelude to any legal action. I think that’s information you should take to heart. It’s time to drop all this, Pia.”

“Dreamer,” Pia said. “I’m in this until I get some answers.”

“You are impossible,” George commented, as a sudden gust of wind came down from Haven Avenue, halting their forward progress for a moment. They had reached Fort Washington Avenue. Looking to the side, Pia realized they had come abreast of the Black research building.

“What time is it?” Pia asked.

George managed to glance at his watch. “It’s after ten. Time for us to be in bed.” For George the idea of bed had immediate appeal. It brought up the fact that they had had sex that day, or at least Pia had had sex. Ever the optimist, he wondered if just maybe, after his accompanying her back over to the hospital to check on the autopsy, she might consider a continuation. George closed his eyes and screwed up the courage to speak.

“Do you want to come to my room? Stay the night? Or we could go to your room, whichever you prefer.”

“What for?” Pia asked, blankly.

“Well, for one thing, we ended things a little quickly this afternoon. Maybe if we had more time . . .”

“That’s a thought,” Pia said in a preoccupied fashion. “Have you noticed where we’re standing?”

George looked up. In truth he hadn’t been particularly aware of the immediate surroundings.

“We’re just outside the Black building,” Pia added. “It’s after ten, as you said. I want to go up to the lab for another quick visit to check out that damn micro storage locker. I’m not going to be satisfied until I do it, and this is the best time. I’ve been in there fifty times at night like this.”

“No, Pia!” George said firmly. “It’s too big a risk.”

“I don’t think there’s any risk whatsoever. You head back to the dorm. It’ll only take me twenty minutes at most.”

George looked ahead at the dorm looming in the misty night. It beckoned as a haven of warmth and security. He looked back at Pia. She was smiling up at him, confident as usual. Most important, she hadn’t said no to his suggestion that they sleep together. “You really think it’ll be safe, that no one will suddenly pop in?”

“Absolutely. Twenty minutes it’ll take me. I’ll call you as soon as I get back to the dorm.”

“And you remember that whatever you find out, it won’t prove anything?”

“I’m aware of that.”

George’s mind went into overdrive. Maybe it was a good idea. Maybe if she got the damn micro storage locker out of her mind, she’d give up on her self-destructive investigation.