Michael Baden - Remains Silent

Jake gave Boris and Ned the customary tip. Then, briefly, for the second time, he told his mentor goodbye.

“It’s Wally, Dr. Rosen, reporting in. In my new role as Dr. Winnick, aka Sam Spade.”

Even the sound of his assistant’s voice gave Jake pleasure. “Shoot.”

“I think I’m on to something.”

“Excellent! What’d you find?”

“I’d rather not say till I’m sure. But I may have to spend another night or two.”

It was like Wally to say nothing until he had the full answer. “Take as much time as you want. Are you comfortable?”

“In Turner? Are you nuts?”

Jake hung up, laughing. His door burst open: Pederson, his fury barely contained.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His cheeks were bright red, his eyeglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Bad signs.

“Charlie, it’s not what you think.”

“It’s what I know. Stacy called me just now from the lab. Said you checked in a second case under a lab number that doesn’t correspond to any of the cases downstairs, autopsy or sign-out. You’ve been here how long? You know what the rules are covering private work: never, without my permission. You’re second in charge here. You could hurt both of us.”

Jake had expected the rebuke, but its intensity stung. “Let me explain.”

“Does it have anything to do with Harrigan?”

“He was poisoned. Murdered. Carbon tetrachloride. I have the frozen liver section right here, under the microscope.”

“I don’t care if he was bitten to death by grasshoppers. He didn’t die in New York City. We have no jurisdiction.”

“Actually, we do: a court order obtained by the District Attorney of Queens County.”

“You did that without consulting me?”

Jake shrugged. “You wouldn’t have consented. And I had to know. What would you have done if you thought your best friend was murdered and the killer was getting away with it?”

Pederson’s tone softened. “Let me take a look.” He put his eye to Jake’s microscope. “Centrilobular necrosis- guess you’re right. Sad, but I’m not surprised.”

“Not surprised?” The words hit Jake like a bee sting. “What do you mean?”

“Pete wasn’t the person you think he was. He was a good forensic pathologist, probably a great one. But I know a few things about him that you don’t. It just may be that his past caught up with him.”

“He botched a case? Got in trouble as a kid? Be specific.”

Pederson sighed. “Leave it alone. If I had pancreatic cancer, I’d want to die. Let him rest.” He turned toward the door. “Stick to your job. The morgue doesn’t belong to Harrigan, you, or me.”

“Charlie, I have to call Elizabeth. It’s her right to know.”

“And to not know. Why do you want to hurt her? I thought you were his friend.” He walked out.

Confusion swirled in Jake’s brain like mist. I was his friend. I knew him better than any other man on earth. What did Pederson mean about Pete’s past? He got up and paced his office, trying to reconstruct the years. They had met when Jake was in med school; it was then that their friendship had blossomed. True, Pete hadn’t talked much about his childhood or about his own training, but then neither had Jake. The two men worked in the present, lived for the present, and often, when they shared a case, lived for each other. Everything about Pete was open, even transparent. Still, Jake thought, I’ve been wrong before. I thought my marriage to Marianna meant love forever. Hah! But that was only a few years. With Pete it was decades.

Jake sat down again. Why didn’t Pederson ask about the other sample, the one taken from Mrs. Alessis? Why does he want me to drop the case? Why shouldn’t I tell Elizabeth? Does he know anything about the bones? He rubbed his tired eyes. I’ve got to go on, even if it costs me my job. But I’m stymied. Without the bones there are no other leads. Without Elizabeth’s cooperation, Pete’s murder will go unsolved.

He picked up the phone. One last chance. “Elizabeth, it’s Jake. Bad time?”

“Daniel isn’t here, the kids are doing their homework, I’m relaxing for the first time today after the press frenzy at the office. Yes, it’s a bad time- that is, if you’re calling about Dad.”

“I hate to do this, and I wouldn’t if it weren’t essential. But I may need your help, and if so I need to tell you the truth. Your dad didn’t die a natural death from cancer. He was poisoned. Murdered. We exhumed the body this morning. The proof is irrefutable.”

There was a long silence. Only the sound of Elizabeth’s breathing told him she hadn’t hung up. “Maybe you should try living on top of the earth for a while,” she said at last, “instead of below it with the other worms.”

JAKE CALLED Manny’s cell, told her he was running thirty minutes late, and asked her to meet him on the steps of his house. Her enthusiastic agreement was the only good news he’d had all day.

She wasn’t there. Shit. He checked his watch. Okay, forty-five minutes late. If she’d really wanted to see me, she’d have waited.

He threw open the door. Someone was cooking.

“Manny?” he called, with a burst of glee. “What’s going on?”

Jake heard the sound of paws scrambling on the hardwood floor. A red-furred dog dressed in designer doggie duds careered down the hall and leaped up to the level of his knees. Manny stuck her head out of the kitchen.

“Why is he here?” Jake asked, rumpling Mycroft’s head. “What are you doing?”

“You invited me to dinner, remember?”

“True, but what are you doing in my kitchen?”

“Cooking.”

Sam emerged from behind her, a swipe of something green across his cheek. “Good thing I happened to pass by when she was sitting on your stoop. Philomena’s making us dinner,” he explained.

“She cooks?” Jake asked.

“She’s an artist.”

“Not in my own house,” Manny said. “I only cook in other people’s houses.”

Jake looked at the two of them through narrowed eyes. He’d never seen Manny so relaxed. “I’m in no mood to play house. I’ve got the headache of a lifetime.”

“Wine,” said Manny.

“Aspirin,” Sam said.

Jake opted for wine. Manny ducked into the kitchen and came back with three glasses and a bottle. “I was telling my mother this morning what a jerk you were to me,” she told Jake. “She said a nice girl wouldn’t fight with a doctor- a doctor!- who performed an autopsy on a friend. For my penance, she said I had to cook you dinner. And say a novena.”

Am I hallucinating? “How did she know about the autopsy?”

“I told her.”

“Okay, how did you know?”

“Kenneth told me. He was at the Queens courthouse today. Judge Cookson’s secretary told him.”

“Who’s Kenneth?”

“Hello,” said a female voice, and a man appeared in full makeup, dressed in a sequined dress with a fish-tail train.

I am hallucinating.

“Kenneth is my assistant and my friend,” Manny said. “He’s dressed like that because he’s in a show and because he likes it. He was at Cookson’s chambers today for his legal-secretary education course. One thing you learn in my business is that secretaries talk to secretaries, and-”

“You mean, us girls talk to us girls,” Kenneth interrupted. Manny continued, unfazed.

“- and Kenneth told Cookson’s secretary the gossip about me and you-”

Jake felt his mouth drop open. “Me and you?”

“- so Cookson’s secretary told Kenneth about the exhumation order you had the DA request from him. It’s that simple.”

Jake was stupefied, Manny saw. Serves him right. “By the way,” she said, “you can forget about the novena. I’m a retired Catholic. But I’m making linguine with white clam sauce.”