Robin Cook - Chromosome 6

“He’s got his hands full,” Jack said.

“Have you looked at today’s cases?” Laurie asked, as she started glancing through the twenty or so folders.

“I just got here myself,” Jack admitted. He continued reading the article.

“Oh, this is good!” Jack commented after a moment’s silence. “They’re alleging that there is some kind of conspiracy between us and the police department. They suggest we might have deliberately disposed of the body for their benefit. Can you imagine! These media people are so paranoid that they see conspiracy in everything!”

“It’s the public who is paranoid,” Laurie said. “The media likes to give them what they want. But that kind of wild theory is exactly why I’m going to find out how that body disappeared. The public has to know we are impartial.”

“I was hoping you’d have a change of heart and given up on that quest after a night’s sleep,” Jack mumbled while continuing to read.

“Not a chance,” Laurie said.

“This is crazy!” Jack said, slapping the page of newsprint. “First they suggest we here at the ME office were responsible for the body disappearing, and now they say the mob undoubtedly buried the remains in the wilds of Westchester so they will never be found.”

“The last part is probably correct,” Laurie said. “Unless the body turns up in the spring thaw. With the frost it’s hard to dig more than a foot below the surface.”

“Gads, what trash!” Jack commented as he finished the article. “Here, you want to read it?” He offered the front pages of the paper to Laurie.

Laurie waved them off. “Thanks, but I already read the version in the Times ,” she said. “It was caustic enough. I don’t need the New York Post ’s point of view.”

Jack went back over to Vinnie and quipped that he was willing to return his paper to its virginal state. Vinnie took the pages without comment.

“You are awfully sensitive today,” Jack said to the tech.

“Just leave me alone,” Vinnie snapped.

“Whoa, watch out, Laurie!” Jack said. “I think Vinnie has pre-mental tension. He’s probably planning on doing some thinking and it’s got his hormones all out of whack.”

“Uh-oh!” Laurie called out. “Here’s that floater that Mike Passano mentioned last night. Who should I assign it to? Trouble is I don’t think I’m mad at anyone and to forestall guilt I’ll probably end up doing it myself.”

“Give it to me,” Jack said.

“You don’t care?” Laurie asked. She hated floaters, especially those which had been in the water for a long time. Such autopsies were unpleasant and often difficult jobs.

“Nah,” Jack said. “Once you get past the smell, you got it licked.”

“Please!” Laurie murmured. “That’s disgusting.”

“Seriously,” Jack said. “They can be a challenge. I like them better than gunshot wounds.”

“This one is both,” Laurie commented, as she put Jack down for the floater.

“How delightful!” Jack commented. He walked back to the scheduling desk and looked over Laurie’s shoulder.

“There’s a presumptive, close range shotgun blast to the upper-right quadrant,” Laurie said.

“It’s sounding better and better,” Jack said. “What’s the victim’s name?”

“No name,” Laurie said. “In fact, that will be part of your challenge. The head and the hands are missing.”

Laurie handed Jack the folder. He leaned on the edge of the desk and slid out the contents. There wasn’t much information. What there was came from the forensic investigator, Janice Jaeger.

Janice wrote that the body had been discovered in the Atlantic Ocean way out off Coney Island. It had been inadvertently found by a Coast Guard cutter which had been lying in wait under the cover of night for some suspected drug runners. The Coast Guard had acted on an anonymous tip, and, at the time of the discovery, had been essentially dead in the water with their lights out and radar on. The cutter had literally bumped up against the body. The presumption was that it was the remains of the drug runner/informer.

“Not a lot to go on,” Jack said.

“All the more challenge,” Laurie teased.

Jack slipped off the desk and headed for the communications room en route to the elevator. “Come on, grouchy!” he called to Vinnie. He gave Vinnie’s paper a slap and his arm a tug as he passed. “Time’s a wasting.” But at the door he literally bumped into Lou Soldano. The detective lieutenant had his mind on his goal: the coffee machine.

“Jeez,” Jack commented. “You should try out for the New York Giants.” Some of his coffee had sloshed out onto the floor.

“Sorry,” Lou said. “I’m in sorry need of some Java.”

Both men went to the coffeepot. Jack used some paper towels to dab at the spill down the front of his corduroy jacket. Lou filled a Styrofoam cup to the brim with a shaky hand, then sipped enough to allow for plenty of cream and sugar.

Lou sighed. “It’s been a grueling couple of days.”

“Have you been partying all night again?” Jack said.

Lou’s face was stubbled with a heavy growth of whiskers. He had on a wrinkled blue shirt with the top button undone and his tie loosened and askew. His Colombo-style trench coat looked like something a homeless person would wear.

“I wish,” Lou grunted. “I’ve seen about three hours of sleep in the last two nights.” He walked over, said hello to Laurie, and sat down heavily in a chair next to the scheduling desk.

“Any progress on the Franconi case?” Laurie asked.

“Nothing that pleases the captain, the area commander, or the police commissioner,” Lou said dejectedly. “What a mess. The worry is, some heads are going to roll. We in Homicide are starting to worry we might be set up as scapegoats unless we can come up with a break in the case.”

“It wasn’t your fault Franconi was murdered,” Laurie said indignantly.

“Tell that to the commissioner,” Lou commented. He took a loud sip from his coffee. “Mind if I smoke?” He looked at Laurie and Jack. “Forget it,” he said the moment he saw their expressions. “I don’t know why I asked. Must have been a moment of temporary insanity.”

“What have you learned?” Laurie asked. Laurie knew that prior to being assigned to Homicide, Lou had been with the Organized Crime unit. With his experience, there was no one more qualified to investigate the case.

“It was definitely a Vaccarro hit,” Lou said. “We learned that from our informers. But since Franconi was about to testify, we’d already assumed as much. The only real lead is that we have the murder weapon.”

“That should help,” Laurie said.

“Not as much as you’d think,” Lou said. “It’s not so unusual during a mob hit that the weapon is left behind. We found it on a rooftop across from the Positano Restaurant. It was a scoped 30-30 Remington with two rounds missing from its magazine. The two casings were on the roof.”

“Fingerprints?” Laurie asked.

“Wiped clean,” Lou said, “but the crime boys are still going over it.”

“Traceable?” Jack asked.

“Yeah,” Lou said with a sigh. “We did that. The rifle belonged to a hunting freak out in Menlo Park. But it was the expected dead end. The guy’s place had been robbed the day before. The only thing missing was the rifle.”

“So what’s next?” Laurie asked.

“We’re still following up leads,” Lou said. “Plus there are more informers that we’ve not been able to contact. But mostly we’re just keeping our fingers crossed for some sort of break. What about you guys? Any idea how the body walked out of here?”

“Not yet, but I’m looking into it personally,” Laurie said.