Robin Cook: Chromosome 6

Jack helped himself to coffee. No one acknowledged his arrival. After adding a dollop of half-and-half as well as a cube of sugar to his cup, Jack wandered to the door to the lobby. He glanced out, and as he’d expected the area was filled to overflowing with media people talking among themselves and drinking take-out coffee. What he didn’t expect was that many were also smoking cigarettes. Since smoking was strictly taboo, Jack told Vinnie to go out there and inform them.

“You’re closer,” Vinnie said, without looking up from his newspaper.

Jack rolled his eyes at Vinnie’s lack of respect but had to admit Vinnie was right. So Jack walked over to the locked glass door and opened it. Before he could call out his no smoking pronouncement, he was literally mobbed.

Jack had to push the microphones away that were thrust into his face. The simultaneous questions precluded any real comprehension of what the questions were other than about an anticipated autopsy.

Jack shouted at the top of his lungs that there was no smoking, then had to literally peel hands off his arm before he was able to get the door closed. On the other side the reporters surged forward, pressing colleagues roughly against the glass like tomatoes in a jar of preserves.

Disgusted, Jack returned to the ID room.

“Will someone clue me in to what’s going on?” he called out.

Everyone turned in Jack’s direction, but Laurie was the first to respond. “You haven’t heard?”

“Now, would I be asking if I’d heard?” Jack said.

“It’s been all over the TV for crissake,” Calvin snapped.

“Jack doesn’t own a TV,” Laurie said. “His neighborhood won’t allow it.”

“Where do you live, son?” Sergeant Murphy asked. “I’ve never heard of neighbors not allowing each other to have a television.” The aging, red-faced, Irish policeman had a pronounced paternal streak. He’d been assigned to the medical examiner’s office for more years than he was willing to admit and thought of all the employees as family.

“He lives in Harlem,” Chet said. “Actually his neighbors would love him to get a set so they could permanently borrow it.”

“Enough, you guys,” Jack said. “Fill me in on the excitement.”

“A Mafia don was gunned down yesterday late afternoon,” Calvin’s booming voice announced. “It’s stirred up a hornet’s nest of trouble since he’d agreed to cooperate with the DA’s office and was under police protection.”

“He was no Mafia don,” Lou Soldano said. “He was nothing but a mid-level functionary of the Vaccarro crime family.”

“Whatever,” Calvin said with a wave of his hand. “The key point is that he was whacked while literally boxed in by a number of New York’s finest, which doesn’t say much about their ability to protect someone in their charge.”

“He was warned not to go to that restaurant,” Lou protested. “I know that for a fact. And it’s almost impossible to protect someone if the individual refuses to follow suggestions.”

“Any chance he could have been killed by the police?” Jack asked. One of the roles of a medical examiner was to think of all angles, especially when situations of custody were concerned.

“He wasn’t under arrest,” Lou said, guessing what was going through Jack’s mind. “He’d been arrested and indicted, but he was out on bail.”

“So what’s the big deal?” Jack asked.

“The big deal is that the mayor, the district attorney, and the police commissioner are all under a lot of heat,” Calvin said.

“Amen,” Lou said. “Particularly the police commissioner. That’s why I’m here. It’s turning into one of those public-relations nightmares that the media loves to blow way out of proportion. We’ve got to apprehend the perpetrator or perpetrators ASAP, otherwise heads are going to roll.”

“And not to discourage future potential witnesses,” Jack said.

“Yeah, that too,” Lou said.

“I don’t know, Laurie,” Calvin said, getting back to the discussion they’d been having before Jack’s interruption. “I appreciate you coming in early and offering to do this autopsy, but maybe Bingham might want to do it himself.”

“But why?” Laurie complained. “Look, it’s a straightforward case, and I’ve recently done a lot of gunshot wounds. Besides, with Dr. Bingham’s budget meeting this morning at City Hall, he can’t be here until almost noon. By then I can have the autopsy done and whatever information I come up with will be in the hands of the police. With their time constraint, it makes the most sense.”

Calvin looked at Lou. “Do you think five or six hours will make a difference with the investigation?”

“It could,” Lou admitted. “Hell, the sooner the autopsy is done the better. I mean, just knowing if we’re looking for one or two people will be a big help.”

Calvin sighed. “I hate this kind of decision.” He shifted his massive two-hundred-and-fifty-pound muscular bulk from one foot to the other. “Trouble is, half the time I can’t anticipate Bingham’s reaction. But what the hell! Go for it, Laurie. The case is yours.”

“Thanks, Calvin,” Laurie said gleefully. She snatched up the folder from the table. “Is it okay if Lou observes?”

“By all means,” Calvin said.

“Come on, Lou!” Laurie said. She rescued her coat from a chair and started for the door. “Let’s head downstairs, do a quick external exam, and have the body X-rayed. In the confusion last night it apparently wasn’t done.”

“I’m right behind you,” Lou said.

Jack hesitated for a moment then hurried after them. He was mystified why Laurie was so interested in doing the autopsy. From his perspective she would have done better to stay clear. Such politically charged cases were always hot potatoes. You couldn’t win.

Laurie was moving quickly, and Jack didn’t catch up to her and Lou until they were beyond communications. Laurie stopped abruptly to lean into Janice Jaeger’s office. Janice was one of the forensic investigators, also called physicians’ assistants or PAs. Janice ran the graveyard shift and took her job very seriously. She always stayed late.

“Will you be seeing Bart Arnold before you leave?” Laurie asked Janice. Bart Arnold was the chief of the PAs.

“I usually do,” Janice said. She was a tiny, dark-haired woman with prominent circles under her eyes.

“Do me a favor,” Laurie said. “Ask him to call CNN and get a copy of the video of Carlo Franconi’s assassination. I’d like to have it as soon as possible.”

“Will do,” Janice said cheerfully.

Laurie and Lou continued on their way.

“Hey, slow down, you two,” Jack said. He had to run a couple of steps to catch up to them.

“We’ve got work to do,” Laurie said without breaking stride.

“I’ve never seen you so eager to do an autopsy,” Jack said. He and Lou flanked her as she hurried to the autopsy room. “What’s the attraction?”

“A lot of things,” Laurie said. She reached the elevator and pressed the button.

“Give me an example,” Jack said. “I don’t mean to rain on your parade, but this is a politically sensitive case. No matter what you do or say, you’ll be irritating someone. I think Calvin was right. This one ought to be done by the chief.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion,” Laurie said. She hit the button again. The back elevator was inordinately slow. “But I feel differently. With the work I’ve been doing on the forensics of gunshot wounds, I’m fascinated to have a case where there is a video of the event to corroborate my reconstruction of what happened. I was planning on writing a paper on gunshot wounds, and this could be the crowning case.”