Robin Cook - Blindsight

Bob was clearly taken aback by Laurie’s rebuke. “I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t think what you were saying was a secret. You didn’t say so.”

“You could have thought about it,” Laurie fumed. “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to guess what such a statement would do to my standing around here.”

“I’m sorry,” Bob repeated. “It won’t happen again.”

“You’re right, it won’t happen again,” Laurie said. She turned and headed for the inner door, ignoring Bob as he called out to her. But although she ignored him, her anger had lessened. After all, she had been speaking the truth the day before. She wondered vaguely if she shouldn’t be more uncomfortable with the social and political aspects of her job that Bingham had referred to than with Bob. One of the attractions for Laurie of pathology in general and forensics in particular was that they tried to deal with the truth. The idea of compromise for whatever reason disturbed her. She hoped she would never have to choose between her scruples and the politicking.

After Marlene Wilson buzzed her through, Laurie went directly to the ID office. As per usual Vinnie Amendola was drinking coffee and perusing the sports pages. If the date on the paper hadn’t been that day’s, she might have sworn he’d never left. If he noticed Laurie, he didn’t give any indication. Riva Mehta, Laurie’s office-mate, was in the ID office. She was a slight Indian woman with a dark complexion and a soft, silky voice. On Monday they’d not crossed paths.

“Looks like today’s your lucky day,” Riva teased. She was getting herself some coffee before heading up to the office. Tuesday was to be a paper day for her.

“How so?” Laurie questioned.

Vinnie gave a short laugh without looking up from his paper.

“You got a homicide floater,” Riva said. A floater was a body that had been in water for a period of time. They generally were not desirable cases since they frequently were in advanced stages of decomposition.

Laurie looked at the schedule Calvin had made up that morning. Listed were that day’s autopsies and the people to whom they’d been assigned. After her name were two drug overdoses and a GSW homicide. The GSW stood for Gun Shot Wound.

“The body was hauled out of the East River this morning,” Riva said. “An attentive security man had apparently seen it bobbing past the South Street Sea Port.”

“Lovely,” Laurie said.

“It’s not so bad,” said Vinnie. “It hadn’t been in the water long. Only a matter of hours.”

Laurie nodded in relief. That meant she probably wouldn’t have to do the case in the decomposing room. It wasn’t the smell that bothered her on such cases as much as the isolation. The decomposing room was all by itself on the other side of the morgue. Laurie much preferred to be in the thick of things and relating to the other staff. There was a lot of give and take in the main autopsy room. Often she learned as much from other people’s cases as she did from her own.

Laurie looked at the name of the victim and his age: Frank DePasquale. “Poor fellow was only eighteen,” she said. “Such a waste. And like most of these homicides, the case will probably never be solved.”

“Probably not,” Vinnie agreed as he struggled to fold his newspaper to the next page.

Laurie said good morning to Paul Plodgett when he appeared at the door. He had dark circles under his eyes. She asked him how his famous case was progressing.

“Don’t ask,” Paul said. “It’s a nightmare.”

Laurie got herself a cup of coffee and picked up the three folders for her day’s cases. Each folder contained a case worksheet, a partially filled-out death certificate, an inventory of medico-legal case records, two sheets for autopsy notes, a telephone notice of death as received by communications, a completed identification sheet, an investigative report, a sheet for the autopsy report, and a lab slip for HIV antibody analysis.

As she was shuffling through all the material, Laurie noticed the names of the other two cases: Louis Herrera and Duncan Andrews. She remembered the name Duncan Andrews from the day before.

“That was the case you asked me about yesterday,” a voice said from over Laurie’s shoulder. She turned and looked up into Calvin Washington’s coal black eyes. He’d come up behind her and put a finger by Andrews’ name. “When I saw the name, I thought you’d want the case.”

“Fine by me,” Laurie said.

Each one of the medical examiners had his own way of approaching his autopsy day. Some grabbed the material and went directly downstairs. Laurie had a different modus operandi. She liked to take all the paperwork up to her office to plan her day as rationally as possible. With her coffee in one hand, her briefcase in the other, and the three new files under her arm, Laurie set out for the elevator. She got as far as communications when Sergeant Murphy, one of the policemen currently assigned to the medical examiner’s office, called her name. He bounded out of the police cubicle, dragging a second man behind him. Sergeant Murphy was an ebullient, red-faced Irishman.

“Dr. Montgomery, I’d like you to meet Detective Lieutenant Lou Soldano,” Murphy said proudly. “He’s one of the brass in the homicide department at headquarters downtown.”

“Happy to meet you, Doctor,” Lou said. He stuck out his hand. He was an attractive, dark-complected man of medium height, with well-defined features and bright eyes that just then were riveted to her face. His hair was cropped short in a style that seemed appropriate for his stocky, muscular body.

“Happy to meet you as well,” Laurie said. “We don’t see too many police lieutenants here at the medical examiner’s office.” Laurie felt a bit nervous under the man’s unblinking stare.

“They don’t let us out of our cages too often,” Lou said. “I’m pretty much glued to my desk. But I still like to sneak out once in a while, especially on certain cases.”

“Hope you enjoy your visit here,” Laurie said. She smiled and started to leave.

“Just a moment, Doctor!” Lou said. “I was told that you were assigned to autopsy Frank DePasquale. I wonder if you would mind if I observed the post. I’ve already cleared it with Dr. Washington.”

“Not at all,” Laurie said. “If you can tolerate it, be my guest.”

“I’ve seen a few autopsies,” Lou said. “I don’t think there will be any problem.”

“Fine,” Laurie said.

There was an awkward pause. For a moment no one spoke. Finally Laurie realized the man was waiting for some directions.

“I’m on my way to my office,” Laurie said. “I usually go over the paperwork first. Would you care to come along?”

“I’d be delighted,” he said.

In the elevator Laurie looked at Soldano more closely. He was a square, athletic-

appearing man of obvious intelligence whose rumpled appearance vaguely reminded her of Colombo, the TV detective made famous by Peter Falk. The crease in his suit pants had long since disappeared. Despite the fact that it was only a little after eight in the morning, he had a heavy five o’clock shadow.

As if reading Laurie’s mind, Lou self-consciously ran a hand up and down the sides of his face.

“I guess I look a wreck,” Lou said. “I’ve been up since four-thirty when the DePasquale body floated to shore. Didn’t have a chance to shave. Hope it doesn’t offend you. I’m not trying for the Don Johnson Miami Vice look.”

“I didn’t notice,” Laurie lied. “But why is a detective lieutenant so interested in an eighteen-year-old homicide victim? Is there something special about this case that I should know?”

“Not really,” Lou said. “It’s more personal. Before I got promoted to lieutenant and switched to Homicide, I’d been with the organized crime unit for six years. With DePasquale the two areas overlap. DePasquale was a young hoodlum on the fringes of the Lucia crime family organization. He might have been only eighteen, but he already had a long sheet.”