Robin Cook - Blindsight

Juan introduced Laurie as being from the hospital, then excused himself.

“I don’t remember seeing you at the hospital,” Sara said.

“I’m not from the hospital,” Laurie said. “I’m from the medical examiner’s office.”

“Are you going to do an autopsy on Duncan ’s body?” Sara asked.

“I already have,” Laurie said. “I just wanted to see the scene where he died.”

“Of course,” Sara said. She stepped back from the door. “Come in.”

Laurie stepped into the apartment. She felt extremely uncomfortable knowing she was intruding on this poor woman’s grief. She waited while Sara locked the door. The apartment was spacious. Even from the foyer Laurie could see out over the leafless expanse of Central Park. Unconsciously she shook her head at the senselessness of Duncan Andrews’ taking drugs. At least on the surface his life seemed perfect.

“ Duncan actually collapsed right here in the doorway,” Sara said. She pointed at the floor by the door. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “Just before I knocked he pulled it open. It was as if he’d gone crazy. He was heading outside practically naked.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” Laurie said. “Drugs can do that to people. Cocaine can make them feel like they’re burning up.”

“I didn’t even know he took drugs,” Sara sobbed. “Maybe if I’d gotten over here faster after he called, it wouldn’t have happened. Maybe if I’d stayed Sunday evening…”

“Drugs are such a curse,” Laurie said. “No one is going to know the reason Duncan took them. But it was his choice. You can’t blame yourself.” Laurie paused. “I know how you feel,” she said at last. “I found my big brother after he’d overdosed.”

“Really?” Sara said through her tears.

Laurie nodded. For the second time that day Laurie had admitted a secret that she’d not shared with anyone for seventeen years. This job was getting to her, all right, but in a way she had never expected. The case of Duncan Andrews had touched her in a fashion no other case had ever done.

6:51 p.m., Tuesday

Manhattan

“Christ!” Tony exclaimed. “Here we are waiting again. Every night we wait. I thought last night when we finally caught that prick DePasquale, things would move along. But oh no, we’re back here waiting like nothing happened.”

Angelo leaned forward and tapped the ash from his cigarette into the ashtray, then leaned back. He didn’t say anything. He’d promised himself earlier that afternoon to ignore Tony. Angelo regarded the busy street scene. People were heading home after work, walking their dogs, or coming back from the grocery store. He and Tony were parked in a loading zone on Park Avenue between Eighty-first and Eighty-second, headed north. Both sides of the street were filled with high-rise apartment buildings whose first floors were filled with professional office suites.

“I’m going to get out and do some push-ups,” Tony said.

“Shut the hell up!” Angelo snapped, despite his vow to disregard his partner. “We went over this last night. You don’t get out and do push-ups when we’re waiting for action. What’s the matter with you? You want a neon sign or something to let the cops know we’re sitting here? We’re not supposed to call attention to ourselves. Can’t you understand that?”

“All right,” Tony said. “Don’t get pissed. I won’t get out!”

In utter frustration, Angelo blew through pursed lips and beat a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel with the first two fingers of his right hand. Tony was wearing even for Angelo’s practiced calm.

“If we want to hit the doctor’s office, why don’t we just go in there and do it?” Tony said after a pause. “It don’t make sense wasting all this time.”

“We’re waiting for the secretary,” Angelo said. “We want to be sure the place is empty. Plus, she can let us in. We don’t want to break down any doors.”

“If she lets us in, then she’s there and it’s not empty anymore,” Tony said. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Trust me,” Angelo said. “This is the best way to do what we have to do.”

“Nobody ever tells me anything,” Tony brooded. “This whole operation is weird. Breaking into a doctor’s office is crazy. It’s even crazier than when we broke into the Manhattan Organ Repository. At least there we got a few hundred in cash. What the hell are we going to find in a doctor’s office?”

“If it doesn’t take too long we can see if there’s any cash in here, too,” Angelo said. “Maybe we can also look for Percodan and stuff like that if it will make you happy.”

“Hard way to get a few pills,” Tony muttered.

Angelo laughed in spite of his aggravation.

“What do you think about old Doc Travino?” Tony asked. “Do you think he knows what the hell he’s talking about?”

“Personally, I have my doubts,” Angelo said. “But Cerino trusts him and that’s what’s important.”

“Come on, Angelo,” Tony whined. “Tell me why we’re going in there. Isn’t Cerino happy with this doc?”

“Cerino loves the guy,” Angelo said. “He thinks he’s the best in the world. In fact, that’s why we’re going in.”

“But why?” Tony asked. “Tell me that and I’ll shut up.”

“For some of the guy’s records,” Angelo said.

“I knew it was crazy,” Tony said, “but not that crazy. What are we going to do with the guy’s records?”

“You told me you would shut up if I told you what we were after. So shut up! Besides, you’re not supposed to ask so many questions.”

“There, that’s just what I was complaining about,” Tony said. “Nobody tells me what’s going on. If I knew more about what was happening, I could do more; I could be more help.”

Angelo laughed sarcastically.

“I can tell you don’t believe me,” Tony complained. “But it’s true. Try me! I’m sure I’d have some suggestions, even for this job.”

“Everything is going fine,” Angelo assured him. “Planning is not your strong suit. Whacking people is.”

“That’s true,” Tony agreed. “That’s what I like best. Bam! It’s over. None of this complicated stuff.”

“There’ll be enough whacking over the next couple of weeks to satisfy even you,” Angelo promised.

“I can’t wait,” Tony said. “Maybe it will make up for all this waiting around.”

“There she is,” Angelo said. He pointed ahead to a heavyset woman emerging from one of the apartment buildings. She was busy buttoning a red coat with one hand and holding a hat to her head with the other.

“Okay, let’s go,” Angelo said. “But keep your piece out of sight and let me do all the talking.”

Angelo and Tony got out of the car. They walked over to the woman just as she joined a cab line.

“Mrs. Schulman!” Angelo called.

The woman turned toward Angelo. Her distrustful hauteur evaporated as soon as she recognized the man. “Hello, Mr…” she said, trying to remember Angelo’s name.

“Facciolo,” Angelo offered.

“Of course,” she said. “And how is Mr. Cerino getting along?”

“Just great, Mrs. Schulman,” Angelo said. “He’s getting pretty good with his cane. But he asked me to come over here to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”

“I suppose,” Mrs. Schulman said. “What is it you’d like to talk about?”

“It’s confidential,” Angelo said. “I’d prefer if you came over to the car for a moment.” Angelo gestured toward the black Town Car.

Obviously discomfited by this request, Mrs. Schulman muttered something about having to be somewhere shortly.

Angelo slipped a hand into his jacket pocket and lifted his Walther automatic pistol just enough so Mrs. Schulman could see its butt.