Robin Cook - Blindsight

“I’d be grateful, Peter,” Laurie said. “And you’re right.”

Peter smiled self-consciously. “We went to the same school,” he said.

“Really?” Laurie said. “Where?”

“Wesleyan,” Peter said. “I was two years behind you, but we shared a class. Physical chemistry.”

“I’m sorry but I don’t remember you,” Laurie said.

“Well, I was kinda a nerd then. Anyway, I’ll let you know what I come up with.”

Laurie returned to her office feeling considerably more optimistic about mankind with Peter’s generous offer to help. Going through the day’s autopsy folders, she came up with only a few questions on two of the cases similar to her question about Marion Overstreet. Just to be thorough she called Cheryl to ask her to check them out.

After changing in her office, Laurie went down to the autopsy room. Vinnie had Stuart Morgan “up” and was well prepared for her arrival. They started work immediately.

The autopsy went smoothly. As they were finishing the internal portion, Cheryl Myers came in holding a mask to her face. Laurie glanced around to make sure Calvin wasn’t in sight to complain that Cheryl had not put on scrubs. Happily he wasn’t in the room.

“I had some luck with Marsha Schulman,” she said, waving a set of X-rays. “She’d been treated at Manhattan General because she worked for a doctor on the staff. They had recent chest film which they sent right over. Want me to put it up?”

“Please,” Laurie said. She wiped her hands on her apron and followed Cheryl over to the X-ray view box. Cheryl stuck the X-rays into the holder and stepped to the side.

“They want them back right away,” Cheryl explained. “The tech in X-ray was doing me a favor by letting them out without authorization.”

Laurie scanned the X-rays. They were an AP and lateral of the chest taken two years before. The lung fields were clear and normal. The heart silhouette looked normal as well. Disappointed, Laurie was about to tell Cheryl to remove the films when she looked at the clavicles, or collarbones. The one on the right had a slight angle to it two-thirds along its length, associated with a slight increase in radiopacity. Marsha Schulman had broken her collarbone sometime in the past. Though well healed, there had definitely been a fracture.

“Vinnie,” Laurie called out. “Get someone to bring the X-ray we took on the headless floater.”

“See something?” Cheryl asked.

Laurie pointed out the fracture, explaining to Cheryl why it appeared as it did. Vinnie brought the requested X-ray over to the view box. He snapped the new film up next to Marsha Schulman’s.

“Well, look at that!” Laurie cried. She pointed to the fractured clavicle. They were identical on both films. “I think we’re looking at the same person,” she said.

“Who is it?” Vinnie asked.

“The name is Marsha Schulman,” Laurie said, pulling down the X-rays from the Manhattan General and handing them to Cheryl. Then she asked Cheryl to check if Marsha Schulman had had a cholecystectomy and a hysterectomy. She told her it was important and asked her to do it immediately.

Pleased with this discovery, Laurie started her second case, Randall Thatcher. As with her first case of the day, there was essentially no pathology. The autopsy went quickly and smoothly. Again Laurie was able to document with reasonable certainty that the cocaine had been taken IV. By the time they were sewing up the body, Cheryl was back in with the news that Marsha Schulman had indeed had both operations in question. In fact, both had been performed at Manhattan General.

Thrilled by this additional confirmation, Laurie finished up and went to her office to dictate the first two cases and to make several calls. First she tried Jordan’s office, only to learn that Dr. Scheffield was in surgery.

“Again?” Laurie sighed. She was disappointed not to get him right away.

“He’s been doing a lot of transplants lately,” Jordan’s nurse explained. “He always does quite a bit of surgery, but lately he’s been doing even more.”

Laurie left word for Jordan to call back when he could. Then she called police headquarters and asked for Lou.

To Laurie’s chagrin, Lou was unavailable. Laurie left her number and asked that he return her call when he could.

Somewhat frustrated, Laurie did her dictation, then headed back to the autopsy room for her third and final case of the day. As she waited for the elevator she wondered if Bingham might be willing to change his mind about making some kind of public statement now that there were six cases.

When the elevator doors opened, Laurie literally bumped into Lou. For a moment they looked at each other with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“It was my fault,” Lou told her. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“I was the one who wasn’t looking,” Laurie said.

Then they both laughed at their self-conscious behavior.

“Were you coming to see me?” Laurie asked.

“No,” Lou said. “I was looking for the Pope. Someone said he was up here on the fifth floor.”

“Very funny,” Laurie said, leading him back to her office. “Actually I just this minute tried to call you.”

“Oh, sure!” Lou teased.

“Honest,” Laurie said. She sat down at her desk. Lou took the chair he’d been in the day before. “I made an ID on the headless floater that was found with Marchese. The name is Marsha Schulman. She is Jordan Scheffield’s secretary.”

“You mean Dr. Roses? She was his secretary?” Lou pointed at the flowers, which had not lost any of their freshness.

“One and the same,” Laurie said. “Just last night he told me that she’d not shown up for work. But he also told me that her husband, who’s no Boy Scout, has ties to organized crime.”

“What’s the husband’s name?” Lou asked.

“Danny Schulman,” Laurie said.

“Could that be the Danny Schulman who owns a restaurant in Bayside?” he asked.

“That’s the one,” Laurie said. “Apparently he’s had several brushes with the law.”

“Damn right he has. He’s associated with the Lucia crime family. At least they used his place to run some of their operations like fencing stolen goods, gambling, that sort of thing. We picked up old Danny-boy hoping he’d finger some of the higher-ups, but the guy took the fall without talking.”

“You think his wife might have gotten killed because of his business?” Laurie asked.

“Who knows?” Lou admitted. “Threats could have been made, warnings not heeded. I’ll certainly look into that angle.”

“What a nasty business,” Laurie said.

“That’s an understatement,” Lou said. “And speaking of nasty business, have you gotten any results on Frankie DePasquale’s eyes? Could they document acid?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t heard back yet. Dr. DeVries has not been terribly accommodating. I don’t think he’s looked at the specimen yet. But there is some good news: a young assistant of his is going to help me on the q.t. I think I’ll finally start getting some results.”

“I hope so,” Lou said. “Something big is about to happen in the Queens crime world. There were four gangland-style slayings there last night. People shot in their own homes. And on top of that a friend of Frankie’s and Bruno’s was killed in a funeral home in Ozone Park. Whatever tensions were brewing are bubbling big time.”

“I’d heard there were a number of homicides in Queens,” Laurie said.

“One couple was shot right in their bed while they were sleeping. The other two, one man and one woman, were sleeping as well. As far as we can tell, none of these people had any previous association with organized crime.”