Robin Cook - Blindsight

Laurie sat at her desk to compose her thoughts before returning to the autopsy room for her last case. She was beginning to feel overwhelmed. It felt as if every aspect of her life-personal, professional, ethical-was spinning out of control.

“I’m Lieutenant Lou Soldano,” Lou said politely. He passed his credentials to the bright-eyed secretary at the reception desk.

“Homicide?” she asked.

“That’s right,” Lou said. “I’d like to speak with the doctor. I only need a few minutes of his time.”

“If you’ll have a seat in the waiting room, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Lou sat down and idly flipped through a recent edition of The New Yorker . He noticed the drawings on the walls, especially one that was blatantly pornographic. He wondered if someone had actually chosen them or if they had come with the office. Either way, thought Lou, there was no accounting for some people’s taste.

Other than the drawings, Lou was impressed with the waiting room. The walls were paneled with mahogany. A tasteful, inch-thick oriental carpet covered the floor. But then Lou already knew the good doctor did quite well for himself.

Lou looked at the faces of the patients who paid for this opulence, plus the limo and the roses. There were about ten in the waiting room, some with eyepatches, some who looked totally healthy, including one middle-aged woman draped in jewels. Lou would have loved to ask her what she was there for, just to get an idea, but he didn’t dare.

Time passed slowly as one by one the patients disappeared into the depths of the office. Lou tried to contain his impatience, but after three-quarters of an hour, he began to get irritated. He began to think it was a deliberate snub on Jordan Scheffield’s part. Although Lou didn’t have an appointment, he’d expected to be seen relatively quickly, perhaps to schedule a future visit if it were needed. It wasn’t every day a detective lieutenant from Homicide dropped by someone’s office. Besides, Lou hadn’t planned on taking much of the doctor’s time.

Lou’s reason for the visit was twofold. He wanted to find out more about Marsha Schulman, but he also wanted to talk about Paul Cerino. It was a kind of fishing trip; the doctor might be able to fill him in on some details he didn’t yet know. He resisted the nagging thought at the back of his mind: he was really there to check out the guy who was seeing Doctor Laurie Montgomery every night for dinner.

“Mr. Soldano,” the secretary said at last, “Dr. Scheffield will see you now.”

“It’s about time,” Lou mumbled as he got to his feet and tossed his magazine aside. He walked toward the door being held open by the secretary. It wasn’t the same door that all the patients had disappeared into.

After a short hall, Lou was shown into Jordan’s private office. He strode into the center of the room. Behind him he heard the door close.

Lou looked at the top of Jordan’s blond head. The doctor was writing in a record.

“Sit down,” Jordan said without looking up.

Lou debated what he wanted to do. The idea of disregarding what sounded more like a command than an offer appealed to him, so he stayed where he was. His eyes roamed the office. He was impressed and couldn’t help compare the environment with his own utilitarian, metal-desked, peeling-walled rathole. Who said life was fair? Lou mused.

Redirecting his attention to the doctor, Lou couldn’t tell much other than that the man was well groomed. He was dressed in a typical doctor white coat that appeared to be whiter than white and starched to boardlike stiffness. On his ring finger he wore a large gold signet ring, probably from some fancy school.

Jordan finished his writing and meticulously organized the pages of the record before folding over its cover. Then he looked up. He appeared genuinely surprised that Lou was still standing in the middle of his office, hat in hand.

“Please,” Jordan said. He got to his feet and gestured toward one of the two chairs facing his desk. “Sit down. Sorry to have made you wait, but I’m tremendously busy these days. Lots of surgery. What can I do for you? I suppose you are here about my secretary, Marsha Schulman. Tragic situation. I hope you people are planning on looking into her husband’s probable involvement.”

Lou’s eyes traveled up to Jordan’s face. He was dismayed the man was so tall. It made him feel short by comparison, although he was almost six feet himself.

“What do you know about Mr. Schulman?” Lou asked. With Jordan’s more cordial offer, Lou sat down. Jordan did the same. Lou listened while Jordan told all he knew about Marsha’s husband. Since Lou already knew considerably more than Jordan, he took the time to observe the “good” doctor, noticing things like a mild yet probably fake English accent. Before Jordan had even finished talking about Danny Schulman, Lou had decided that Jordan was a pompous, affected, arrogant creep. Lou couldn’t understand what a down-to-earth girl like Laurie could see in him.

Lou decided it was time to change the subject. “What about Paul Cerino?” he asked.

Jordan hesitated for a moment. He was surprised at the mention of Paul’s name. “Pardon me for asking,” he said, “but what does Mr. Cerino have to do with anything?”

Lou was glad to see Jordan squirm. “I’d appreciate your telling me all you know about Mr. Cerino.”

“Mr. Cerino is a patient,” Jordan said stiffly.

“I already know that,” Lou said. “I’d like to hear how his treatment is coming along.”

“I don’t talk about my patients,” Jordan said coldly.

“Really?” Lou asked, raising his eyebrows. “That’s not what I’ve heard. In fact, I have it from a reliable source that you’ve been discussing Mr. Cerino’s case in detail.”

Jordan’s lips narrowed some.

“But we can leave that subject for the moment,” Lou said. “I also wanted to ask if you or any of your staff had been the subject of any extortion attempt.”

“Absolutely not,” Jordan said. He laughed nervously. “Why would anyone threaten me?”

“When you start involving yourself with people like Cerino, things like extortion have a way of happening. Could your secretary have been threatened in some way?”

“For what?”

“I don’t know,” Lou said. “You tell me.”

“Cerino wouldn’t want to extort me or any of my employees. I’m taking care of the man. I’m helping him.”

“These organized-crime people think differently than normal people,” Lou said. “They consider themselves special and above the law: in fact above everything. If they don’t get exactly what they want, they kill you. If they do get what they want but decide they don’t like you or they owe you too much money, they kill you.”

“Well, I’m certainly giving them what they want.”

“Whatever you say, Doc. I’m just trying to explore all the angles. You’ve got one dead secretary and somebody whacked her rather brutally. And whoever did it didn’t want anyone finding out who she was anytime soon. I want to know why.”

“Well, all I can tell you is I’m quite certain Marsha’s disappearance, or death, hasn’t anything to do with Mr. Cerino. Now if you’ll kindly excuse me, I have patients to attend to. If you have any additional questions, perhaps you should contact me through my attorney.”

“Sure, Doc, sure,” Lou said. “I’ll be on my way. But a word to the wise: I’d be very careful where Paul Cerino is concerned. The Mafia may seem glamorous when you read about them or see them in the movies, but I think you’d develop a different point of view if you got a glimpse of what Mrs. Schulman looks like now. And one last piece of advice. I’d be careful about sending him a bill. Thank you for your time, Doctor.”