Robin Cook - Blindsight

“No kidding!” Lou said. He sat in bemused silence for a few minutes.

Laurie was quiet, too.

“It doesn’t make a lot of sense,” Lou said at last. “Could the Lucia family have gotten involved because Cerino is seeing Scheffield? I’m trying to fit Cerino’s rival, Vinnie Dominick, into the picture, but I can’t make any sense of it.”

“One thing we could do is check the gangland-style homicides that came in today. See if any of them are Jordan’s patients.”

Lou’s face brightened. “You know, that’s a good idea. Glad I thought of it.” His smile told Laurie he was kidding.

In mock anger Laurie threw a paper clip at him.

Five minutes later, dressed in scrubs, Laurie and Lou entered the autopsy room. Luckily Calvin was nowhere in sight.

Both Southgate and Besserman were on their second cases. Southgate was almost finished; the Kaufmans were fairly straightforward cases, given their simple head wounds. Besserman’s cases were more difficult. First he had Dwight Sorenson, who had three bullet paths to trace. The work had been laborious and time-consuming, so Besserman was just starting on Amy Sorenson when Lou and Laurie got there.

With the permission of the respective doctors, Laurie and Lou glanced through the folders on each case. Unfortunately, the medical histories were meager.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Laurie said. She went to the phone and called Cheryl Myers.

“Cheryl, I’ve got a favor to ask,” Laurie said.

“What is it?” Cheryl asked cheerfully.

“You know the four Manhattan homicides we got today?” Laurie said. “The ones that everybody’s up in arms about? I want to know if any of them have ever seen an ophthalmologist by the name of Jordan Scheffield.”

“Will do,” Cheryl said. “I’ll call you back in a few minutes. Where are you?”

“I’m down in the pit,” Laurie said.

Laurie told Lou they’d hear back soon. Then Laurie went over to George Fontworth. He was just finishing up the second of his two overdose cases: Julia Myerholtz.

“Calvin said I wasn’t supposed to talk with you today,” George told her. “I don’t want to cross him.”

“Just answer me this. Was the cocaine mainlined?”

“Yeah,” George said. His eyes darted around the room as if he expected Calvin to come thundering by.

“Were the autopsies normal except for signs of the overdose and toxicity?” Laurie asked.

“Yes,” George said. “Come on, Laurie, don’t put me in this situation.”

“One last question,” Laurie said. “Were there any surprises?”

“Just one,” George said. “But you know about that. I’d just not heard it was standard policy on this kind of case. I think it should have been brought up at Thursday conference.”

“What are you talking about?” Laurie asked.

“Please,” George said. “Don’t act dumb. Calvin told me it was your doing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Laurie said.

“Oh, God!” George said. “Here comes Calvin. ’Bye, Laurie.”

Laurie turned in time to see Calvin’s hulking figure enter through the swinging door. Even dressed in his scrubs and protective gloves, there was no mistaking that body.

Laurie quickly stepped away from George’s table, making a beeline for the master sheet of the day’s autopsies. She wanted to have a cover in case Calvin asked why she was there. Quickly, she searched for Mary O’Connor’s name. Finding it, she noted that Paul Plodgett had been scheduled for the autopsy. He was at the far table near the wall. Laurie joined him.

“I’ve found a lot of stuff,” Paul said when Laurie asked how the autopsy was going.

Laurie glanced over her shoulder. Calvin had gone directly to Besserman’s table.

“What’s your feeling about the cause of death?” Laurie asked. She was relieved that Calvin hadn’t seen her, or if he had, he didn’t seem concerned about her presence.

“Undoubtedly cardiovascular,” Paul said, gazing down at Mary O’Connor’s body. The woman was considerably overweight. The face and head were a deep blue, almost purple.

“A lot of pathology?” Laurie asked.

“Enough,” Paul said. “Moderate coronary disease for starters. Also the mitral valve was in pretty bad shape. The heart itself seemed awfully flabby. So there are a lot of candidates for the final culprit.”

Laurie thought Jordan would appreciate the news.

“She’s awfully purple,” Laurie commented.

“True,” Paul said. “Quite a bit of congestion in the head and the lungs. Must have been a lot of terminal, agonal effort. She didn’t want to die, poor lady. She apparently even bit her lip.”

“Really?” Laurie asked. “Do you think she had some kind of seizure?”

“Could have,” Paul said. “But it’s more like an abrasion, like she was chewing her lip.”

“Let’s see.”

Paul reached over and drew back Mary O’Connor’s upper lip.

“You’re right,” Laurie said. “What about the tongue?”

“Normal,” Paul said. “That’s why I doubt there was a seizure. Maybe she had a lot of terminal pain. Well, perhaps the microscopic of the heart will show something pathognomonic, but I bet this case will fall into that category of an unknown coup de grace, at least specifically. In general I know it was cardiovascular.”

Laurie nodded but looked at Mary O’Connor. Something bothered her about the case. It was triggering a memory she couldn’t quite put a finger on.

“What about these petechiae on her face?” Laurie asked.

“It’s consistent with terminal heart disease,” Paul said.

“This much?”

“As I said, there must have been a lot of agonal effort.”

“Would you mind letting me know what you find on microscopic?” she asked. “She was a friend’s patient. I know he’ll be interested in what you find.”

“Will do,” Paul said.

Laurie saw that Calvin had moved from Besserman to Fontworth. Lou had wandered back to Southgate’s table. Laurie headed over to him.

“Sorry,” she said to Lou as she came alongside.

“No problem,” Lou said. “I’m starting to feel right at home here.”

“Hey, Laurie, the phone’s for you,” a voice yelled out over the general background noise of the busy autopsy room. Laurie walked to the phone, cringing that her presence had been so blatantly broadcasted. She didn’t dare look in Calvin’s direction. She picked up the receiver: it was Cheryl.

“I wish all your requests were so easy,” Cheryl said. “I called over to Dr. Scheffield’s office and the secretary couldn’t have been more helpful. Henriette Kaufman and Dwight Sorenson were both patients. Does that help you?”

“I’m not sure,” Laurie said. “But it is interesting indeed. Thanks.”

Laurie went back to Lou and told him what she had learned.

“Wow!” he said. “That takes it out of the realm of coincidence. At least I think it does.”

“Five for five,” Laurie said. “The possibility of that happening by chance is extremely small.”

“But what does it mean?” Lou asked. “It seems like an awfully strange way to get at Cerino, if that’s what it’s about. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I agree,” Laurie said.

“One way or the other,” Lou said, “I’ve got to look into it immediately. I’ll be in touch.” He was gone before Laurie could say so much as goodbye.

Laurie hazarded one last glance at Calvin. He was still talking with George and didn’t seem the least perturbed by her presence.

Back in her office, Laurie called Jordan. As usual he was in surgery. Laurie left a message for him to please call back.

Trying to go back to work, Laurie wasn’t much more successful than she’d been earlier. Her mind was in a turmoil concerning her precarious job situation from having alienated so many people, her overdose series, and the odd coincidence that Jordan was treating a string of five gangland-style murder victims.