Робин Кук - Genesis

Although Laurie was eager to get up to her office, she took the time to detour over to Jack’s table. Her morbid curiosity had gotten the better of her. The toddler’s body, empty of its organs, lay prone on its shiny stainless steel surface. As efficient as Jack was, he, too, was essentially done with his case even though he’d started well after Laurie’s.

“Chet’s favorite resident sounds like a real pistol with a mind of her own,” Jack said.

“You have no idea,” Laurie said. “She’s one of the most unlikable residents I’ve ever met. Apparently, she’s not fond of men, or so she said to Marvin. But enough about her for the moment. What did you find on your case?”

“He found just what I feared,” Lou said. He was still at Jack’s table, staying until the bitter end. “It wasn’t an accident that this poor kid fell into a tub of scalding water as we were told.”

“That’s for sure,” Jack said. “There are third-degree burns over most of the child’s body except for the ankles and the feet. She didn’t fall in, but rather she was held by the ankles and thrust in headfirst.”

“Good God,” she said. She shuddered. One of the difficult aspects of forensic pathology was having to be a witness to some horrific examples of human beings’ capacity for inhumanity.

“I couldn’t help but notice your resident helper beat it out of here,” Jack said. “Come on, fill us in! What’s the story?”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Laurie said. Vinnie had returned with the gurney, and she preferred her impressions of Aria Nichols not be common knowledge. “Now I have to get up to my office. I’m certain I’ll have a slew of phone calls to return. What time are you going to head home?”

“As soon as possible,” Jack said. “I’m psyched. Both Warren and Flash texted me they’re going to be out on the basketball court tonight.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Laurie said, half in jest. Now that the weather was improving, Jack was back to playing pickup basketball much more often than she would have liked. She was always fearful he’d injure himself as he’d done a few times in the past. “I’ll try to get home as soon as I can. We need to talk about a number of things, so don’t stay out there on the court too long. And don’t get hurt!”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” he said, and mock-saluted.

May 8th

5:35 P.M.

As Laurie expected, Cheryl had departed for home but not before leaving a carefully written note of all the calls that had come in while Laurie was down in the pit. Sitting at her desk, she scanned the list. Two of the calls concerned the Health Committee meeting that morning, and one of those was from the City Council member from the Bronx. Remembering it was well after five P.M., she decided to put that call off until the morning. Not only was it after business hours, she guessed it probably involved more complaints about the closure of the Bronx morgue.

Several of the other calls Laurie felt she couldn’t put off, especially the one to Twyla Robinson, chief of staff, about several employees who Twyla intended to terminate. Laurie had made a point with all department heads that she wanted to be notified prior to all termination proceedings. As it turned out, Twyla had more than enough reason to fire the individuals involved and had actually acted with great restraint. Laurie gave her approval without reservation.

With the required calls out of the way, Laurie searched for Dr. Carl Henderson’s number. At the time she’d written it down, she thought the chances of her needing it were slim. But since there had been something out of the ordinary found at Kera Jacobsen’s autopsy, she thought it would be appropriate to let him know as she had promised. She also thought she might ask a few questions about Aria Nichols, as she still wasn’t sure how she was going to deal with the problematic resident even though she felt somewhat positive about the woman’s renewed interest in forensics. After searching in vain in her center drawer, she found the number right on top, tucked into the corner of the desk blotter pad.

As the call went through, Laurie pictured the man from the few times she had seen him at New York University functions that she had been required to attend. On one occasion after Dr. Henderson had been recently hired following an extensive search, she’d been formally introduced by the dean of the NYU Medical School, and she remembered him as having light-brown hair, and being slender, tanned, and unapologetically dapper. But even more than his appearance, she remembered him as gregarious, humorous, and quick-witted. In short, she had been impressed.

“Carl Henderson here,” he said in the baritone voice Laurie clearly remembered from speaking with him earlier. His faintly upper-crust accent reminded her of her father, Sheldon.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said. It was approaching six P.M., and she knew that many people had already started their evening activities by that time. She could imagine him at an elegant, old-world New York club enjoying a cocktail.

“Absolutely no bother, Dr. Montgomery,” Carl said, recognizing her voice. “I’m glad to hear from you, but I hope this isn’t because there was something out of the ordinary found during the autopsy of Miss Jacobsen.”

“I’m afraid there was,” Laurie said. “But not terribly out of the ordinary. It was more of a surprise than anything. Kera Jacobsen was about ten weeks pregnant.”

“Oh, no,” he said with obvious distress. “That makes it a double tragedy.”

“That is exactly what I said when we found the embryo or fetus,” Laurie said.

“It also makes it more important to keep the media from knowing about the case,” Carl said. “That’s the kind of lurid detail the tabloids thrive on. They’d hype it up big-time.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she said.

“Anything else of note?” he asked. “I’m assuming it was a typical overdose.”

“Seemed reasonably typical,” Laurie said. “There was a very positive rapid screen for fentanyl, which we’re unfortunately seeing in far too many of the overdose cases. The only other somewhat surprising thing was that there wasn’t as much pulmonary edema as usual. It will be interesting to get the toxicology results and see what the blood concentration of fentanyl is. My guess is that it’s going to be sky high, meaning it depressed the patient’s breathing very rapidly instead of over time like usual. Your resident raised the possibility of a cardiac channelopathy being involved, which is an interesting idea but probably not the case. But we’ll rule it out. It’s one of the benefits that the OCME has perhaps the best forensic DNA lab in the world.”

“That answers my next question,” he said. “I was going to ask if you did the case with Dr. Nichols as you suggested earlier?”

“I did indeed,” Laurie said.

“Is it normal for the chief medical examiner to do a case with an anatomical pathology resident?”

“No, it isn’t,” she admitted. “Far from it, and thank you for noticing. When you called earlier, I was tempted to ask you about this particular resident. It had been brought to my attention by our director of education that Dr. Nichols wasn’t taking her rotation over here seriously. There was also a question about her attitude. I wanted to see for myself, so I had already scheduled to work with her.”

“That’s a very generous way to put it,” Carl said with a short laugh. “I’ve had more than a question about her attitude. She’s been one of the most disruptive residents I’ve had to deal with. Actually, it’s been Dr. Zubin, our residency program director, who has had to deal with her, but he keeps me up to speed. She’s not a team player. In fact, she’s rather antisocial and is not popular among her fellow residents. But, on the other hand, she’s extraordinarily bright, and a few of our attendings think she is the best resident they’ve come across. I’ve been told that her skills with surgical pathology are exceptional. It’s like she has a sixth sense.”