Robin Cook - Vector

“Well, I think the fact that her potential fiancé deals in guns is a hell of a lot more important to tell her about than the cocaine bust.”

“Does that mean you’ll do it?”

“Oh, hell,” Jack said. “Won’t you? You found out about it, and she’ll surely ask me my source. I’ll have to say it was you anyway.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lou said. “I think you could do it better than I. You’ve got so much more in common with her.”

“Coward,” Jack said.

“Well, you’re hardly being courageous,” Lou pointed out. “Come on! You see her much more than I do. I mean, you work in the same building.”

“All right, I’ll think about it,” Jack said. “But I’m not making any promises.”

Jack’s phone rang. He snatched the handset from its cradle and his voice sounded almost angry. He quickly mellowed when he heard himself. Marlene Wilson, the receptionist, was on the other end of the line.

“I hope I’m not bothering you, Dr. Stapleton,” Marlene said. She had a slight southern accent.

“Not at all,” Jack said. “What’s up?”

“There are several gentlemen down here to see you,” Marlene said. “Are you expecting anyone?”

“Not that I know of,” Jack said. “What are their names?”

“Just a moment,” Marlene said.

“Hey, I gotta go,” Lou said. He stood up. “I better get out of here before I run into Laurie.”

“Keep in touch,” Jack said with a wave. “We’re going to have to make a decision about this sensitive intelligence you’ve gathered.”

Lou nodded and disappeared from view.

Marlene came back on the line. “It’s Mr. Warren Wilson and a Mr. Flash Thomas. What would you like me to say to them?”

“My word,” Jack said. “Tell them to come on up!”

Jack slowly hung up the phone. He couldn’t believe that Warren had come to visit him. Jack had suggested it a few times when he thought Warren would find it interesting to see firsthand what Jack did for a living. It was part of Jack’s attempt to get Warren to go back to school. But Warren had said that there was only one way he’d visit a morgue and that was dead!

Jack got the straight-back chair from next to Chet’s desk and pulled it over next to the other one. Then he stepped out into the hall and walked down toward the elevators. He’d timed it just about right, because when he got there the doors opened and out stepped his two basketball buddies.

“This place sucks,” Warren said, making an expression of disgust. Then he smiled. “How’s it going, man?” He held up his hand.

Jack smacked it as if they were greeting each other on the basketball court. He did the same with Flash, who was clearly more intimidated at the surroundings than Warren was.

“It’s going like most days,” Jack said. “Except for your visit. I’m shocked to see you guys, but come on into my office.”

Jack led the way down the hall.

“This place smells weird,” Flash said.

“It reminds me of a hospital,” Warren said.

“No hospital I’d ever want to be in,” Flash said with a nervous laugh.

“You told me you did autopsies in a place called the pit,” Warren said. “This whole place looks like a pit.”

“It could use a bit of a renovation,” Jack admitted. He gestured inside his office.

The three sat down.

Jack smiled. “Did you fellows come all the way down here just to make sure I was going to play tonight?”

“You should have played last night,” Warren said. “You had your chance to run with us. We never lost.”

“Maybe I’ll luck out tonight,” Jack said.

Warren looked at Flash. “You want to ask him or you want me to?”

“You do it,” Flash said as he fidgeted in his seat. He was clearly agitated.

Warren turned to Jack. “Flash got some bad news this morning. His sister died.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jack said. He glanced at Flash, but Flash avoided his eyes.

“She wasn’t all that old,” Warren said. “About your age. It was sudden like. And Flash here thinks there had to be some negative stuff going on. You see, she and her old man didn’t get on too well, you hear what I’m saying?”

“Am I to assume there was a little domestic violence involved in this relationship?” Jack asked.

“If that’s what you call his smacking her around now and then,” Warren said.

“That’s the usual euphemism,” Jack said.

“A lot of domestic violence,” Flash interjected heatedly.

“Cool it,” Warren said to Flash. He gave Flash’s shoulder a reassuring pat. Turning back to Jack he added, “I had to talk Flash out of going out there and beating the pulp out of his sister’s hubby.”

“The son of a bitch killed her,” Flash growled.

“Come on, man!” Warren pleaded. “You don’t know that for sure.”

“I know it,” Flash said.

Warren turned to Jack. “You see what I’m up against. If Flash goes out there, there’s going to be trouble. Somebody’s going to be dead, and I don’t think it’s going to be Flash.”

“What can I do to help?” Jack asked.

“See if you can find out what killed her,” Warren said. “If she died of something natural-like, then Flash here’s going to have to take his irritation out on something else, like on you and me on the court.” Warren gave Flash a friendly cuff on the top of the head. Flash parried the blow irritably.

“Where is her body at the moment?” Jack asked.

“At the morgue in Brooklyn,” Warren said. “At least that’s what Flash was told by the Coney Island Hospital where she’d been treated.”

“Well, then it’s going to be easy,” Jack said. “I’ll talk to whoever does her autopsy, and we’ll have the answer.”

“There ain’t going to be no autopsy,” Flash blurted. “That’s part of what’s bothering me. They took her to the morgue to have an autopsy, but now she’s not going to. Something’s wrong here, you know what I’m saying?”

“Not necessarily,” Jack said. “Not every corpse brought into the medical examiner’s office is autopsied. In fact, that she wasn’t autopsied means that the chances of foul play are small. Since she died at a hospital, it means that the attending doctor certified the cause of death, and in that case an autopsy is not mandatory.”

“Flash is thinking conspiracy here,” Warren said.

“I can assure you there’s no conspiracy,” Jack said. “Incompetence, maybe, but conspiracy, no.”

“But...” Flash began.

“Hold on!” Jack interrupted. “I’ll still look into it for you. What was her name?”

“Connie Davydov,” Flash said.

Jack wrote the name down and reached for the phone. He called the Brooklyn office, which administratively was part of the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner of New York. Technically Bingham was chief, but the Brooklyn office had its own acting head. His name was Jim Bennett.

“Who’s the scheduling ME this week?” Jack asked the operator who answered after Jack had identified himself.

“Dr. Randolph Sanders,” the operator said. “Would you like me to page him?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Jack said. He wasn’t pleased. He was reasonably acquainted with Randolph, whom he put in the same category with perfunctories like George Fontworth. Jack tapped his pencil while he waited. He wished he’d be dealing with any one of the four other Brooklyn MEs.

When Randolph came on the line Jack wasted no time getting to the point. He asked why an autopsy wasn’t done on Connie Davydov.

“I’ll have to get the folder,” Randolph said. “Why do you ask?”

“I’ve gotten a request to look into the case,” Jack said. He left it vague who had asked him. If Randolph wanted to think it was Bingham or Calvin, that was fine with Jack.