Vector

by Robin Cook

  Warren and Flash glanced at each other and shrugged before climbing into the car themselves. Each twisted in his seat and regarded Jack, who had his mouth and lips clamped shut.

  “You look pissed,” Warren commented.

  “I am,” Jack admitted. He looked off for a moment, obviously thinking.

  “What happened?” Flash asked.

  “They sent the body to a local funeral home,” Jack said.

  “How come?” Warren asked. “They knew you were coming.”

  “It has something to do with how competitive doctors are with each other,” Jack said. “It’s hard to explain and you probably wouldn’t believe it.”

  “I’ll take your word,” Warren said. “So what are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” Jack said. “I’m thinking.”

  “I know what I’m going to do,” Flash said. “I’m going to Brighton Beach.”

  “Shut up, man,” Warren said. “This is just a wrinkle here.”

  “Some wrinkle,” Flash said. “If she’d been white, none of this would have happened.”

  “Flash, that’s not the problem,” Jack said. “There’s a lot of racism around this city, that I’ll grant you, but it’s not the problem here, believe me.”

  “Why can’t you just have the funeral home send the body back?” Warren suggested.

  “I wish it were that easy,” Jack said. “The problem is it’s a Brooklyn case, and I’m from the Manhattan office, which means there’s a lot of politics involved. I’d have to get the super chief to do it, which would get the Brooklyn chief defensive, since he’d assume the affair was a reflection of how he’s running the office. It would become a bureaucratic turf war of sorts. Plus it would take eons. By the time all the paperwork was done, the phone calls made, and the battles waged, the funeral home might have embalmed the body, or worse yet, cremated it.”

  “Shit,” Warren said.

  “That settles it,” Flash said. “I’m going to Brighton Beach.”

  “No, let’s all go to the funeral home,” Jack said. “It might create some waves, but I don’t see we have much choice to keep Flash from self-destructing. Maybe we’ll be lucky. It’s on Caton Avenue near the Greenwood Cemetery. You got a map?”

  Warren nodded. He had Flash dig it out of the glove box. While the two of them bent over it, Jack tried to anticipate what they’d be up against in the funeral home. He imagined the funeral director would not be particularly cooperative.

  “When we go into the funeral home we’re going to have to kinda barge in and overwhelm them,” Jack said.

  Warren looked up. “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve got to try to do what we have to do before they have much of a chance to think about it.”

  “But you’re a medical examiner,” Warren said. “You’re a city official.”

  “Yeah, but this is irregular, to say the least,” Jack said. “The funeral director is not going to like it. You see, the way the system works is that the body is technically released to the next of kin, in this case the husband, even though the funeral home picks the body up. Nothing is supposed to happen to the body unless the husband says so. Obviously we don’t want them calling the husband, because if he’s guilty of what Flash suspects, he’d scream bloody murder.”

  “Why not just say you’re from the Brooklyn office and there was a couple things you forgot to do.”

  “The funeral director would be sure to call the Brooklyn office,” Jack said. “They’d wonder why they hadn’t gotten a call to bring the body back. Remember, they work with them all the time and know the MEs. For me to suddenly show up will be very irregular. Trust me!”

  “So what do you propose?” Warren asked.

  “I’m thinking,” Jack said. “Did you find it on the map?”

  “I think so,” Flash said.

  “Let’s go before I chicken out,” Jack said.

  After driving a few blocks Jack got an idea. Taking out his cell phone, he placed a call to Bingham’s office. As expected, Cheryl Sanford answered with her honeyed voice. Jack identified himself and asked if the chief was within earshot.

  “Hardly,” Cheryl said. “He’s over at the Commissioner of Health’s office for an impromptu meeting.”

  “That’s even better,” Jack said. “Listen, I have a problem, and I need your help.”

  “Is this going to get me into trouble?” Cheryl said warily. She knew Jack too well, given the number of times that he’d been on the carpet in Bingham’s office.

  “It’s possible,” Jack admitted. “If it does, I’ll take full responsibility. But it’s for a good cause.”

  Jack went on to explain about Flash’s loss, the dilemma about Connie’s body, and the discrepancy about the medical history suggesting foul play. Ultimately, Cheryl’s generous nature and sense of fairness won out. She agreed to at least hear what Jack had in mind.

  Jack cleared his throat: “If you get a call from Strickland’s Funeral Home within the next half hour or so for the chief, tell them that he’s with the commissioner, which is true. But then add that Dr. Jack Stapleton has been authorized to take some body fluid samples from Connie Davydov.”

  “Is that all?” Cheryl asked.

  “That’s it,” Jack said. “If you want to get fancy, you can say that you’d meant to call earlier, but it had slipped your mind with the chief’s sudden need to see the commissioner.”

  “You are devious,” Cheryl commented. “But it is a good cause, especially if a homicide is involved. Anyway, I’ll do it.”

  “I like to think of myself as resourceful, not devious,” Jack joked. He thanked Cheryl on both his behalf and Flash’s, then said goodbye and hung up.

  “Sounds like you got it arranged,” Warren said.

  “We’ll see,” Jack said. He wasn’t all that confident. In his experience, funeral directors tended to be both touchy and sticklers for detail. There were a lot of potential pitfalls. If there was a big staff, Jack could even envision them physically restraining him.

  Strickland’s Funeral Home was a two-story stucco building that in a previous life had been a grand home of some wealthy Brooklynite. It was painted white in an apparent attempt to make it look cheerful. Even so, it remained a ponderously bulky structure of indeterminate style. All its windows were blocked by heavy drapes. From its parking lot a wedge of Greenwood Cemetery could be seen bristling with headstones.

  Warren put on his emergency brake and turned off the ignition.

  “Kinda ominous-looking, isn’t it?” Jack commented.

  “What do they do in there?” Warren questioned. “I’ve always wondered.”

  “Don’t ask! You don’t want to know,” Jack said. “Let’s get this over with before I lose my nerve.”

  “We’ll wait here,” Warren said. He glanced at Flash. Flash nodded in agreement.

  “Oh, no! Not this time,” Jack said. “When I said ‘we’earlier, I meant it. This is going to be like a mini-invasion, and I need both you guys’powerful presence. Besides, Flash, you’re kin, which lends us some legitimacy.”

  “Are you serious, man?” Warren said.

  “Absolutely,” Jack said. “Come on! This isn’t up for discussion.”

  Jack resolutely headed for the front door carrying his satchel. He could hear Warren’s and Flash’s footsteps behind him. He knew they were coming reluctantly. He didn’t blame them. He knew that they were emotionally unprepared for what they were going to see.

  The interior of the funeral home was fairly standard. There was a lot of dark wood, velvet drapes, soft lighting, and low-volume hymns playing in the background, giving an overall impression of serenity. In the entrance hall a visitors’book was open on a console table. Next to it stood an austere-looking woman in a black dress. In the center of the room to the right was an open casket on a waist-high bier with a few rows of folding chairs set before it. The lid’s interior was upholstered in white satin. Jack could just make out the profile of the casket’s occup
ant.

  “May I help you?” the woman asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

  “Yes,” Jack said. “Where’s the director?”

  “He’s in the office,” the woman said. “Should I get him?”

  “Please,” Jack said. “And quickly if you wouldn’t mind. This is an emergency.”

  Jack looked over his shoulder at Warren and Flash who were close behind him.

  “Shit, man!” Warren whispered. “Are you sure you need us?”

  “Without a doubt,” Jack whispered back. “Just stay cool.”

  It took only a few minutes for the worried director to emerge from a side door accompanied by a pair of brawny men in suits who could have moonlighted as bouncers. The funeral director could have been from central casting, with his immaculate black suit, crisp white shirt, and pomaded, painstakingly combed hair. The only thing out of place was his complexion. He was tanned as if he’d just come back from a Florida vacation.

  “My name is Gordon Strickland,” he said in a hushed tone. “I understand there is an emergency. How can we be of assistance?”

  “My name is Dr. Jack Stapleton,” Jack said with all the authority he could muster. He held up his medical examiner badge in front of Gordon’s nose. “I’m a representative from the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner in Manhattan, Dr. Harold Bingham.”

  Gordon tilted his head so he could see Jack around the medical examiner’s badge. “I’ve heard the name. How does this involve us here in Brooklyn?”

  “I’ve been sent to view the body of Connie Davydov,” Jack said. “As well as to obtain some needed body fluid samples. I assume you got a call to that effect.”

  “No, we didn’t get a call,” Gordon said. His upper lip began to twitch.

  “Then I apologize for the surprise,” Jack said. “But we do have to see the body.” He took a step forward in the direction of a pair of double doors heading into the center of the building.

  “Just a minute!” Gordon said, holding up his hand. “Who are these other gentlemen?”

  “This is Warren Wilson,” Jack said while nodding toward Warren. “He is my assistant. This other gentleman is Frank Thomas, the brother of the deceased.” Jack couldn’t help wonder how all this was going to play, since both his friends were clothed in a modified hip-hop style. Warren certainly didn’t look professional by any stretch of the imagination.

  “I don’t understand,” Gordon said. “The body was released to a Mr. Davydov. He’s not contacted us about this situation either.”

  “We’re investigating a potential homicide,” Jack said. “New information has come available.”

  “Homicide?” Gordon repeated. The frequency of the twitch increased.

  “Indeed,” Jack said. He started forward again, forcing Gordon to back up. “Now if you’ll just direct us to your cooler or wherever you keep your newly arrived bodies, we’ll do our thing and be on our way.”

  “The body is in the embalming room,” Gordon said. “We’ve been awaiting Mr. Davydov’s instructions. He was supposed to call once it got here.”

  “Then we’ll view the body in the embalming room,” Jack said. “It’s all the same to us.”

  Nonplussed, Gordon turned around and pushed through the double doors. Jack, Warren, and Flash followed. Gordon’s silent minions brought up the rear.

  “This is highly irregular,” Gordon voiced to no one in particular as they walked down the hall. “We haven’t heard anything from the Brooklyn ME’s office either. Maybe I should give them a call.”

  “It would save time to call Dr. Harold Bingham directly,” Jack said. “Of course, you know the Brooklyn ME’s office is under the control of the Manhattan office.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Gordon said.

  Jack pulled out his cellular phone, punched the number to speed-dial the chief, and handed the phone to Gordon. Gordon took the phone and pressed it to his ear. Jack could hear Cheryl Sanford answer with her usual preamble: “Dr. Harold Bingham’s office, Chief Medical Examiner. How may I help you?”

  The entire group slowed to a halt outside a second set of double doors as Gordon spoke to Cheryl. Jack could hear only bits of Cheryl’s side of the conversation. Gordon was nodding and saying “I see,” “yes,” and “I understand” several times. Finally he said, “Thank you, Mrs. Sanford. I understand perfectly and there is no need for you to apologize. I’ll do what I can to help Dr. Stapleton.”

  Gordon disconnected and handed the phone back to Jack. As Jack took the phone he noticed that Gordon’s lip was twitching almost continuously. The man obviously wasn’t entirely comfortable with the situation, but at least he was momentarily mollified.

  “In here,” Gordon said, pointing to the double doors.

  The entire group entered the embalming room, which was redolent with the cloying smell of a sickly-sweet deodorant. The space was larger than Jack expected, about the size of the autopsy room where he worked most days. But in contrast to the autopsy room’s eight tables, here there were only four, two of which were occupied. The farthest table held a male who was in the process of being embalmed. The nearest held an obese woman.

  “Mrs. Davydov is right here,” Gordon said, pointing to the nearest corpse.

  “Right!” Jack said. He quickly put his satchel down on a nearby wheeled table and pulled it close. After snapping open the bag he looked up at his two friends. They were frozen in place near the door. Warren was transfixed by the embalming process going on in the end of the room; Flash was staring at his sister. Both their faces had gone slack. Jack could only imagine what they must be feeling.

  Jack clapped his hands loudly to keep the situation from deteriorating. The sound was like a gunshot in the tiled room. Everyone was jolted. Even the two people doing the embalming looked up from their gruesome task. “Okay!” Jack said eagerly, as if he relished what he was about to do. “Let’s get this show on the road so these gentlemen can get on with their business. Frank Thomas, can you identify this woman?”

  Flash nodded his head. “It’s my sister. Connie Thomas Davydov.”

  “Are you absolutely certain?” Jack asked while he looked down at the deceased’s face for the first time. He was immediately surprised by the obvious evidence of trauma. The left eye was purplish and swollen almost shut. The skin over the cheekbone was bruised.

  “Dead sure,” said Flash. He took a step closer and pointed to the swollen eye. “And the bastard popped her just like he’d done in the past.”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Jack said quickly. “Remember! The EMTs found her in the bathroom, where she’d collapsed. A bathroom is a dangerous place to collapse between the sink, tub, and toilet, not to mention the towel racks and the faucets.”

  “About a month ago when I had lunch with her, her eye looked just like that,” Flash said, ignoring Jack. “She told me he’d punched her. The only reason I didn’t go flying out there to beat the shit out of him then was because she made me promise not to do it.”

  “Okay, calm down!” Jack said. Now that he was about to get his samples, he didn’t want Flash to gum up the works. To that end he suggested to Flash that it might be best for him to wait outside. Flash offered no argument; he spun around, banged open both double doors, and left. With a nod from the director, the two funeral home heavies quickly followed.

  “This is very difficult for him,” Jack explained. “So, it’s best we do what we have to do, and get him out of here.”

  Gordon stepped up to the table while Jack snapped on his latex gloves. “I hope you’re not planning on marring the body in any visible way,” Gordon warned. “We have no idea if Mr. Davydov is planning on an open casket or not.”

  “All we’re going to do is take some body fluids,” Jack said. He motioned for Warren to come closer and handed him several sample bottles. He had to make it look as if Warren really was his assistant to justify his intimidating presence. Jack wanted him there because Jack was planning on doing what Gordon had just warned
him not to do, namely taking a sample of the bruised facial skin. Of course, he also would have liked samples of brain, liver, kidneys, lung, and fat, if he could have thought of some way to get away with it.

  The first thing Jack did was take out his camera. Before Gordon could complain, he took a series of photographs of the body with particular attention to the facial trauma. Jack was careful to position the head for maximum exposure. In the process, he also looked for any subtle signs of strangulation or smothering. There weren’t any.

  After putting the camera away he completed his rapid but thorough external exam. While he worked, he kept up a verbal description for Warren’s benefit. He mentioned that there were no signs of injections other than iatrogenic ones, no trauma other than to the eye and cheek, and no signs of infectious disease.

  Next, Jack got out his collection of syringes and began taking body fluid samples. He got blood from the heart, urine from the bladder, vitreous from the eyeballs, and cerebrospinal fluid from the central nervous system. Then he got out the nasogastric tube and got some stomach contents. He worked quickly for fear of being interrupted before he was finished.

  Warren tried to keep his eyes closed through it all.

  The funeral director had moved back against the wall. He stood vigilantly with his arms folded across his chest. It was obvious by his expression and the fact that his lip continued to twitch that he was not enthralled by Jack’s efforts, but he stayed silent. At least until Jack’s scalpel flashed in the bright fluorescent light.

  “Wait!” Gordon cried when he caught a fleeting view of the knife. Pushing off the wall he quickly came forward. “What are you going to do now?”

  “It’s done,” Jack said. He straightened up and plopped a wedge of facial tissue and eyelid into a sample bottle. He’d taken the sample with blinding speed.

  “But you promised,” Gordon sputtered. With dismay he looked down at the gap in the skin of Connie’s face.