Vector js&lm-4

by Robin Cook

  Especially during the summer, he sweated profusely on his morning bicycle commute and had to shower and change.

  Jack threw all the supplies into the satchel, thanked Vinnie, and headed back to the loading dock. He found Warren and Flash on the , sidewalk. They were again arguing about whether Flash should go out to confront his brother-in-law.

  As they piled into the car the two lifelong friends behaved as if they were angry with each other. Jack got into the spacious back seat, while Warren and Flash climbed into the front. The car was a five-year-old Cadillac.

  "Can't we make this a pleasant trip? " Jack asked, hoping to ease the tense atmosphere.

  "He's crazy! " Warren complained throwing his hands in the air. "He's going to get himself in big trouble or killed, you know what I'm saying?"

  "Yeah, but it was my sister who was murdered, " Flash shot back. "If it were yours, you'd feel the same way I do."

  "But you don't know she was murdered, " Warren said. "That's the whole point.

  That's why we're here talking to the doc."

  "Listen, Flash, " Jack said. "I'm reasonably confident I'll be able to tell if there was foul play, but you might have to be patient. I might not be able to say definitively for a couple of days."

  "How come a couple of days? " Flash asked. He swung around in his seat to glare at Jack. "I thought you could tell if you just looked at her."

  "That might be, " Jack said. "But I kinda doubt it, since Randolph didn't see anything. He's not that bad an ME. What I'm concerned about.. .. .. ..

  is some Kana or poison.

  "Like what? " Warren asked. He looked at Jack in his rearview mirror.

  "Cyanide, for instance, " Jack said. "Of course that doesn't fit, since the oxygen level in her blood was low. Still, it's something to think about."

  "What else? " Warren asked.

  "Carbon monoxide has to be considered, " Jack said. "But the trouble with that is that she was described as being cyanotic, or blue, by the EMTS."

  "Is that all? " Warren asked. "No other poisons? "

  "What is this, a test? " Jack asked.

  "No, I'm just interested, " Warren said.

  "Well, now you're pushing me, " Jack said. "But I suppose I'll be thinking about barbiturates, benzodiazopines, like Valium, ethylene glycol, and stuff like that. What all these agents have in common is theycause respiratory depression, which apparently Connie had."

  "How could her husband have killed her with carbon monoxide? " Flash asked.

  "Did they have a car? "

  "Yeah, " Flash said. "They even had a garage."

  "Well, he could have gotten her drunk or drugged enough to put her in the car while it was running in the garage, " Jack said. "Or better still, with the exhaust piped directly into it. Then when she was nearly dead, he could have carried her into the bathroom and called nine-one-one."

  "He couldn't have carried her anyplace, " Flash said.

  "She was about three hundred fifty pounds."

  "I'm just giving you a hypothetical situation, " Jack said. "Hell, you guys! Come on, let's go! "

  "You gotta tell me where to, " Warren said.

  "Kings County Hospital, " Jack said. "It's southeast of Prospect Park over in Brooklyn."

  "Should I take the FDR Drive? " Warren asked.

  "Yes, " Jack said. "And go over the Brooklyn Bridge. Then get on Flatbush Ave." Warren started his car and they set off.

  "Flash, " Jack called from the back seat as they were heading along the East River. "What are the chances that your sister could have committed suicide? "

  "No way! " Flash said without hesitation. "She wasn't the type."

  "Was she ever depressed? "

  "Not in the usual sense, " Flash said.

  "But maybe a little. It could have been why she ate so much. She knew she'd married a mental case."

  "How so? " Jack asked.

  "The dude did nothing, " Flash said angrily. "He'd come home from work and drink in front of the television. That was it, at least until a few months ago, when he started spending all his time in the basement."

  "Doing what? " Jack asked.

  1 i "Tinkering around, I guess, " Flash said. "Connie didn't tell me what he did. I don't think she knew."

  "Did she drink a lot herself?"

  "Nope, " Flash said. "Provided you're talking about booze.

  Milkshakes are another story."

  "What about drugs? " Jack asked.

  "She wasn't into drugs, " Flash said. "Never was."

  "Where in Brooklyn did she live? " Jack asked.

  "Fifteen Oceanview Lane, " Flash said.

  "Where's that? "

  "Brighton Beach, " Flash said. "She lived in a kinda cute area with a bunch of small wooden cottages. In the summer she could walk to the beach and take a swim. It was pretty nice."

  "Hmmm, " Jack commented. He wondered what the place looked like. He couldn't imagine cottages within the New York City limits.

  Parking around Kings County Hospital was a nightmare come true, but it didn't rattle Warren. In the trunk he had an old beat-up ash can with the bottom cut out. All he did was find a spot in front of a fire hydrant, park, and then cover the hydrant with the modified garbage can.

  Jack marveled at the adaptions that city living required.

  Outside of the medical examiner's office both Warren and Flash paused.

  "Maybe we should wait out here, Warren said. He looked at Flash.

  Flash nodded.

  "Fine by me, " Jack said. "I'll try to make it fast." Jack entered the building. He flashed his badge to the receptionist, who'd never seen him before. Duly impressed, she buzzed him in.

  Not wanting to waste time, Jack went directly to the mortuary officenext to the autopsy room and walked through the open door. A mortuary tech was at the desk.

  "Hi, I'm Dr. Jack Stapleton from the Manhattan office, " Jack said with alacrity. He showed his badge as he'd done with the receptionist.

  "Hello. I'm Doug Smithers. What can I do for you? " The man was plainly surprised. Exchange visits were not the norm.

  "A couple of things, " Jack said. "First, as a courtesy, would you page Dr. Randolph Sanders for me?

  Ask him if he wouldn't mind comingdown here."

  "Okay, " Doug said with a tinge of uncertainty. It wasn't part of a mortuary tech's job description to dictate to the MES.

  He picked up the phone. When he got the doctor on the line, he relayed Jack's request verbatim.

  "Perfect! " Jack said. "Now I'd like you to find a body for me and wheel it someplace where I can take a look at it."

  "Would you like it on a table in the autopsy room? "

  "No, " Jack said.

  "I'm not going to be suiting up. I merely want to take a peek at the corpse and take a few body fluid samples. So just find someplace with adequate lighting.

  " Doug Smithers got to his feet. "What's the accession number? "

  "That I don't know, " Jack said. "The name is Connie Davydov. She came in, I believe, early this morning."

  "That body's not here, " Doug said.

  "You're joking."

  "No, I'm not. It went out not that long ago, maybe a half hour."

  "Damn! " Jack yelled with a shake of his head for emphasis. He tossed his satchel onto the desk with a clatter. His face reddened.

  "I'm sorry, " Doug said. He hunkered down as if he expected Jack to take a swing at him.

  "It's not your fault, " Jack snapped. He cracked his knuckles in frustration. "Where did the body go? "

  Doug warily bent over the ledger book on the desk. He used his index finger to scan down the column.

  "It went to Strickland's Funeral Home."

  "Where the hell is that? "

  "I believe it's on Caton Avenue over near Greenwood Cemetery."

  "Jesus H. Christ! " Jack muttered. He began to pace while he tried to think what to do next.

  "Dr. Stapleton, I presume, " a voice said with a distinctly condescending air
. "Aren't you wandering a little far afield? " Jack glanced up at the doorway. Framed between the jambs was Dr. Randolph Sanders. He was a bit older than Jack with mostly gray hair brushed back from his narrow face. He wore thick-rimmed black glasses that gave him an owlish appearance. In the hierarchy of the medical examiner's office, he was far above Jack, with almost twenty years of experience.

  "I thought I'd dash over here and give you some very needed help, " Jack shot back.

  "Oh, please! " Randolph remarked contemptuously.

  "Why in hell's name did you send the Davydov body out when you knew I was coming over here? "

  "I got a mysterious message that you might pay us a visit, but there was no request to keep the body here."

  "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, since an IQ of fifty or more would have been necessary to have presumed as much."

  "I don't have to listen to your juvenile slander, " Randolph said.

  "Have a nice trip back to Manhattan." He spun on his heels and disappeared from view.

  Jack stepped out into the hall. He called out to the retreating Randolph. "Well, let me tell you something.

  Connie Davydov did not have either asthma or allergies. She was an entirely healthy woman who suddenly experienced respiratory failure without having a heart attack or a stroke. If that's not the kind of case that deserves an autopsy, I don't know what is! " Randolph stopped at the elevators and faced around.

  "How do you know she didn't have asthma and allergies? " he demanded.

  "From her brother, " Jack said.

  "Well, let me tell you something, " Randolph said disdainfully, . "My source of the woman's history happens to be this office's most experienced forensic investigator. You can believe whomever you wish.

  I'll rely on a professional." Randolph turned and calmly pressed the elevator button. He glanced back briefly to give Jack a condescending smile.

  Jack was about to counter angrily Randolph's last statement when it dawned on him how ludicrous it was for him to be arguing with such a blockhead. Besides, a confrontation with this ME would do nothing to advance his looking into Connie Davydov's case. Shaking his head, Jack went back into the mortuary office and grabbed his satchel from the desk. Doug looked at him curiously but didn't say anything.

  Still fuming, Jack stalked out of the Brooklyn ME's office and strode down the sidewalk toward Warren's car. Warren and Flash were leaning up against the Caddy's fenders. They looked at Jack expectantly as he approached, but Jack didn't say a word. He just climbed into the back seat.

  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.

  ren 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 selfdestructing. 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.r />
  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 occupant.