by Cook, Robin
Laurie scanned the X-rays. They were an AP and lateral of the chest taken two years before. The lung fields were clear and normal. The heart silhouette looked normal as well. Disappointed, Laurie was about to tell Cheryl to remove the films when she looked at the clavicles, or collarbones. The one on the right had a slight angle to it two-thirds along its length, associated with a slight increase in radiopacity. Marsha Schulman had broken her collarbone sometime in the past. Though well healed, there had definitely been a fracture.
“Vinnie,” Laurie called out. “Get someone to bring the X-ray we took on the headless floater.”
“See something?” Cheryl asked.
Laurie pointed out the fracture, explaining to Cheryl why it appeared as it did. Vinnie brought the requested X-ray over to the view box. He snapped the new film up next to Marsha Schulman’s.
“Well, look at that!” Laurie cried. She pointed to the fractured clavicle. They were identical on both films. “I think we’re looking at the same person,” she said.
“Who is it?” Vinnie asked.
“The name is Marsha Schulman,” Laurie said, pulling down the X-rays from the Manhattan General and handing them to Cheryl. Then she asked Cheryl to check if Marsha Schulman had had a cholecystectomy and a hysterectomy. She told her it was important and asked her to do it immediately.
Pleased with this discovery, Laurie started her second case, Randall Thatcher. As with her first case of the day, there was essentially no pathology. The autopsy went quickly and smoothly. Again Laurie was able to document with reasonable certainty that the cocaine had been taken IV. By the time they were sewing up the body, Cheryl was back in with the news that Marsha Schulman had indeed had both operations in question. In fact, both had been performed at Manhattan General.
Thrilled by this additional confirmation, Laurie finished up and went to her office to dictate the first two cases and to make several calls. First she tried Jordan’s office, only to learn that Dr. Scheffield was in surgery.
“Again?” Laurie sighed. She was disappointed not to get him right away.
“He’s been doing a lot of transplants lately,” Jordan’s nurse explained. “He always does quite a bit of surgery, but lately he’s been doing even more.”
Laurie left word for Jordan to call back when he could. Then she called police headquarters and asked for Lou.
To Laurie’s chagrin, Lou was unavailable. Laurie left her number and asked that he return her call when he could.
Somewhat frustrated, Laurie did her dictation, then headed back to the autopsy room for her third and final case of the day. As she waited for the elevator she wondered if Bingham might be willing to change his mind about making some kind of public statement now that there were six cases.
When the elevator doors opened, Laurie literally bumped into Lou. For a moment they looked at each other with embarrassment.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“It was my fault,” Lou told her. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“I was the one who wasn’t looking,” Laurie said.
Then they both laughed at their self-conscious behavior.
“Were you coming to see me?” Laurie asked.
“No,” Lou said. “I was looking for the Pope. Someone said he was up here on the fifth floor.”
“Very funny,” Laurie said, leading him back to her office. “Actually I just this minute tried to call you.”
“Oh, sure!” Lou teased.
“Honest,” Laurie said. She sat down at her desk. Lou took the chair he’d been in the day before. “I made an ID on the headless floater that was found with Marchese. The name is Marsha Schulman. She is Jordan Scheffield’s secretary.”
“You mean Dr. Roses? She was his secretary?” Lou pointed at the flowers, which had not lost any of their freshness.
“One and the same,” Laurie said. “Just last night he told me that she’d not shown up for work. But he also told me that her husband, who’s no Boy Scout, has ties to organized crime.”
“What’s the husband’s name?” Lou asked.
“Danny Schulman,” Laurie said.
“Could that be the Danny Schulman who owns a restaurant in Bayside?” he asked.
“That’s the one,” Laurie said. “Apparently he’s had several brushes with the law.”
“Damn right he has. He’s associated with the Lucia crime family. At least they used his place to run some of their operations like fencing stolen goods, gambling, that sort of thing. We picked up old Danny-boy hoping he’d finger some of the higher-ups, but the guy took the fall without talking.”
“You think his wife might have gotten killed because of his business?” Laurie asked.
“Who knows?” Lou admitted. “Threats could have been made, warnings not heeded. I’ll certainly look into that angle.”
“What a nasty business,” Laurie said.
“That’s an understatement,” Lou said. “And speaking of nasty business, have you gotten any results on Frankie DePasquale’s eyes? Could they document acid?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t heard back yet. Dr. DeVries has not been terribly accommodating. I don’t think he’s looked at the specimen yet. But there is some good news: a young assistant of his is going to help me on the q.t. I think I’ll finally start getting some results.”
“I hope so,” Lou said. “Something big is about to happen in the Queens crime world. There were four gangland-style slayings there last night. People shot in their own homes. And on top of that a friend of Frankie’s and Bruno’s was killed in a funeral home in Ozone Park. Whatever tensions were brewing are bubbling big time.”
“I’d heard there were a number of homicides in Queens,” Laurie said.
“One couple was shot right in their bed while they were sleeping. The other two, one man and one woman, were sleeping as well. As far as we can tell, none of these people had any previous association with organized crime.”
“Sounds like you’re not convinced.”
“I’m not. The manner in which they were killed is almost an indictment. Anyway, I’ve got three separate detective teams working on the three cases, and this is in addition to the organized crime unit who is doing the same. We have so many people out there they are running into each other.”
“Sounds like the Vaccarro and Lucia families are moving toward a showdown,” Laurie said. “But you know something? Somehow mobsters offing mobsters doesn’t bother me so much. At least not as much as the deaths of the accomplished people I’m seeing with this rash of cocaine overdoses. I’ve got three more today. That makes six.”
“I guess we view things from a different perspective,” Lou said. “I feel just the opposite. As far as I’m concerned, I can’t get too overly sympathetic about rich, privileged people doing themselves in trying to get high. In fact I couldn’t care less about druggies of any sort ODing, because they are the ones that create the demand for drugs. If it weren’t for the demand there wouldn’t be a drug problem. They’re more to blame for this current national disaster than the starving peasant down in Peru or Colombia growing coca leaves. If the druggies knock themselves off, all the better. With each death there is that much less demand.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing you correctly,” Laurie snapped. “These are productive members of society that we are losing. People on whom society has spent time and money educating. And why are they dying? Because some bastard put a contaminant in the drug or cut it with something lethal. Stopping these unnecessary deaths is a lot more important than stopping a bunch of gangsters from killing each other. Hell, they’re the ones who are doing a service to society.”
“But not only gangsters get hurt when crime wars break out,” Lou yelled. “Besides, organized crime reaches way down into our lives. In a city like New York it is all around us. Take trash collection—”
“I don’t care about trash collection!” Laurie yelled. “That’s the most stupid comment that I—”
All of a sudden
Laurie stopped in midsentence. She realized she’d become angry, and that getting angry at Lou was ridiculous.
“I’m sorry for raising my voice,” Laurie said. “I sound like I’m mad at you, but I’m not. I’m just frustrated. I can’t get anyone else to share my concern about these particular overdose deaths—not even you—and I think future deaths are preventable. But at the rate I’m going we’re like to have forty more ODs before anybody blinks about them.”
“And I’m sorry for raising my voice,” Lou said. “I suppose I’m frustrated too. I need some kind of break. Plus I have the police commissioner breathing down my back. I’ve only been a lieutenant on homicide for a year. I want to save lives, but I also want to save my job. I like being a policeman. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”
“Speaking of police,” Laurie said, changing the subject, “I had a little shock last night I wanted to share with you. I’d like your advice.”
Laurie described the experience she’d had the night before at Stuart Morgan’s apartment. She tried to be as objective as possible since there had been no hard evidence. Yet as she told the story, especially with the three dollars remaining in the money belt, she became even more convinced that the uniformed patrolmen had stolen things from the Stuart Morgan apartment.
“That’s too bad,” Lou said dejectedly.
There was a pause. Laurie looked at Lou expectantly.
“Is that all you can say?” Laurie questioned finally.
“What else can I say? I hate to hear stories like that, but it happens. What can you do?”
“I thought you’d demand to know the names of the officers involved so that you could reprimand them and—”
“And what?” Lou asked. “Get them fired? I’m not going to do that. You have to expect a little thievery once in a while with the kind of money the typical uniformed patrolman pulls down. A few bucks here and there. It’s like incentive pay. Remember, police work is Godawful frustrating as well as dangerous. So it’s not so surprising. Not that I personally condone it, but you have to expect some.”
“That sounds like convenient morality,” Laurie said. “When you start allowing the “good guys’ to break the law, where do you stop? And not only is this kind of thievery morally objectionable, it’s also a disaster from a medical-legal point of view. These guys mucked around with a scene, distorting and destroying evidence.”
“It’s bad and it’s wrong, but I’m not about to make an issue about this kind of illicit behavior at a drug overdose scene. I’d feel differently if it had been a homicide. I’m sure the officers would too.”
“I can’t believe what a double standard you have! Any drug user can drop dead as far as you’re concerned, and if cops steal from a victim before the M.E. arrives, so much the better.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Lou said, “but this is just the way I feel. You asked me how I felt, I’ve told you. If you want to pursue the matter, I suggest you call Internal Affairs at police headquarters and tell the story to them. Me, I’d rather concentrate on serious bad guys.”
“Once again I can’t believe I’m hearing you correctly,” Laurie said. “I’m floored. What am I, too naive?”
“I take the fifth amendment,” Lou said, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “But I tell you what. Why don’t we discuss it further this evening. How about dinner tonight?”
“I have plans,” Laurie said.
“Of course,” Lou said. “How silly of me to think you might be available. I suppose it is Dr. Roses again. But don’t tell me. What’s left of my ego couldn’t take it. With his limo and all, he’s probably taking you to those places where I couldn’t afford to check my coat. Like I said yesterday, let me know if your lab decides to do any of the tests that might show anything. Ciao!”
With that, Lou got up and left the room. Laurie was happy to see him go. He could be so irritating. If he wanted to take personally her turning him down for that evening, he was welcome to. What did he expect her to do? Drop everything?
She was about to call Internal Affairs as Lou had facetiously suggested, but before she could pick up the receiver, the phone rang. It was Jordan returning her call.
“I hope you didn’t call to cancel for tonight,” he said.
“Nothing like that,” Laurie said. “It’s about your secretary, Marsha Schulman.”
“You mean my former secretary,” Jordan said. “She didn’t show up or call this morning either, so I’m in the process of replacing her. I already have a temp.”
“I’m afraid she’s dead,” Laurie said.
“Oh, no!” Jordan said. “Are you serious?”
Laurie explained how she had made the identification of the headless corpse with the chest X-ray, and the fact of the two surgeries.
“The forensic medical investigators are following up to make the identification even more certain,” Laurie said, “but with what we have already, I think we can be quite confident.”
“I wonder if that bastard husband was involved,” Jordan wondered aloud.
“I’m sure the police will be looking into the possibility,” Laurie said. “Anyway, I thought you should know.”
“I’m not sure I want to know,” Jordan said. “What horrible news.”
“Sorry to be the bearer of sad tidings,” Laurie said.
“It’s not your fault,” Jordan said. “And I had to be told. Anyway, I’ll still see you at eight.”
“Eight it is.”
Laurie hung up and dialed Internal Affairs. She spoke to a disinterested secretary who took down the details of her story, promising to pass them along to her boss.
Laurie sat at her desk to compose her thoughts before returning to the autopsy room for her last case. She was beginning to feel overwhelmed. It felt as if every aspect of her life—personal, professional, ethical—was spinning out of control.
“I’m Lieutenant Lou Soldano,” Lou said politely. He passed his credentials to the bright-eyed secretary at the reception desk.
“Homicide?” she asked.
“That’s right,” Lou said. “I’d like to speak with the doctor. I only need a few minutes of his time.”
“If you’ll have a seat in the waiting room, I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Lou sat down and idly flipped through a recent edition of The New Yorker. He noticed the drawings on the walls, especially one that was blatantly pornographic. He wondered if someone had actually chosen them or if they had come with the office. Either way, thought Lou, there was no accounting for some people’s taste.
Other than the drawings, Lou was impressed with the waiting room. The walls were paneled with mahogany. A tasteful, inch-thick oriental carpet covered the floor. But then Lou already knew the good doctor did quite well for himself.
Lou looked at the faces of the patients who paid for this opulence, plus the limo and the roses. There were about ten in the waiting room, some with eyepatches, some who looked totally healthy, including one middle-aged woman draped in jewels. Lou would have loved to ask her what she was there for, just to get an idea, but he didn’t dare.
Time passed slowly as one by one the patients disappeared into the depths of the office. Lou tried to contain his impatience, but after three-quarters of an hour, he began to get irritated. He began to think it was a deliberate snub on Jordan Scheffield’s part. Although Lou didn’t have an appointment, he’d expected to be seen relatively quickly, perhaps to schedule a future visit if it were needed. It wasn’t every day a detective lieutenant from Homicide dropped by someone’s office. Besides, Lou hadn’t planned on taking much of the doctor’s time.
Lou’s reason for the visit was twofold. He wanted to find out more about Marsha Schulman, but he also wanted to talk about Paul Cerino. It was a kind of fishing trip; the doctor might be able to fill him in on some details he didn’t yet know. He resisted the nagging thought at the back of his mind: he was really there to check out the guy who was seeing Doctor Laurie Montgomery every night for dinner.
“Mr. Soldano,” the secretary said at last, “Dr. Scheffield will see you now.”
“It’s about time,” Lou mumbled as he got to his feet and tossed his magazine aside. He walked toward the door being held open by the secretary. It wasn’t the same door that all the patients had disappeared into.
After a short hall, Lou was shown into Jordan’s private office. He strode into the center of the room. Behind him he heard the door close.
Lou looked at the top of Jordan’s blond head. The doctor was writing in a record.
“Sit down,” Jordan said without looking up.
Lou debated what he wanted to do. The idea of disregarding what sounded more like a command than an offer appealed to him, so he stayed where he was. His eyes roamed the office. He was impressed and couldn’t help compare the environment with his own utilitarian, metal-desked, peeling-walled rathole. Who said life was fair? Lou mused.
Redirecting his attention to the doctor, Lou couldn’t tell much other than that the man was well groomed. He was dressed in a typical doctor white coat that appeared to be whiter than white and starched to boardlike stiffness. On his ring finger he wore a large gold signet ring, probably from some fancy school.
Jordan finished his writing and meticulously organized the pages of the record before folding over its cover. Then he looked up. He appeared genuinely surprised that Lou was still standing in the middle of his office, hat in hand.
“Please,” Jordan said. He got to his feet and gestured toward one of the two chairs facing his desk. “Sit down. Sorry to have made you wait, but I’m tremendously busy these days. Lots of surgery. What can I do for you? I suppose you are here about my secretary, Marsha Schulman. Tragic situation. I hope you people are planning on looking into her husband’s probable involvement.”
Lou’s eyes traveled up to Jordan’s face. He was dismayed the man was so tall. It made him feel short by comparison, although he was almost six feet himself.
“What do you know about Mr. Schulman?” Lou asked. With Jordan’s more cordial offer, Lou sat down. Jordan did the same. Lou listened while Jordan told all he knew about Marsha’s husband. Since Lou already knew considerably more than Jordan, he took the time to observe the “good” doctor, noticing things like a mild yet probably fake English accent. Before Jordan had even finished talking about Danny Schulman, Lou had decided that Jordan was a pompous, affected, arrogant creep. Lou couldn’t understand what a down-to-earth girl like Laurie could see in him.