(1/12) Blindsight

by Cook, Robin

  Reaching below with a trembling hand, Jordan switched on the slit lamp. As he did so he got a whiff of garlic from Cerino’s breath.

  “I understand you’ve been doing more surgery than usual lately,” Paul said.

  “That’s true,” Jordan replied.

  “As a businessman myself I would imagine you’d like to do as much surgery as possible,” Cerino said. “I imagine that’s where the big bucks are.”

  “That’s also true,” Jordan said. He moved the slit lamp’s beam so that it fell across Cerino’s badly scarred cornea.

  “I have some ideas about keeping your surgery up,” Cerino said. “Would that interest you?”

  “Of course,” Jordan said.

  “Fix me up first, Doc,” Cerino said. “If you do, we’ll remain friends. Then who knows? Maybe we can do some business.”

  Jordan wasn’t certain he wanted to be friends with this guy, but he certainly didn’t want to be enemies. He had a feeling Paul Cerino’s enemies didn’t last too long. He was determined to do his best by Cerino. And he’d already made up his mind: he wouldn’t be sending the man a bill.

  Laurie put down her pen and leaned back in her desk chair. She’d been struggling to keep her mind on her paperwork, but she wasn’t making much headway. Her thoughts kept drifting back to those drug overdoses. She couldn’t believe she wasn’t down in the autopsy room working on the two cases that had come in overnight.

  She’d resisted the temptation to sneak down and watch as Fontworth went about his business. Calvin would have exploded if he’d seen her.

  Laurie looked at her watch. She decided it was late enough to slip downstairs to see if Fontworth had turned up anything. No sooner had she stood up than Lou walked in.

  “On your way out?” he asked.

  Laurie sat back down. “It’s probably better if I don’t.”

  “Yeah?” said Lou.

  She could tell he wasn’t sure what she was talking about.

  “It’s a long story,” Laurie said. “How are you doing? You look exhausted.”

  “I am,” Lou admitted. “I’ve been up since three. And doing autopsies with people other than you is just plain work.”

  “Are they finished?” Laurie asked.

  “Hell, no,” Lou said. “I’m the one who’s finished. I couldn’t stand up any longer. But it will probably take the two doctors all day to finish the four cases plus the dog.”

  “The dog?”

  “Clipper,” Lou said. “At one of the homes the killer shot the dog as well as the man and the woman. But I’m only kidding. They’re not autopsying the dog.”

  “Find out anything useful?” Laurie asked.

  “I don’t know. The caliber of the bullets looks similar to the cases in Queens, but we’ll have to wait to hear what Ballistics says before we’re certain they’re from the same guns. And of course Ballistics is weeks behind.”

  “No ideas yet?” Laurie asked.

  Lou shook his head. “Afraid not. The Queens cases suggested a restaurant connection, but the two cases downstairs have nothing to do with the business. One guy was a big-shot banker who’d contributed heavily to the mayor’s campaign. The other is an executive for one of the big auction houses.”

  “Still no organized-crime association?” Laurie asked.

  “Nope,” Lou said. “But we’re still working on it. There’s no question that these were professional hits. I’ve got two more investigative teams on these two Manhattan cases.

  Between the three teams in Queens and these two new ones, I’m running out of manpower. The only positive break so far is that the housekeeper at one of the homes is still alive. If she makes it, we’ll have our first witness.”

  “I’d like to get a break with my series,” Laurie said. “If only one of these overdoses wouldn’t die. I wish I had some manpower to try to find the source of the coke that’s killing all these people.”

  “You think it’s from a single source?”

  “I know so,” Laurie said. She explained how Peter had determined it scientifically.

  Just then Lou’s beeper sounded. Lou checked the number. “Speaking of manpower,” he said, “that’s one of my boys. May I use your phone?”

  Laurie nodded.

  “What is it, Norman?” Lou asked once he got through. Laurie was flattered that Lou put the call on speakerphone so she could hear.

  “Probably nothing,” Norman said. “But I thought I’d tell you anyway. I’ve found one note of commonality in these three cases: a doctor.”

  “Really?” Lou said. He rolled his eyes at Laurie. This wasn’t exactly the break he had been looking for. “That’s not the sort of association that’s going to be much help in this kind of murder case, Norman.”

  “I know,” Norman said. “But it’s the only thing that’s turned up. Remember you told me that Steven Vivonetto and Janice Singleton were both terminal?”

  “Yeah,” Lou said. “Was one of the Kaufmans terminally ill too?”

  “No, but Henriette Kaufman had a medical condition she was being treated for. And she was seeing the same doctor that Steven Vivonetto and Janice Singleton were seeing.

  Of course, Steven and Janice were seeing about a dozen doctors. But there was one doctor who was seeing all three.”

  “What kind of a doctor?” Lou asked.

  “An eye doctor,” Norman said. “His name is Jordan Scheffield.”

  Lou blinked. He couldn’t believe what he’d heard. He glanced at Laurie. Her eyes registered equal surprise.

  “How did you find this out?” Lou asked.

  “Just by accident,” Norman replied. “After you told me about Steven and Janice being terminal, I looked into everybody’s health. I didn’t even realize the connection until I got back to my office and started going over all the material that had been coming in. Do you think it’s important?”

  “I don’t know,” Lou said. “It’s certainly weird.”

  “You want me to follow up on it in any way?”

  “I wouldn’t even know how to follow up. Let me think about it and I’ll get back to you. Meanwhile keep the investigation going.”

  Lou hung up the phone. “Well, it’s a real small world. Either that or that boyfriend of yours really gets around.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Laurie said irritably.

  “I’m sorry,” Lou said. “I forgot. Your male acquaintance who happens to be a friend.”

  “You know, the night that Marsha Schulman disappeared, Jordan told me that his office had been broken into. Someone had gone through his records.”

  “Some had been stolen?” Lou asked.

  “No,” Laurie said. “Apparently some had been copied. I had him check Cerino’s record; it was one of the ones that had been disturbed.”

  “No kidding!” Lou said. He sat in bemused silence for a few minutes.

  Laurie was quiet, too.

  “It doesn’t make a lot of sense,” Lou said at last. “Could the Lucia family have gotten involved because Cerino is seeing Scheffield? I’m trying to fit Cerino’s rival, Vinnie Dominick, into the picture, but I can’t make any sense of it.”

  “One thing we could do is check the gangland-style homicides that came in today. See if any of them are Jordan’s patients.”

  Lou’s face brightened. “You know, that’s a good idea. Glad I thought of it.” His smile told Laurie he was kidding.

  In mock anger Laurie threw a paper clip at him.

  Five minutes later, dressed in scrubs, Laurie and Lou entered the autopsy room. Luckily Calvin was nowhere in sight.

  Both Southgate and Besserman were on their second cases. Southgate was almost finished; the Kaufmans were fairly straightforward cases, given their simple head wounds. Besserman’s cases were more difficult. First he had Dwight Sorenson, who had three bullet paths to trace. The work had been laborious and time-consuming, so Besserman was just starting on Amy Sorenson when Lou and Laurie got there.

  With the permission of th
e respective doctors, Laurie and Lou glanced through the folders on each case. Unfortunately, the medical histories were meager.

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Laurie said. She went to the phone and called Cheryl Myers.

  “Cheryl, I’ve got a favor to ask,” Laurie said.

  “What is it?” Cheryl asked cheerfully.

  “You know the four Manhattan homicides we got today?” Laurie said. “The ones that everybody’s up in arms about? I want to know if any of them have ever seen an ophthalmologist by the name of Jordan Scheffield.”

  “Will do,” Cheryl said. “I’ll call you back in a few minutes. Where are you?”

  “I’m down in the pit,” Laurie said.

  Laurie told Lou they’d hear back soon. Then Laurie went over to George Fontworth. He was just finishing up the second of his two overdose cases: Julia Myerholtz.

  “Calvin said I wasn’t supposed to talk with you today,” George told her. “I don’t want to cross him.”

  “Just answer me this. Was the cocaine mainlined?”

  “Yeah,” George said. His eyes darted around the room as if he expected Calvin to come thundering by.

  “Were the autopsies normal except for signs of the overdose and toxicity?” Laurie asked.

  “Yes,” George said. “Come on, Laurie, don’t put me in this situation.”

  “One last question,” Laurie said. “Were there any surprises?”

  “Just one,” George said. “But you know about that. I’d just not heard it was standard policy on this kind of case. I think it should have been brought up at Thursday conference.”

  “What are you talking about?” Laurie asked.

  “Please,” George said. “Don’t act dumb. Calvin told me it was your doing.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Laurie said.

  “Oh, God!” George said. “Here comes Calvin. ’Bye, Laurie.”

  Laurie turned in time to see Calvin’s hulking figure enter through the swinging door. Even dressed in his scrubs and protective gloves, there was no mistaking that body.

  Laurie quickly stepped away from George’s table, making a beeline for the master sheet of the day’s autopsies. She wanted to have a cover in case Calvin asked why she was there. Quickly, she searched for Mary O’Connor’s name. Finding it, she noted that Paul Plodgett had been scheduled for the autopsy. He was at the far table near the wall. Laurie joined him.

  “I’ve found a lot of stuff,” Paul said when Laurie asked how the autopsy was going.

  Laurie glanced over her shoulder. Calvin had gone directly to Besserman’s table.

  “What’s your feeling about the cause of death?” Laurie asked. She was relieved that Calvin hadn’t seen her, or if he had, he didn’t seem concerned about her presence.

  “Undoubtedly cardiovascular,” Paul said, gazing down at Mary O’Connor’s body. The woman was considerably overweight. The face and head were a deep blue, almost purple.

  “A lot of pathology?” Laurie asked.

  “Enough,” Paul said. “Moderate coronary disease for starters. Also the mitral valve was in pretty bad shape. The heart itself seemed awfully flabby. So there are a lot of candidates for the final culprit.”

  Laurie thought Jordan would appreciate the news.

  “She’s awfully purple,” Laurie commented.

  “True,” Paul said. “Quite a bit of congestion in the head and the lungs. Must have been a lot of terminal, agonal effort. She didn’t want to die, poor lady. She apparently even bit her lip.”

  “Really?” Laurie asked. “Do you think she had some kind of seizure?”

  “Could have,” Paul said. “But it’s more like an abrasion, like she was chewing her lip.”

  “Let’s see.”

  Paul reached over and drew back Mary O’Connor’s upper lip.

  “You’re right,” Laurie said. “What about the tongue?”

  “Normal,” Paul said. “That’s why I doubt there was a seizure. Maybe she had a lot of terminal pain. Well, perhaps the microscopic of the heart will show something pathognomonic, but I bet this case will fall into that category of an unknown coup de grace, at least specifically. In general I know it was cardiovascular.”

  Laurie nodded but looked at Mary O’Connor. Something bothered her about the case. It was triggering a memory she couldn’t quite put a finger on.

  “What about these petechiae on her face?” Laurie asked.

  “It’s consistent with terminal heart disease,” Paul said.

  “This much?”

  “As I said, there must have been a lot of agonal effort.”

  “Would you mind letting me know what you find on microscopic?” she asked. “She was a friend’s patient. I know he’ll be interested in what you find.”

  “Will do,” Paul said.

  Laurie saw that Calvin had moved from Besserman to Fontworth. Lou had wandered back to Southgate’s table. Laurie headed over to him.

  “Sorry,” she said to Lou as she came alongside.

  “No problem,” Lou said. “I’m starting to feel right at home here.”

  “Hey, Laurie, the phone’s for you,” a voice yelled out over the general background noise of the busy autopsy room. Laurie walked to the phone, cringing that her presence had been so blatantly broadcasted. She didn’t dare look in Calvin’s direction. She picked up the receiver: it was Cheryl.

  “I wish all your requests were so easy,” Cheryl said. “I called over to Dr. Scheffield’s office and the secretary couldn’t have been more helpful. Henriette Kaufman and Dwight Sorenson were both patients. Does that help you?”

  “I’m not sure,” Laurie said. “But it is interesting indeed. Thanks.”

  Laurie went back to Lou and told him what she had learned.

  “Wow!” he said. “That takes it out of the realm of coincidence. At least I think it does.”

  “Five for five,” Laurie said. “The possibility of that happening by chance is extremely small.”

  “But what does it mean?” Lou asked. “It seems like an awfully strange way to get at Cerino, if that’s what it’s about. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I agree,” Laurie said.

  “One way or the other,” Lou said, “I’ve got to look into it immediately. I’ll be in touch.” He was gone before Laurie could say so much as goodbye.

  Laurie hazarded one last glance at Calvin. He was still talking with George and didn’t seem the least perturbed by her presence.

  Back in her office, Laurie called Jordan. As usual he was in surgery. Laurie left a message for him to please call back.

  Trying to go back to work, Laurie wasn’t much more successful than she’d been earlier. Her mind was in a turmoil concerning her precarious job situation from having alienated so many people, her overdose series, and the odd coincidence that Jordan was treating a string of five gangland-style murder victims.

  Laurie’s thoughts drifted back to Mary O’Connor. She suddenly remembered what she’d been trying to think of earlier. The abrasions on the lip, the florid petechiae, and the face’s deep purple discoloration suggested “burking,” the suffocation by compressing the chest while occluding the mouth.

  With that thought in mind, Laurie phoned down to the autopsy room and asked for Paul.

  “I’ve had a thought,” Laurie said once he was on the line.

  “Shoot,” Paul said.

  “What do you think about burking as a possible cause of death in the O’Connor case?”

  Her suggestion was met with silence.

  “Well?” Laurie questioned.

  “The victim was in Manhattan General,” Paul said. “She was in a private room in the Goldblatt wing.”

  “Try to forget where she was,” Laurie said. “Just look at the facts.”

  “But as forensic pathologists we’re supposed to take the scene into consideration. If we didn’t, we’d misdiagnose tons of cases.”

  “I understand that,” Laurie said. “But sometimes the scene c
an be misleading. What about homicides set up to look like suicides?”

  “That’s different,” Paul said.

  “Is it?” Laurie questioned. “Anyway I just wanted you to give burking some thought. Think about the lip abrasion, the petechiae, and the amount of congestion of the face and the head.”

  As soon as Laurie put down the receiver, the phone rang. It was Jordan.

  “I’m glad you called,” Jordan said. “I was about to call you. I’m up in surgery and I only have a second. I’ve got a number of cases, including, you’ll be glad to hear, Mr. Paul Cerino.”

  “I am glad—” Laurie said.

  “And I have a favor to ask,” Jordan said, cutting Laurie short. “In order to get Cerino on the schedule, I’ve had to do some juggling. So I’m going to be stuck here until late.

  Could we take a raincheck on our dinner plans? How about tomorrow night?”

  “I suppose,” Laurie said. “But Jordan, I have some things I have to talk to you about now.”

  “Make it fast,” Jordan said. “My next patient is already in the operating room.”

  “First, about Mary O’Connor,” Laurie said. “She had heart disease.”

  “That’s reassuring,” Jordan said.

  “Do you know anything about her personal life?”

  “Not much.”

  “What would you say if I told you she’d been murdered?”

  “Murdered!” Jordan sputtered. “Are you serious?”

  “I don’t know,” Laurie admitted. “But if you told me she had twenty million dollars and was about to cut her wicked grandson out of her will, the possibility of murder might enter into my thinking.”

  “She was well-off but not wealthy,” Jordan said. “And do I have to remind you that you were supposed to make me feel better about her death, not more uneasy?”

  “The doctor who did her autopsy is convinced that she died from heart disease,” Laurie said.

  “That’s better,” Jordan said. “Where did this murder question originate?”

  “My fertile imagination,” Laurie said. “Plus some other rather startling news. Are you sitting down?”