by Cook, Robin
“What the hell did you shoot her for?” Angelo demanded. “We were supposed to bring her in alive.”
“I lost my head,” Tony said. “She hit me in the nuts with her goddamn briefcase.”
“Let’s get her the hell out of here,” Angelo ordered.
Together they each grabbed one of Laurie’s arms. Angelo bent down and grabbed her briefcase. Then the two men half-dragged, half-carried Laurie’s lifeless body to their car. Dead or alive, they could still get her to the Montego Bay.
As quickly as possible they shoved her into the backseat of the car. A few pedestrians eyed them suspiciously, but no one said anything. Tony climbed in beside her while Angelo jumped into the front seat and started the car. As soon as the engine responded, he pulled out into Nineteenth Street.
“She better not be bleeding on that upholstery,” Angelo said, glancing in the rearview mirror. He could see Tony struggling with the body. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Trying to get her purse out from under her,” Tony said. He grunted. “It’s like she’s got a death grip on it, as if it matters at this point.”
“She dead?” Angelo asked. He was still furious.
“She hasn’t moved,” Tony said. “Ah, got it!” He held up the purse as if it were a trophy.
“If Cerino asks me what happened,” Angelo snapped, “I’m going to have to tell him.”
“I’m sorry,” Tony said. “I told you. I lost my head. Hey, look at this! This broad is loaded.” He waved a handful of twenties that he pulled from a wallet.
“Just keep her out of view,” said Angelo.
“Oh, no!” Tony cried.
“What’s the matter now?” Angelo demanded.
“This chick isn’t Laurie Montgomery,” Tony said, looking up from a piece of identification. “It’s a Maureen Wharton, an Assistant D.A. But she looks just like that photo.” Tony leaned forward and picked up the newspaper with Laurie’s photo. Brushing Maureen’s hair to the side, he compared her face to the one in the photo. “Well, it’s pretty close,” he said.
Angelo gripped the steering wheel so hard that the blood drained from his hand. He was going to have to tell Cerino about Tony whether he asked or not. Because of Tony they had whacked the wrong woman, an Assistant D.A., no less. This kid was driving him berserk.
“It’s me—Ponti,” Franco said. He’d put a call through to Vinnie Dominick. “I’m in the car heading for the tunnel. I just wanted you to know that I just watched the two guys we’ve discussed hit another young woman in broad daylight. It’s crazy. It makes no sense.”
“I’m glad you called,” Vinnie said. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you. That snitch you set me up with, that friend of a friend of Tony Ruggerio’s girlfriend, just clued me in. He knows what they’re doing. It’s unbelievable. You’d never have figured it out.”
“Want me to come back?” Franco asked.
“No, stay on those two,” Vinnie said. “I’m heading out now to talk directly with some Lucia people. We’ll figure out what to do. We got to stop Cerino but in a way to take advantage of the situation. Capisce?”
Franco hung up the phone. Angelo’s car was about five carlengths ahead. Now that Vinnie knew what was going on, Franco was dying to know as well.
Cupping her hands around her face, Laurie pressed them against the locked glass doors of the converted brownstone on East Fifty-fifth Street. She could make out a set of marble steps that rose up to another closed door.
Laurie stepped back to view the front of the building. It was five stories tall with a bow front. The second floor had tall windows from which light poured. The third floor had lights as well. Above that the windows were dark.
To the right of the door was a brass plate that said MANHATTAN ORGAN REPOSITORY: HOURS NINE TO FIVE. Since it was after five, Laurie understood why the front doors were locked. But the lights on the second and third floors suggested that the building was still occupied, and Laurie was determined to talk with someone.
Going back to the door, Laurie knocked again just as loudly as she had when she’d first arrived. Still no one responded.
Looking to the left, Laurie noticed a service entrance. Walking over to this door, she tried to peer inside but saw nothing. It was totally black. Returning to the main door, Laurie was about to knock again when she noticed something she’d not seen. Below the brass plate and partially hidden from view by the ivy that snaked up the building’s facade was a small brass bell. Laurie pushed it and waited.
A few minutes later the foyer beyond the glass doors illuminated. Then the inner door opened and a woman in a long, tight, unadorned wool dress came down the few marble steps. She had to walk sideways because of the snugness of the dress about her legs. She appeared to be in her mid-fifties. Her humorless face was stern and her hair was pulled back in a tight bun.
Coming to the door, she pantomimed that they were closed. To emphasize her point, she repeatedly pointed at her watch.
Laurie mimed in return, indicating that she wanted to talk with someone by making her hand move as if she were operating a hand puppet. When that didn’t work, Laurie took out her medical examiner’s badge and flashed it despite Bingham’s dire warnings that he’d have her arrested. When that didn’t work its usual wonders, Laurie took out the business card she’d taken from Yvonne Andre’s apartment and pressed it against the glass. Finally the woman relented and unlatched the door.
“I’m sorry, but we’re closed for the day,” the woman said.
“I gathered that,” Laurie said, putting a hand on the door, “but I must speak with you. I only need a few minutes of your time. I’m with the medical examiner’s office. My name is Dr. Laurie Montgomery.”
“What is it you wish to discuss?” the woman asked.
“Can I come in?” Laurie suggested.
“I suppose,” the woman said with a sigh. She opened the door wide and let Laurie in. Then she locked the door behind them.
“This is quite lovely,” Laurie said. Most of the building’s nineteenth-century detailing had been preserved when it had been converted from a private residence to office space.
“We’re lucky to have the building,” the woman said. “By the way, my name is Gertrude Robeson.”
They shook hands.
“Would you care to come up to my office?”
Laurie said that she would, and Gertrude led her up an elegant Georgian staircase that curved up to the floor above.
“I appreciate your time,” Laurie said. “It is rather important.”
“I’m the only one here,” Gertrude said. “Trying to finish up some work.”
Gertrude’s office was in the front, and it accounted for the light streaming out of the windows from the second floor. It was a large office with a crystal chandelier. Vaguely Laurie wondered how it was that so many nonprofit organizations had such sumptuous surroundings.
Once they were seated, Laurie got to the point. She again took out the business card she’d picked up at Yvonne’s and passed it to Gertrude. “Is this individual a member of the staff here?” Laurie questioned.
“Yes, he is,” Gertrude said. She gave the card back. “Jerome Hoskins is in charge of our recruiting efforts.”
“What exactly is the Manhattan Organ Repository?” Laurie asked.
“I’d be happy to give you our literature,” Gertrude said, “but essentially we’re a nonprofit organization devoted to the donation and reallocation of human organs for transplantation.”
“What do you mean by your “recruiting efforts’?” Laurie asked.
“We try to get people to register as potential donors,” Gertrude said. “The simplest commitment is just to agree that in the event of an accident that renders one brain dead, one would be willing to have the appropriate organs given to a needy recipient.”
“If that’s the simplest commitment,” Laurie said, “what’s a more complicated one?”
“Complicated is not the right word,” Gertrude said. “
It is all simple. But the next step is to get the potential donor to be blood and tissue typed. That is particularly helpful in replenishable organs like bone marrow.”
“How does your organization do its recruiting?” Laurie asked.
“The usual methods,” Gertrude said. “We have charitable fund-raisers, telethons, active college groups, that sort of thing. It’s really a matter of getting the word out.
That’s why it’s so helpful when a recipient can command media attention, like a child needing a heart or liver.”
“Do you have a large staff?” Laurie questioned.
“It’s rather small, actually,” Gertrude said. “We use a lot of volunteers.”
“Who responds to your appeals?” Laurie asked.
“Mostly college-educated people,” Gertrude said, “particularly those who are civic-minded. People who are interested in social issues and are willing to give something back to society.”
“Have you ever heard the name Yvonne Andre?” Laurie asked.
“No, I don’t believe so,” Gertrude said. “Is this someone I should meet?”
“I don’t think so,” Laurie said. “She’s dead.”
“Oh, dear,” Gertrude said. “Why did you ask if I knew her?”
“Just curious,” Laurie said. “Could you tell me if Yvonne Andre was someone Mr. Hoskins recruited?”
“I’m sorry,” Gertrude said. “That’s confidential information. I cannot give it out.”
“I am a medical examiner,” Laurie said. “My interest in this is not casual. I was speaking with Yvonne Andre’s mother today, and she told me her daughter was committed to your cause before her untimely death. Mr. Hoskins’ card was in her apartment. I don’t want to know any details, but I would appreciate knowing if she’d signed up with your organization.”
“Did Ms. Yvonne Andre’s death occur under questionable circumstances?” Gertrude asked.
“It will be signed out as accidental,” Laurie said. “But there are some aspects to her death that bother me.”
“You know, generally speaking, that for organs to be transplanted the donor must be in a vegetative state. In other words, everything but the brain must still be physiologically alive.”
“Of course,” Laurie said. “I’m well aware of that caveat. Yvonne Andre was not in a vegetative state before her death. Nevertheless, her status in your organization is something I need to know.”
“Just a moment,” Gertrude said. She walked over to her desk and punched some information into her computer terminal. “Yes,” she said. “Yvonne was registered. But that is all I can say.”
“I appreciate what you have told me,” Laurie said. “I have one more question. Have there been any break-ins here at your offices in the last year?”
Gertrude rolled her eyes. “I really don’t know if I’m at liberty to divulge this kind of information, but I guess it’s a matter of public record. You could always check with the police. Yes, we were broken into a couple of months ago. Luckily not too much was taken and there was no vandalism.”
Laurie rose from her chair. “Thank you very much. You’ve been generous with your time. I really appreciate it.”
“Would you like to take some of our literature?” Gertrude asked.
“I would,” Laurie said. Gertrude opened a cabinet and pulled out a number of brochures which she handed to Laurie. Laurie put them in her briefcase. Then Gertrude saw her to the door.
Emerging onto Fifty-fifth Street, Laurie walked over to Lexington Avenue to catch a cab downtown. She directed the taxi driver to take her to the medical examiner’s office.
With her suspicions strengthening and her confidence renewed, she wanted to talk with George Fontworth. There was something about that day’s overdose cases that she wanted to ask about. Even though it was after six o’clock, she thought that he might still be at work. He usually worked late.
But as Laurie approached the office, she began to worry about Bingham still being there. She knew that on a number of evenings he also stayed late. Consequently Laurie instructed the cab driver to turn from First Avenue onto Thirtieth Street. When they came abreast of the morgue loading dock, she had him turn in. It was good that she had. There was Bingham’s official city car, one of the perks of being the chief medical examiner.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Laurie called to the driver through the Plexiglas screen. She gave him her home address. With some cursing in a language Laurie had never heard, he pulled out of the morgue driveway and returned to First Avenue. Fifteen minutes later she was in front of her tenement building.
It was still raining, so Laurie bolted for the door. She was surprised to find that the lock to the inner door was broken. She’d have to call the super about it in case no one else had reported it yet.
Laurie headed straight for the elevator. She didn’t bother collecting her mail. Just then she had one thing in mind: calling Lou.
As the elevator doors began to slide shut, Laurie saw a hand come around its edge to try to stop the doors from closing. Laurie tried to hit the open button but hit the close instead. The hand pulled back, the doors closed, and the elevator ascended.
Laurie was just unlocking her locks when she heard Debra Engler’s door open behind her.
“There were two men at your door,” Debra said. “I’ve never seen them before. They rang your bell twice.”
Although Laurie didn’t like having Debra meddle in her affairs, she wondered who the two men were and what they could have wanted. It was difficult not to think of “two men” in anything but the context relating to the overdose cases, and the thought sent a chill down her spine. She wondered how they’d gotten as far as her door, since she hadn’t been there to buzz them in. Then she remembered the broken lock in the second door. She asked Debra what they looked like.
“Didn’t get a good look at their faces,” Debra said. “But they seemed no good to me. And as I said, they rang your bell twice.”
Laurie turned back to her door and unlocked the last lock. It occurred to her that if the two men had malicious intentions, they could have gone up the service stairs and broken in through her rear door in the kitchen.
Laurie pushed open her door. It creaked on its hinges, which had been coated with a hundred layers of paint. From her vantage point in the hall, her apartment appeared as she had left it. She didn’t hear anything abnormal or see anything suspicious. Cautiously she stepped over the threshold, ready to flee at the slightest unexpected sound.
Out of the corner of her eye, Laurie saw something coming at her. Letting out a small involuntary cry that was more of a gasp than a scream, Laurie let go of her briefcase and raised her arms to defend herself. At the moment the briefcase hit the floor, the cat was on her, but only for a second. In the next instant it had leaped to the foyer table, and with its ears held flat against its skull, it scampered into the living room.
For a second Laurie stood in her doorway, clutching her chest. Her heart was beating as fast as it did after several games of racquetball. Only after she’d caught her breath did she turn back to her door, close it, and secure the multitude of locks.
Picking up her briefcase, Laurie went into the living room. The manic cat rushed from his hiding place and leaped to the top of the bookcase and from there to the top of the valance over the windows. From that vantage point it glared down at Laurie with playful anger.
Laurie went directly to her phone. Her answering machine light was blinking, but she didn’t listen to her messages. Instead she dialed Lou’s work number. Unfortunately, he didn’t pick up. Laurie hung up and started to dial his home number. But before she could finish dialing, her doorbell rang. Startled, she hung up.
At first she was afraid to go to the door, even to look out the peephole. The doorbell sounded a second time. She knew she had to act. She would see who it was, she told herself. She didn’t have to open up.
Laurie tiptoed to the door and peered out into the hall. Two men she didn’t recognize were standin
g there, their faces distorted by the wide-angle lens into exaggerated corpulence.
“Who is it?” Laurie asked.
“Police,” a voice called.
A feeling of relief spread over her as she began to unlock her locks. Could Bingham have made good on his threat to have her picked up? But he hadn’t said he’d do it, he’d only said he might.
After undoing the chain lock, Laurie paused. She again put her eye to the peephole. “Do you have identification?” she asked. She knew enough not to let anyone in on their word alone as to who they were.
The two men quickly flashed police badges in front of the peephole. “We only want to talk with you for a moment,” the same voice explained.
Laurie backed away from the door. Although she’d initially been relieved to learn that her visitors were police, now she was beginning to wonder. What if they were here to arrest her? That would mean they’d have to take her to the police station to be booked. She’d be questioned, held, maybe arraigned. Who knew how long that would take? She had to talk to Lou about much more important matters. Besides, he’d undoubtedly be able to help her if she were to be arrested.
“Just a moment,” Laurie called to them. “I have to put on some clothes.”
Laurie headed straight for her kitchen and the back door.
Tony exchanged looks with Angelo. “Should we tell her not to bother dressing?” he asked.
“Shut up!” Angelo whispered.
The click of old hardware sounded behind them. Tony turned around to see Debra Engler’s door opening a crack. Tony lunged toward the door and clapped his hands loudly to give Debra a scare. The tactic worked. Debra’s door slammed shut. About a dozen locks were audibly being secured.
“For Chrissake!” Angelo whispered. “What’s the matter with you? This is no time for screwing around.”
“I don’t like that witch looking at us.”
“Get over here!” Angelo ordered. He looked away from Tony, shaking his head. That’s when he caught a fleeting glimpse of a woman’s silhouette dashing by the wire-embedded, smoked glass of a door to the fire stairs.