Blindsight (20 page)

"Come into my cubbyhole," Peter said. He motioned for Laurie to follow him. They entered what had
originally been designed as a broom closet. There was barely enough room there for a desk, a computer terminal, a file cabinet, and two chairs. Peter closed the door behind them. Peter was a thin, blond fellow with delicate features. To Laurie he appeared as the quintessential graduate student, with a marked intensity to his eyes and demeanor. Under his white lab coat was an open-necked flannel shirt. "John is a little hard to get along with," he said. "That's an understatement," Laurie answered. "Lots of artists are like that," Peter continued. "And John is an artist of sorts. When it comes to chemistry and toxicology in particular, he's amazing. But I couldn't help overhearing your conversations with him. I think one of the reasons he's giving you a hard time is to make a point with the administration that he needs more funding. He's slowing up a lot of reports, and for the most part it makes little difference. I mean the people are dead. But if your suspicions are right it sounds like we could be in the lifesaving business for a change. So I'd like to help. I'll see what I can do for you even if I have to put in some overtime."
"I'd be grateful, Peter," Laurie said. "And you're right." Peter smiled self-consciously. "We went to the same school," he said. "Really?" Laurie said. "Where?"
"Wesleyan," Peter said. "I was two years behind you, but we shared a class. Physical chemistry." "I'm sorry but I don't remember you," Laurie said. "Well, I was kinda a nerd then. Anyway, I'll let you know what I come up with." Laurie returned to her office feeling considerably more optimistic about mankind with Peter's generous offer to help. Going through the day's autopsy folders, she came up with only a few questions on two of the cases similar to her question about Marion Overstreet. Just to be thorough she called Cheryl to ask her to check them out.
After changing in her office, Laurie went down to the autopsy room. Vinnie had Stuart Morgan "up" and was well prepared for her arrival. They started work immediately. The autopsy went smoothly. As they were finishing the internal portion, Cheryl Myers came in holding a mask to her face. Laurie glanced around to make sure Calvin wasn't in sight to complain that Cheryl had not put on scrubs. Happily he wasn't in the room. "I had some luck with Marsha Schulman," she said, waving a set of X-rays. "She'd been treated at Manhattan General because she worked for a doctor on the staff. They had recent chest film which they sent right over. Want me to put it up?"
"Please," Laurie said. She wiped her hands on her apron and followed Cheryl over to the X-ray view box. Cheryl stuck the X-rays into the holder and stepped to the side.

"They want them back right away," Cheryl explained. "The tech in X-ray was doing me a favor by
letting them out without authorization." 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,