Blindsight (4 page)

"I'd appreciate it," Dr. Murray said. "If we're going to do something, we have to do it sooner rather
than later."
Laurie hung up the phone, and with a degree of reluctance, left her disassembled hair curler, and returned to the morgue. Without donning the usual layers, she stuck her head through the door. Immediately she could see that Bingham had departed. "The chief left you to carry on by yourself?" Laurie called out to Paul. Paul turned to face her. "Thank God for small favors," Paul said, his voice slightly muffled by his mask. "Luckily he had to get upstairs to the news conference he's scheduled. I suppose he thinks I'm capable of sewing up the body."
"Come on, Paul," Laurie said by way of encouragement. "Remember Bingham treats everyone like an incompetent at the autopsy table."
"I'll try to keep that in mind," Paul said without conviction. Laurie let the door close. She used the stairs at the far end of the morgue to go up to the first floor. There was no sense waiting for the elevator for a single flight. The first-floor corridor was crowded with media people, and it was all Laurie could do to get to the double doors leading into the conference room. Over the heads of the reporters she could see Bingham's shiny bald pate reflecting the harsh lighting set up for the TV cameras. He was taking questions from the floor and perspiring copiously. Laurie knew instantly that there was no way she'd be able to discuss Manhattan General's problem with him.
Standing on her toes, Laurie scanned the crowded room for Dr. Calvin Washington, the Deputy Chief Medical Examiner. As a six-foot-seven, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound black man, he was usually easy to pick out of a crowd. Laurie finally spotted him standing near the door that led from the conference room into the chief's office.
By going out into the main reception area, then cutting through the chief's office, Laurie was able to approach Calvin from behind. When she reached him, she hesitated. Dr. Washington had a stormy temperament. Between his physique and his moods, he intimidated most people, including Laurie. Marshaling her courage, Laurie tapped him on the arm. Immediately he spun around. His dark eyes swept over Laurie. He was not happy, that much was apparent. "What is it?" he asked in a forced whisper. "Could I speak to you for a moment?" Laurie asked. "There's a question of policy regarding a case over at Manhattan General."
After a glance back at his perspiring boss, Calvin nodded. He stepped beyond Laurie and closed the door to the conference room. He shook his head. "This "preppy murder II' is going sour already. God, I hate the media. They're not after the "truth,' whatever that is. They're nothing but a bunch of gossip hounds, and poor Harold is trying to justify why the hands weren't bagged at the murder site. What a circus!"
"Why weren't the hands bagged?" Laurie asked.

"Because the tour doctor didn't think about it," Calvin said disgusted. "And by the time Plodgett got
there the body was already in the van."
"How come the tour doctor allowed the body to be moved before Paul got there?" Laurie asked. "How should I know!" Calvin exploded. "The whole case is a mess. One screw-up after another." Laurie cringed. "I hate to bring this up, but I noticed another potential problem downstairs." "Oh, and what was that?" Calvin demanded. "What I imagine were the victim's clothes were in a plastic bag on one of the countertops." "Damn!" Calvin snapped. He stepped over to Bingham's phone and punched the extension in the "pit." As soon as the phone was answered he shouted that someone would be on the autopsy table himself if the preppy murder II victim's clothes were in a plastic bag. Without waiting for an answer, Calvin slammed the receiver down onto the cradle. Then he glared at Laurie as if the messenger were responsible for the bad news. "I can't imagine a fungus would have destroyed any evidence so quickly," Laurie offered. "That's not entirely the point," Calvin snapped. "We're not out in the boondocks someplace. Screw-ups like this are not to be tolerated, especially not under this glare of publicity. It seems as if this whole case is jinxed. Anyway, what's the problem at Manhattan General?" Laurie told Calvin about Duncan Andrews as succinctly as possible and about the attending physician's request. She emphasized that it was the family's wishes to respect the deceased's desire to be a donor. "If we had a decent medical examiner law in this state this wouldn't even come up," Calvin growled. "I think we should honor the family's request. Tell the doctor that in this kind of circumstances he should take the eyes but photograph them prior to doing so. Also he should take vitreous samples from inside the eyes for Toxicology."
"I'll let him know immediately," Laurie said. "Thanks." Calvin waved absently. He was already reopening the door to the conference room. Laurie cut back through the chief's secretarial area and got Marlene to buzz her through the door into the main hall. She had to weave her way among the media people, stepping over cables powering the TV lights. Bingham's news conference was still in progress. Laurie pressed the up button on the elevator. "Ahhhh!" Laurie squealed in response to a deliberate jab in the ribs. Laurie swung around to chastise whoever had poked her. She expected to see a colleague, but it wasn't. Before her stood a stranger in his early thirties. He had on a trench coat that was open down the front; his tie was loosened at his collar. On his face was a childlike grin.
"Laurie?" he said.
Laurie suddenly recognized him. It was Bob Talbot, a reporter for the
Daily News
whom Laurie had

known since college. She'd not seen him for some time, and out of context it had taken a moment to
recognize him. Despite her irritation, she smiled. "Where have you been?" Bob demanded. "I haven't seen you for ages." "I guess I've been a bit asocial of late," Laurie admitted. "Lots of work, plus I've started studying for my forensic boards."
"You know the expression about all work and no play," Bob said. Laurie nodded and tried to smile. The elevator arrived. Laurie stepped in and held the door open with her hand.
"What do you think of this new "preppy murder'?" Bob asked. "It sure is causing a fuss." "It's bound to," Laurie said. "It's made-to-order tabloid material. Besides, it seems that we've already messed up. I suppose it's reminiscent of what happened with the first case. A little too reminiscent for my colleagues."
"What are you talking about?" Bob asked. "For one thing, the victim's hands weren't bagged," Laurie said. "Didn't you hear what Dr. Bingham was saying?"
"Yeah, but he said it didn't matter."
"It matters," Laurie said. "Besides that, the victim's clothes ended up in a plastic bag. That's a no-no. Moisture encourages the growth of microorganisms that can affect evidence. That's another screw-up. Unfortunately the medical examiner on the case is one of us junior people. By rights it should be someone with more experience."
"Apparently the boyfriend already confessed," Bob said. "Isn't this all academic?" Laurie shrugged. "By the time the trial rolls around, he might have a change of heart. Certainly his lawyer will. Then it's up to the evidence unless there was a witness, and in this type of case, there's seldom a witness."
"Maybe you're right," Bob said with a nod. "We'll have to see. Meanwhile, I'd better get back to the news conference. How about dinner sometime this week?" "Maybe," Laurie said. "I don't mean to be coy, but I do have to study if I want to pass those boards. Why don't you call and we'll talk about it?" Bob nodded as Laurie let the elevator door close. She pressed five. Back in her office, she called Dr. Murray at Manhattan General and told him what Dr. Washington had said. "Thank you for your trouble," Dr. Murray said when Laurie was finished. "It's good to have some guidelines to follow in this kind of circumstance." "Be sure to get good photos," Laurie advised. "If you don't, the policy could change."

"No need to worry," Dr. Murray said. "We have our own photography department. It will be done
professionally."
Hanging up the phone, Laurie went back to the hair curler. She took a half dozen photos from varying angles and with varying lighting conditions. With the curler out of the way, she turned her attention to the only Sunday case remaining, and the most disturbing for her: the twelve-year-old boy. Getting up from her desk, Laurie returned to the first floor and visited Cheryl Myers, one of the medical investigators. She explained that she needed more eyewitnesses of the episode when the boy was hit with the softball. Without any positive finding on the autopsy, she would need personal accounts to substantiate her diagnosis of commotio cordis, or death from a blow to the chest. Cheryl promised to get right on it.
Returning to the fifth floor, Laurie went to Histology to see if the boy's slides could be speeded up. Knowing how distraught the family was, she was eager to put her end of the tragedy to rest. She found that families seemed to come to some sort of acceptance once they knew the truth. The aura of uncertainty about a death of unknown cause made grieving more difficult. While she was in Histology, Laurie picked up slides that were ready from cases she'd autopsied the previous week. With those in hand she went down several flights of stairs and picked up reports from Toxicology and Serology. Carrying everything back to her office, she dumped all the material on her desk. Then she went to work. Except for a short break for lunch, Laurie spent the rest of the day going over the slides from Histology, collating the laboratory reports, making calls, and completing as many files as possible.
What fueled Laurie's anxiety was the knowledge that the following day she'd be assigned at least two and maybe as many as four new cases to autopsy. If she didn't stay abreast of the paperwork, she'd be swamped. There was never a dull moment at the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner for the City of New York, since it handled between fifteen and twenty thousand assigned cases each year. That translated to approximately eight thousand autopsies. Each day the office averaged two homicides and two drug overdoses.
By four o'clock in the afternoon, Laurie was beginning to slow down. The volume of her work and its intensity had taken its toll. When her phone rang for the hundredth time, she answered with a tired voice. When she realized it was Mrs. Sanford, Dr. Bingham's secretary, she straightened up in her chair by reflex. It wasn't every day that she got a call from the chief. "Dr. Bingham would like to see you in his office if it is convenient," Mrs. Sanford said. "I'll be right down," Laurie answered. She smiled at Mrs. Sanford's phrase, "If it is convenient." Knowing Dr. Bingham, it was probably Mrs. Sanford's translation of: Get Dr. Montgomery down here ASAP. En route she vainly tried to imagine what Dr. Bingham wanted to see her about, but she had no idea.
"Go right in," Mrs. Sanford said. She looked at Laurie over the tops of her reading glasses and smiled. "Close the door!" Bingham commanded as soon as Laurie was in his office. He was sitting behind his massive desk. "Sit down!"
Laurie did as she was told. Bingham's angry tone was the first warning of what was to come. Laurie immediately knew that she wasn't there for a commendation. She watched as Bingham removed his

wire-rimmed spectacles and placed them on his blotter. His thick fingers handled the glasses with
surprising agility.
Laurie studied Bingham's face. His steel blue eyes appeared cold. She could just make out the web of fine capillaries spread across the tip of his nose. "You do know that we have a public relations office?" Dr. Bingham began. His tone was sarcastic, angry.
"Yes, of course," Laurie replied when Bingham paused. "Then you must also know that Mrs. Donnatello is responsible for any information being given to the media and the public."
Laurie nodded.
"And you must also be aware that except for myself, all personnel of this office should keep their personal opinions concerning medical examiner business to themselves." Laurie didn't respond. She still didn't know where this conversation was headed. Suddenly, Bingham bounded out of his chair and began pacing the area behind his desk. "What I'm not sure you appreciate," he continued, "is the fact that being a medical examiner carries significant social and political responsibilities." He stopped pacing and looked across at Laurie. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"I believe so," Laurie said, but there was still some significant part of the conversation that eluded her. She had no idea what had precipitated this diatribe. "'Believing so' is not adequate," Bingham snorted. He stopped his pacing and leaned over his desk, glaring at Laurie.
More than anything, Laurie wanted to remain composed. She didn't want to appear emotional. She despised situations like this. Confrontation was not one of her strong points. "Furthermore," Bingham snapped, "breaches in the rules pertaining to privileged information will not be tolerated. Is that clear!"
"Yes," Laurie said, fighting back unwanted tears. She wasn't sad or mad, just upset. With the amount of work that she'd been doing of late, she hardly thought she deserved such a tirade. "Can I ask what this is all about?"
"Most certainly," Bingham said. "Toward the end of my news conference about the Central Park murder, one of the reporters got up and began asking a question with the comment that you had specifically stated that the case was being mishandled by this department. Did you or did you not say that to a reporter?"
Laurie cowered in her seat. She tried to return Bingham's glare, but she had to look away. She felt a rush of embarrassment, guilt, anger, and resentment. She was shocked that Bob would have had such little sense much less respect for her confidentiality. Finding her voice she said: "I mentioned something to that effect."

"I thought so," Bingham said smugly. "I knew the reporter wouldn't have had the nerve to make
something like that up. Well, consider yourself warned, Dr. Montgomery. That will be all." Laurie stumbled out of the chief's office. Humiliated, she didn't even dare exchange glances with Mrs. Sanford lest she lose control of the tears she'd been suppressing. Hoping she wouldn't run into anyone, Laurie sprinted up the stairs, not bothering to wait for the elevator. She was particularly thankful that her office-mate was still apparently in the autopsy room. Locking her door behind her, Laurie sat down at her desk. She felt crushed, as if all her months of hard work had been for naught because of one foolish indiscretion. With sudden resolve, Laurie picked up the phone. She wanted to call Bob Talbot and tell him what she thought of him. But she hesitated, then let go of the receiver. At the moment she didn't have the strength for another confrontation. Instead she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She tried to go back to work, but she couldn't concentrate. Instead she opened her briefcase and threw in some of the uncompleted files. After collecting her other belongings, Laurie took the elevator to the basement level and exited through the morgue loading dock onto Thirtieth Street. She didn't want to take the risk of running into anyone in the reception area. Befitting her mood, it was still raining as she walked south on First Avenue. If anything, the city looked worse than it had that morning, with a pall of acrid exhaust fumes suspended between the buildings lining the street. Laurie kept her head down to avoid the oily puddles, the litter, and the stares of the homeless. Even her apartment building seemed dirtier than usual, and as she waited for the elevator, she was aware of the smell of a century of fried onions and fatty meat. Getting off on the fifth floor, she glared at Debra Engler's bloodshot eye, daring her to say anything. Once inside her apartment, she slammed the door with enough force to tilt a framed Klimt print she'd gotten from the Metropolitan. Even feisty Tom couldn't elevate her spirits as he rubbed back and forth across her shins as she hung up her coat and stashed her umbrella in her narrow hall closet. Going into her living room, she collapsed into her armchair.
Refusing to be ignored, Tom leaped to the back of the chair and purred directly into Laurie's right ear. When that didn't work, he began to paw Laurie's shoulder repeatedly. Finally Laurie responded by reaching up and lifting the cat into her lap where she began absently to stroke him.
As the rain tapped against her window like grains of sand, Laurie lamented her life. For the second time that day she thought about not being married. Her mother's criticism seemed more deserved than usual. She wondered anew if she'd made the right career choices. What about ten years from now? Could she see herself caught in the same quagmire of lonely daily life, struggling to stay ahead of the paperwork associated with the autopsies, or would she assume more administrative duties like Bingham? With a sense of shock, Laurie realized for the first time that she had no desire to be chief. Up until that moment, she'd always tried to excel whether it was college or medical school, and aspiring to be the chief would have fit into that mold. Excelling for Laurie had been a kind of rebellion, an attempt to make her father, the great cardiac surgeon, finally acknowledge her. But it had never worked. She knew that as far as her father was concerned she'd never be able to replace her older brother who'd died at the