Blindsight (21 page)

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. Lou decided it was time to change the subject. "What about Paul Cerino?" he asked. Jordan hesitated for a moment. He was surprised at the mention of Paul's name. "Pardon me for asking," he said, "but what does Mr. Cerino have to do with anything?" Lou was glad to see Jordan squirm. "I'd appreciate your telling me all you know about Mr. Cerino." "Mr. Cerino is a patient," Jordan said stiffly. "I already know that," Lou said. "I'd like to hear how his treatment is coming along." "I don't talk about my patients," Jordan said coldly. "Really?" Lou asked, raising his eyebrows. "That's not what I've heard. In fact, I have it from a reliable source that you've been discussing Mr. Cerino's case in detail." Jordan's lips narrowed some.
"But we can leave that subject for the moment," Lou said. "I also wanted to ask if you or any of your staff had been the subject of any extortion attempt." "Absolutely not," Jordan said. He laughed nervously. "Why would anyone threaten me?"

"When you start involving yourself with people like Cerino, things like extortion have a way of
happening. Could your secretary have been threatened in some way?" "For what?"
"I don't know," Lou said. "You tell me." "Cerino wouldn't want to extort me or any of my employees. I'm taking care of the man. I'm helping him."
"These organized-crime people think differently than normal people," Lou said. "They consider themselves special and above the law: in fact above everything. If they don't get exactly what they want, they kill you. If they do get what they want but decide they don't like you or they owe you too much money, they kill you."
"Well, I'm certainly giving them what they want." "Whatever you say, Doc. I'm just trying to explore all the angles. You've got one dead secretary and somebody whacked her rather brutally. And whoever did it didn't want anyone finding out who she was anytime soon. I want to know why."
"Well, all I can tell you is I'm quite certain Marsha's disappearance, or death, hasn't anything to do with Mr. Cerino. Now if you'll kindly excuse me, I have patients to attend to. If you have any additional questions, perhaps you should contact me through my attorney." "Sure, Doc, sure," Lou said. "I'll be on my way. But a word to the wise: I'd be very careful where Paul Cerino is concerned. The Mafia may seem glamorous when you read about them or see them in the movies, but I think you'd develop a different point of view if you got a glimpse of what Mrs. Schulman looks like now. And one last piece of advice. I'd be careful about sending him a bill. Thank you for your time, Doctor."
Lou walked out of the building, embarrassed to an extent that he had come. It had been a worthless encounter that had only annoyed him. He couldn't stand pompous silver-spoon-fed fools like Jordan Scheffield. If he got into trouble with Paul Cerino, it was his own fault. He was so full of his own self-importance that he couldn't see the danger. Half an hour later Lou arrived at his office at police headquarters. For a moment he stood on the threshold, surveying the mess within. His digs were a far cry from Jordan Scheffield's posh surroundings. The furniture was the usual gray metal, city issue with the burns from innumerable cigarettes left on the edges and with stains from spilled coffee. The floor was dried and cracked linoleum. The walls had been painted years previously in a pale green that had blistered from a water leak from the floor above. Papers and reports were stacked on every horizontal surface, since the file cabinets were full. Lou had never thought much about his office, but today it seemed oppressively dingy. It was irrational, he knew, but he got mad at the smug doctor all over again. Just then Harvey Lawson, another detective lieutenant on the force, interrupted Lou's thoughts. "Hey, Lou," Harvey called, "you know that broad you were talking about yesterday? The one from the medical examiner's office?"

"Yeah?"
"I just heard she called Internal Affairs. Made some beef about two uniformed guys stealing from an overdose scene. What do you think of that?"

Tony and Angelo were back in Angelo's Town Car. They were parked across the street from the Greenblatt Pavilion of Manhattan General Hospital. The Greenblatt Pavilion was the fancy part of the hospital where pampered, wealthy patients could order from special menus that included amenities such as wine, provided their doctors permitted such treats as part of their diet. It was 2:48 in the afternoon and Tony and Angelo were exhausted. They'd hoped to sleep after their busy night, but Paul Cerino had other plans for them. "What time did Doc Travino say we should pull this off?" Tony asked. "Three o'clock," Angelo said. "Supposedly that's the time there's most confusion in the hospital. That's when the day shift of nurses are getting ready to leave and the evening shift is just coming on." "If that's what the doc says, it's good enough for me." "I don't like it," Angelo said. "I still think it's too risky." He surveyed the vicinity with wary eyes. There was a lot of activity and plenty of cops. In the ten minutes they'd been parked there, Angelo had spotted three squad cars cruising by.
"Think of it as a challenge," Tony suggested. "And think about all the money we're getting." "I like working at night better," Angelo said. "And I don't need any challenges at this point of my life. Besides, I should be sleeping right this minute. I shouldn't be working when I'm so tired. I might make a mistake."
"Lighten up," Tony said. "This should be fun." But Angelo wouldn't let it go. "I got a bad feeling about this job," he said. "Maybe we should just go home and sleep. We got another big night ahead of us tonight." "Why don't you wait here and I'll go in by myself. I'll still split the money with you." Angelo bit his lip. It was tempting to send the kid into the hospital alone, but if anything went wrong he knew Cerino would be furious. And even under the best circumstances, if Tony went in by himself, there was a good chance things would go awry. Reluctantly, Angelo came to the conclusion that he really didn't have a choice.
"Thanks for the offer," Angelo said, scanning the neighborhood once more, "but I think we should do this together." It was then that Angelo turned to Tony and saw, to his horror, that Tony had his gun out. He was checking the magazine.
"For Chrissake!" Angelo shouted. "Put your goddamn gun away. What if someone was to walk by the car and see you monkeying around with that thing? There's cops all over this place."

"All right already," Tony exclaimed. He clicked the magazine back into his gun and slipped the gun into
its holster. "You are in one hell of a bad mood. I looked around before I took my piece out. What do you think I am, a moron? There's nobody anywhere near this car." Angelo closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. His headache was getting worse. His nerves were frayed. He hated being so tired.
"It's getting close to three," Tony said. "All right," Angelo said. "You remember the plan of what we're going to do when we get inside the hospital?"
"I remember what we're supposed to do," Tony repeated. "No problem." "All right," Angelo said again. "Let's do it." They got out of the car. Angelo gave one more glance around the immediate area. Satisfied, he led Tony across the street and into the lobby of bustling Manhattan General Hospital. Their first stop was the hospitality shop, where Angelo purchased two bunches of cut flowers. Handing one to Tony, Angelo carried the other. Taking the flowers back to the entrance area, they waited in line for information.
"Mary O'Connor," Angelo said politely once it was his turn. "Five zero seven," the desk attendant told him after consulting her computer screen. Joining the crowd at the elevators, Tony leaned toward Angelo and whispered: "So far so good." Angelo glowered at Tony again, but said nothing. Nurses just coming on duty had them surrounded. It was no time for a reprimand. At the fifth floor Angelo and Tony got off the elevator along with three nurses.
Angelo waited to see which way the nurses went, then chose the opposite direction. He immediately saw that room 507 was the other way, but he walked until the nurses had reached the busy nurses' station before retracing his steps.
Angelo behaved as if he knew exactly where he was going. He sauntered past the nurses' station without so much as a glance in its direction.
Once beyond the nurses' station, it was easy to find 507. Slowing down, Angelo glanced inside. Satisfied that no staff was in the room, he stepped over the threshold and looked at the woman in the bed. She was watching a TV mounted on a mechanical arm attached to the bed frame. The woman had an eyepatch over one eye. Her unprotected eye switched its attention from the TV to Angelo. She gave him a questioning look. "Good afternoon, Mrs. O'Connor," Angelo said affably. "You have a visitor." Angelo waved for Tony to come into the room.

"Who are you?" Mrs. O'Connor asked.
Tony came smiling into the room with his bouquet of flowers out in front of him. Mrs. O'Connor's eyes went from Angelo to Tony. She smiled.
"I think you must have the wrong room," she said. "Maybe the wrong O'Connor." "Oh?" Angelo questioned. "Aren't you the O'Connor who's scheduled for surgery later today?" "Yes," Mrs. O'Connor said, "but I don't know either of you. Do I?" "I can't imagine you do," Angelo said. He stepped back to the door and looked up and down the hall. The nurses' station was still a flurry of activity. No one was coming the other way. "I think it's time for Mrs. O'Connor's treatment."
Tony's smile broadened. He laid his flowers on the night table. "What treatment?" Mrs. O'Connor asked.
"Relaxation therapy," Tony said. "Let me take your pillow." "Did Dr. Scheffield order this?" Although she was suspicious, Mrs. O'Connor did not resist as Tony pulled the pillow from beneath her head. She wasn't accustomed to second-guessing her physicians. "Not exactly," Tony said.
The confession emboldened Mrs. O'Connor. "I'd like to speak with Nurse Lang," she began to say. But she didn't get a chance to finish. Tony crammed the pillow down over her face, then sat on her chest. A few muffled sounds followed, but Mrs. O'Connor didn't struggle for long. She kicked several times, but the move seemed less defensive than an uncontrollable reaction to being deprived of air. Angelo acted as lookout throughout. He kept his eyes on the nurses' station. No problem there. The nurses were engrossed in conversation. Angelo looked down the hall in the other direction. His heart missed a beat when he spotted a middle-aged woman approaching 507 pushing a cartful of water pitchers. She was only fifteen feet away. Stepping back into the room, Angelo closed the door. Tony hadn't quite finished dispensing his "treatment." He was still sitting on top of Mrs. O'Connor. "Someone's coming!" Angelo warned him. He pulled his gun from his pocket and fumbled with the silencer.
Tony kept pressure on the pillow. There was a knock at the door. Angelo motioned toward the bathroom. "Come on," he urged in a whisper when Tony failed to follow him in. After another ten seconds there was a second knock. Tony reluctantly lifted the pillow. Mary O'Connor was blue and motionless. Her unpatched eye stared blankly at the ceiling. Frantically Angelo motioned for Tony to join him in the bathroom as a third knock sounded. Then, as the door to the hall opened, Tony pushed off the bed and crowded into the bathroom, forcing Angelo to