Blindsight (39 page)

"She wasn't waiting for an operation."
"But she'd met the people," Lou said.
"She was my main secretary. She met practically everyone who came into the office." Lou nodded.
"Now if you'll excuse me, Lieutenant, I really must go to the recovery room to check on my last case. Good seeing you again." With that, he was gone. Discouraged again, Lou returned to his car. He'd been so sure that he'd hit on the crucial fact when Patrick O'Brian had come into his office to tell him that the dead patients were all to have the same operation. Now Lou thought it was just another dead end. Lou pulled out into the street and instantly got bogged down in traffic. Rush hour was always murder in New York, and on rainy days it was even worse. When Lou glanced over at the sidewalk, he realized the pedestrians were moving faster than he was. With time to think, Lou tried to review the facts of the case. He had a hard time getting past Dr. Jordan Scheffield's personality. God, how he hated the guy. And it wasn't just because of Laurie, although there was that. The guy was so smug and condescending. He was surprised Laurie didn't see it. Suddenly the car behind Lou's rammed into his. His head snapped back, then forward. In a fit of anger, Lou jammed on the emergency brake and leaped out. The guy behind him had gotten out, too. Lou was chagrined to see that the man was at least two hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle. "Watch where you're going," Lou said, shaking his finger. He walked around to check the back of his Caprice. There was a bit of paint from the guy's car on his bumper. He could have played tough cop but he chose not to. He rarely did; it took too much effort. "Sorry, man," the other driver said.
"No harm done," Lou said. He got back into the car. Inching forward in the traffic, he turned his head to the left and right. He hoped he wouldn't suffer any whiplash. Suddenly the glimmer of an idea started to take shape in Lou's head. Getting hit had worked some sense into him. How could he not have seen? For a moment he stared into space, mesmerized by the solution that had crystallized so suddenly in his brain. He was so deep in thought, the big guy behind him had to beep to get him to move ahead.
"Holy crap," Lou said aloud. He wondered why it had not occurred to him before. As hideously outlandish as it was, all the facts seemed to fit. Snapping up his cellular phone, he tried Laurie at the medical examiner's office. The operator told him she'd been terminated.
"What?" Lou demanded.
"She's been fired," the operator said and hung up.

Lou quickly dialed Laurie's home number. He kicked himself for not having tried to call her earlier to
find out what had happened when she saw her chief. Obviously the meeting had not gone well. Lou was disappointed to get Laurie's answering machine. He left a message for her to call him ASAP at the office and if not there, at home.
Lou hung up the phone. He felt badly for Laurie. Losing her job had to have been an enormous blow for her. She was one of those rare people who liked her job as much as Lou liked his.

"There she is!" Tony cried. He gave Angelo a shove to wake him up. Angelo shook his head, then squinted through the windshield. It had gotten dark during the short time he'd been asleep. His mind felt fuzzy. But he could see the woman Tony was pointing at. She was only ten feet from her building and heading for the door. "Let's go," Angelo said. He piled out of the car, then almost fell on his face. His left leg had gone to sleep in the weird position he'd assumed when he'd closed his eyes. Tony was significantly ahead as Angelo tried to run on a leg that felt more like wood than bones and muscle. By the time he got to the door, the leg was feeling like pins and needles from the crotch down. He pulled open the door to see Tony already conversing with the woman. "We want to talk with you down at the station," Tony was saying, trying to imitate Angelo. Angelo could see that he was holding his badge too high so that Laurie Montgomery could read what it said if she so chose.
Angelo pulled Tony's arm down and smiled. He noticed that Laurie was as good-looking a woman as Tony had guessed from the photo.
"We'd like to talk to you just for a few moments," Angelo said. "Purely routine. We'll have you back here in less than an hour. It has to do with the medical examiner's office." "I don't have to go anyplace with you." "I don't think you want to create a scene," Angelo said. "I don't even have to talk with you."
Angelo could tell Laurie was not going to be an easy broad. "I'm afraid we have to insist," he said calmly.
"I don't even recognize you men. What precinct are you from?" Angelo cast a quick glance over his shoulder. No one was coming into the building. This pickup was going to take force. Angelo glanced at Tony and gave a tiny nod. Getting the message, Tony reached into his jacket and pulled out his Beretta Bantam. He pointed it at

Laurie.
Angelo winced as Laurie let out an ear-piercing scream that could have awakened the dead as far away as Saint John's Cemetery in Rego Park.
With his free hand, Tony reached out and grabbed Laurie by the neck, intending to force her to the car. Instead, he got a briefcase in the groin. He doubled over in pain. As soon as he straightened back up, Tony pointed his gun at the woman's chest and fired two quick shots. Laurie went down instantly. The shots were deafening; Tony hadn't put his silencer on, not thinking he'd have to resort to force. The smell of cordite hung in the air.
"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