Blindsight (32 page)

Having finally made some progress on her paperwork, Laurie made a neat stack of her completed cases. With them out of the way, she pulled out the records of the overdose cases. Sorting through, she set aside the three she wanted: Duncan Andrews, Robert Evans, and Marion Overstreet. These were the cases she had autopsied on Tuesday and Wednesday. She copied the addresses and packed up. Laurie made the same kind of tour she'd made that morning. Only this time she found that the doormen she wanted to question were on duty again. She was disappointed with the results at the Evans and Overstreet residences. Neither doorman could tell her very much about the evenings in question. But it was a different story at Duncan Andrews'. When the cab pulled up to the building, Laurie recognized the blue, scalloped canvas awning and the wrought-iron door from her previous visit. As she got out of the cab, she even recognized the doorman. He'd been the same one on duty on her last ill-fated visit. But recognizing the doorman did not deter her. Although she thought there was an outside chance that her visit might get back to Bingham, she was willing to risk it.
"Can I help you?" the doorman asked.
Laurie looked for signs of recognition on the doorman's part. She didn't see any. "I'm from the medical examiner's office," Laurie said. "My name is Dr. Montgomery. Do you remember my coming here Tuesday?"

"I believe I do," the doorman said. "My name is Oliver. Is there something I can do for you? Are you
here to go back up to the Andrews apartment?" "No, I don't want to disturb anyone," Laurie said. "I just want to speak with you. Were you working Sunday night?"
"Yes I was," Oliver said. "My days off are Monday and Thursday." "Do you remember seeing Mr. Andrews the night he died?" "I think I do," he said after thinking about it. "I used to see him most every night." "Do you remember if he was alone?" Laurie asked. "That I can't tell you," Oliver said. "With as many people who go in and out of here, I wouldn't be likely to remember a thing like that, especially almost a week later. Maybe if it was the same day or if something happened out of the ordinary. Wait a minute!" he suddenly cried. "Maybe I do remember. There was one night that Mr. Andrews came in with some people. I remember now because he called me by the wrong name. He used the superintendent's name." "Did he know your name?" Laurie asked.
"For sure," Oliver said. "I've been working here since before he moved in. That was five years ago." "How many men were with him?" Laurie asked. "Two, I think. Maybe three."
"But you're not positive which night?" Laurie asked. "I can't be sure," Oliver agreed. "But I remember he called me Juan and it confused me. I mean, he knew my name was Oliver."
Laurie thanked Oliver and headed home. What to make of this odd streak of similarities? Who were these two men, and were they the same pair in each case? And what did it mean that a young, intelligent, dynamic man would mix up the names of his doorman and his superintendent? Probably nothing. After all, Duncan could have been thinking about calling Juan for a problem in his apartment just as he was arriving home.
Entering her own tenement, Laurie cast an appraising glance around the interior as she walked to the elevator. She noted the cracked and chipped tiles on the floor and the peeling paint on the walls. Comparing it to the residences she'd been visiting, it was a slum. The depressing thing was that all the overdose victims had been about Laurie's age or younger, and obviously had been doing a lot better than she was financially. Laurie was already paying more rent than she thought she could afford on her salary, and she was living in a comparative dump. It was depressing. Tom lightened Laurie's mood the moment she entered her apartment. Having been sleeping all day as well as through the previous night, the cat-kitten was a ball of energy. With truly awesome leaping ability he caromed off walls and furniture in a fantastic display of exuberance that made Laurie laugh to the point of tears.

Unaccustomed to the luxury of free time to splurge on herself, Laurie took full advantage of the next
several hours by taking a nap as well as a bath. Since there had been no message from Jordan to the contrary, she assumed their dinner plans had not changed from the prearranged nine p.m. After taking a half hour to decide what to wear, which encompassed trying on three different outfits, Laurie was ready by five of nine. Contrary to the previous two outings, Jordan himself showed up on time at nine sharp.
"You're really going to get my neighbors talking now," Laurie told him. "I'm sure they're thinking I've been seeing Thomas."
Jordan had made reservations for them at the Four Seasons. As with the other restaurants he favored, Laurie had never dined there. Although the food was excellent, the service impeccable, and the wine delightful, Laurie couldn't help but compare it unfavorably to the nameless restaurant Lou had taken her to the night before. There was something so winning about that chaotic, bustling little place. The Four Seasons, on the other hand, was so quiet it was distracting. With the only sounds being the tinkle of ice against the waterglasses or the clink of the sans-serif flatware against the china, she felt she had to whisper. And the decor was so purposefully daunting with its stark geometry, she felt intimidated. Laurie choked on her water when a pesky thought occurred to her: What if it wasn't the restaurant she preferred so much as the company?
Jordan was relaxed and expansive, going on about his office. "Things couldn't be better," he said. "I got a replacement for Marsha who is ten times better than Marsha ever was. I don't know why I was so worried about replacing her. And my surgery is going fine. I've never done so much surgery in such a short period of time. I just hope it keeps up. My accountant called me yesterday and told me this is going to be a record month."
"I'm glad for you," Laurie said. She was tempted to mention her day's revelations but Jordan didn't give her a chance.
"I'm toying with the idea of adding an additional exam room," he said. "Maybe even taking in a junior partner who would see all the junk patients." "What are junk patients?" Laurie asked. "Nonsurgical ones," Jordan said. He spotted a waiter and called him over to order a second bottle of wine.
"I looked at Mary O'Connor's slides today," Laurie said. "I'd prefer to keep the conversation on happier subjects," Jordan said. "You don't want to know what I found?" Laurie asked. "Not particularly," Jordan said. "Unless it was something astonishing. I can't dwell on her. I have to move on. After all, her general medical condition was not my responsibility but rather her internist's. It's not as if she died during surgery."
"What about your other patients who were killed?" Laurie asked. "Would you like to talk about them?"

"Not really," Jordan said. "I mean, what's the point? It's not as if we can do anything for them."
"I just thought you'd have a need to discuss it," Laurie said. "If I were in your shoes, I'm sure I would." "It depresses me," Jordan admitted. "But it doesn't help to talk about it. I'd rather concentrate on the positive things in my life."
Laurie studied Jordan's face. Lou had said he'd seemed nervous when questioned about his patients' deaths. Laurie didn't see any nervousness now. All she saw was a deliberate denial: he'd just rather not think about any unpleasantness.
"Positive things like the fact that you operated on Paul Cerino yesterday?" Laurie asked. If Jordan caught the facetiousness in her tone, he didn't let on. "That's the ticket," he said, responding eagerly to a change in the subject. "I can't wait to do the second eye and see the last of him." "When will that be?" Laurie asked.
"Within a week or so," Jordan said. "I just want to make sure his first eye goes well. I shudder every time I think about the possibility of complications. Not that I expect any. His case went perfectly well. But he refused to stay in the hospital overnight so I can't be a hundred percent sure he's getting the medication he needs."
"Well, if he didn't, it wouldn't be your fault," Laurie said. "I'm not sure Cerino would see it that way," Jordan said. After dessert and coffee, Laurie agreed to go back to see Jordan's apartment in the Trump Tower. She was impressed the moment she went through the door. Directly in front of her, almost at the same height as Jordan's apartment, was the illuminated top of the Crown Building. Walking into the living room, Laurie could see south down Fifth Avenue to the Empire State Building and to the World Trade Center beyond. Looking north she could see a wedge of Central Park with its serpentine pathways fully illuminated.
"It's gorgeous," Laurie said. She was transfixed by the view of the New York skyline. As her eyes swept the horizon, she realized that Jordan was standing directly behind her. "Laurie," he said softly.
Turning around, Laurie found herself enveloped by Jordan's muscular arms. His angular face was illuminated by reflected light streaming in through the windows from the golden apex of the Crown Building. With his lips slightly parted, he leaned forward intending to kiss her. "Hey," she said, disengaging herself. "How about an after-dinner drink?" "Your wish is my command," Jordan said with a rueful smile. Laurie was a little surprised at herself. Surely she was not so naive to believe Jordan's gesture wasn't expected. After all, she'd gone out with the man nearly three nights in a row, and she did find him attractive. Yet for some reason she was beginning to have serious second thoughts.

"Well?" Tony mumbled as Angelo came back to the table from the phone outside the men's room. Tony's mouth was full. He'd just finished shoveling in a huge bite of tortellini con panna. Lifting up his napkin, he wiped off the ring of cream and cheese from his lips. Angelo and Tony were in a small all-night restaurantsub shop in Astoria. It was Tony's idea to stop, but Angelo didn't mind since he had to call Cerino anyway. "Well?" Tony repeated after he'd swallowed the tortellini in his mouth. He washed it down with mineral water.
"I wish you wouldn't talk with food in your mouth," Angelo said as he sat down. "It makes me sick." "I'm sorry," Tony said. He was already busy stabbing tortellini with his fork in preparation for the next bite.
"He wants us to go out again tonight," Angel said. Tony shoveled the forkful of tortellini into his mouth, then said, "Great!" It sounded more like "rate." Having had yet another disgusting look at the mash of pasta in Tony's mouth, Angelo reached over and picked Tony's bowl from the table and crammed it upside down on Tony's place mat. Tony flinched at the sudden movement and stared at his upturned bowl with shocked surprise. "Why did you do that?" he whined.
"I told you not to eat with your mouth open," Angelo snapped. "I'm trying to talk with you and you keep eating."
"I'm sorry, all right?"
"Besides it pisses me off about Cerino sending us out," Angelo said. "I thought we were finally finished with all this crap."
"At least the money is good," Tony said. "What are we supposed to do?" "We're supposed to stick to the supply side," Angelo said. "We might be finished with the demand side, which is fine by me. That's where we got into trouble." "When?" Tony asked.
"As soon as you get your ass out into the car," Angelo said. Fifteen minutes later, as they were approaching the Queensboro Bridge, Angelo spoke up: "There's another thing that bothers me about this. I don't like the timing. Late Saturday night is not a good time. We may have to change things around and be creative." "Why don't we just use the phone?" Tony said. "We can make sure things are copacetic before we do anything else."

Angelo shot a glance in Tony's direction. Sometimes the kid surprised him. He wasn't dumb all the time.
13
9:15 a.m., Sunday
Manhattan
Bending over and trying to point the umbrella into the wind, Laurie slowly made her way up First Avenue. It was hard for her to believe that the weather could change as much as it had in a single day. Not only was it windy and rainy, but the temperature had plummeted during the night to just a tad above freezing. Laurie had taken her winter coat out of its mothballed storage container for the occasion. Standing on the corner, Laurie vainly waved at the few cabs that streaked past, but all were occupied. Just when she had resigned herself to walking to the office, a vacant taxi pulled up to the curb. She had to leap away to keep from being splashed.
Having finally made significant progress on her paperwork the day before, Laurie was not planning on working that Sunday, yet she felt compelled to go to the office because of a superstitious feeling. It was her idea that if she'd made the effort to go, there wouldn't be any additional cases in her series. Stomping off the moisture in the reception area, Laurie unbuttoned her coat and walked through to the ID office. No one was there, and nor was there a schedule for the day's cases. But the coffee machine was on and someone had made coffee. Laurie helped herself to a cup. Leaving her coat and umbrella, Laurie descended a floor to the morgue and walked back to the main autopsy room. The lights were on, so she could tell it was in use. The door creaked open to her touch. Only two of the eight tables were occupied. Laurie tried to recognize who was working. With the goggles, face masks, and hoods, it was difficult. Just when she was about to go into the locker room to change, someone noticed her and, leaving the autopsy table, came over to speak with her. It was Sal D'Ambrosio, one of the techs. "What the hell are you doing here?" Sal asked. "I live here," Laurie said with a laugh. "Which doctor is on today?" "Plodgett," Sal said. "What's the problem?" "No problem," Laurie said. "Who's at the other table?" "Dr. Besserman," Sal said. "Paul called him; we got a lot of cases today. More than usual." Laurie nodded to Sal, then called over to Paul. "Hey, Paul. Anything interesting?" "I'd say so," he replied. "I was going to call you later. We got two more overdoses that can go into your series."