“I don’t like to be pestered,” John said. “I warned you.”
“I wasn’t pestering,” Laurie snapped. “I was merely asking you to do your job. Have you found a contaminant?”
“No,” John said. He pushed past her without giving her the courtesy of a more detailed reply.
Laurie shook her head. She wondered if her days at the New York Medical Examiner’s Office were numbered.
She found Peter over in the corner of the lab, working on the largest and newest of the gas chromatographs.
“I think you should try to avoid John,” he said. “I couldn’t help overhearing.”
“Believe me, I wasn’t looking for him,” Laurie answered.
“I haven’t found any contaminant, either,” Peter said. “But I’ve been running samples on this gas chromatograph. It has what they call a “trap.’ If we’re going to pick something up, this is the apparatus that will do it.”
“Keep at it,” Laurie said. “We’re up to fourteen cases now.”
“I did learn something,” Peter said. “As you know, cocaine naturally hydrolyzes to benzoylecgonine, ecgonine methyl ester, and ecgonine.”
“Yes,” Laurie said. “Go on.”
“Each batch of cocaine that is made has a unique percentage of these hydrolysates,” Peter said. “So by analyzing the concentrations, you can make a pretty educated guess as to the origin of the samples.”
“And?” Laurie asked.
“All the samples that I’ve recovered from the syringes have the same percentages,” Peter said. “That means the cocaine has all come from the same batch.”
“Meaning the same source,” Laurie added.
“Exactly,” Peter said.
“That’s what I suspected,” Laurie said. “It’s nice to have it documented.”
“I’ll let you know if I find any contaminant with this machine.”
“Please do,” Laurie said. “If I had proof of a contaminant I think Dr. Bingham would make a statement.” But as she returned to her office, Laurie wondered if she could be sure of anything.
“Don’t hold my arm!” Cerino shouted. Angelo had been trying to guide him through the entrance to Jordan Scheffield’s office. “I can see more than you think I can.” Cerino was carrying his red-tipped cane but wasn’t using it. Tony came in last and pulled the door shut.
One of Jordan’s nurses guided the group down the corridor, making sure that Cerino was comfortably seated in one of the examination chairs.
When Cerino came to Jordan’s office, he did not use the usual entrance, and he bypassed the waiting room altogether. That was the customary modus operandi for all of Jordan’s VIP patients.
“Oh dear!” the nurse said as she eyed Tony’s face. There was a deep scratch that extended down from in front of his left ear to the corner of his mouth. “That’s a nasty cut on your cheek. How’d you get it?”
“A cat,” Tony said, self-consciously putting a hand to his face.
“I hope you got a tetanus shot,” the nurse said. “Would you like us to wash it out?”
“Nah,” Tony said, embarrassed at the attention in front of Cerino.
“Let me know if you change your mind,” the nurse said, heading for the door.
“Gimme a light,” Paul said as soon as the nurse had left the room. Angelo hastily lit Paul’s cigarette, then pulled one out for himself.
Tony found a chair off to the side and sat down. Angelo remained standing a little to Cerino’s left and a little behind. Both he and Tony were exhausted, having been roused out of bed for Cerino’s unexpected doctor’s visit. Both were also still suffering the late effects of the experiences at the last two hits, particularly Angelo.
“Here we are in Disneyland again,” Paul said.
The room stopped and the wall lifted. Jordan was poised at the edge of his office with Cerino’s record in hand. As he stepped forward he immediately smelled the cigarettes.
“Excuse me,” he said. “There is no smoking in here.”
Angelo nervously looked around for someplace to deposit his smoldering cigarette. Cerino grabbed his arm and motioned for him not to move.
“If we want to smoke, we’re going to smoke,” Paul said. “Like I told you when you called me on the phone, Doc, I’m a bit disappointed in you and I don’t mind telling you again.”
“But the instruments,” Jordan said, pointing toward the slit lamp. “Smoke is detrimental to them.”
“Screw the instruments, Doc,” Paul said. “Let’s talk about you blabbing all over town about my condition.”
“What are you talking about?” Jordan asked. He’d known Cerino was angry about something from their phone call. He’d figured it had something to do with the wait for a suitable cornea transplant. But Cerino’s true complaint came as a complete surprise to him.
“I’m talking about a detective by the name of Lou Soldano,” Paul said. “And a broad by the name of Dr. Laurie Montgomery. You talked to the broad, the broad talked to the detective, and the detective came to me. And I’ll tell you something, Doc. It pisses me off. I was trying to keep the details of my little accident a secret. For business purposes, you understand.”
“We doctors sometimes discuss cases,” Jordan said. He suddenly felt very warm.
“Give me a break, Doc,” Paul said derisively. “I hear this supposed colleague is a medical examiner. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not dead yet. And if you two had been consulting for some strange reason, she wouldn’t have blabbed to a homicide detective. You’ll have to give me a better explanation than that.”
Jordan was at a loss. He couldn’t think of any plausible excuse.
“The bottom line, Doctor, is that you haven’t respected my confidentiality. Isn’t that the fancy word you doctors use? The way I understand it, I could go to a lawyer and slap a malpractice suit on you, couldn’t I?”
“I’m not sure…” Jordan couldn’t even complete a phrase. He was instantly aware of his legal vulnerability.
“Now I don’t want to hear any of your double-talk,” Paul told him. “I probably won’t go to a lawyer. You know why? I have lots of friends who are cheaper than lawyers and a hell of a lot more effective. You know, Doc, my friends are kind of like you: specialists for kneecaps, leg bones, and knuckles. I can just imagine what it would do to your practice if you happened to have your hand crushed by a car door.”
“Mr. Cerino…” Jordan said in a conciliatory tone, but Paul cut him off.
“I think I’ve made myself clear, Doc. I’m counting on you not to go blabbing anymore. Am I right?”
Jordan nodded. His hands were trembling.
“Now, Doc, I don’t mean to make you nervous. I want you in nothing but good shape. ’Cause that’s what you’re going to put me in: good shape. I was very pleased when your nurse called this morning to say I could come in for my operation.”
“I’m glad, too,” Jordan said, trying to regain some of his professionalism and composure. “You’re lucky your chance came up so quickly. The waiting period has been much shorter than usual.”
“Not short enough for me,” Paul said. “In my line of work you have to have all your senses and then some. There are any number of sharks who’d love to put me out to pasture or worse. So let’s get it over with.”
“Fine by me,” Jordan said nervously. He laid Cerino’s record on the lens stand. Straddling a small wheeled stool, he pushed up to Cerino’s ophthalmic examination chair. Swinging around the slit lamp, he motioned for Cerino to put his chin on the chin rest.
Reaching below with a trembling hand, Jordan switched on the slit lamp. As he did so he got a whiff of garlic from Cerino’s breath.
“I understand you’ve been doing more surgery than usual lately,” Paul said.
“That’s true,” Jordan replied.
“As a businessman myself I would imagine you’d like to do as much surgery as possible,” Cerino said. “I imagine that’s where the big bucks are.”
“That’s also true,” Jordan said. He moved the slit lamp’s beam so that it fell across Cerino’s badly scarred cornea.