“I’m down in the pit,” Laurie said.
Laurie told Lou they’d hear back soon. Then Laurie went over to George Fontworth. He was just finishing up the second of his two overdose cases: Julia Myerholtz.
“Calvin said I wasn’t supposed to talk with you today,” George told her. “I don’t want to cross him.”
“Just answer me this. Was the cocaine mainlined?”
“Yeah,” George said. His eyes darted around the room as if he expected Calvin to come thundering by.
“Were the autopsies normal except for signs of the overdose and toxicity?” Laurie asked.
“Yes,” George said. “Come on, Laurie, don’t put me in this situation.”
“One last question,” Laurie said. “Were there any surprises?”
“Just one,” George said. “But you know about that. I’d just not heard it was standard policy on this kind of case. I think it should have been brought up at Thursday conference.”
“What are you talking about?” Laurie asked.
“Please,” George said. “Don’t act dumb. Calvin told me it was your doing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Laurie said.
“Oh, God!” George said. “Here comes Calvin. ’Bye, Laurie.”
Laurie turned in time to see Calvin’s hulking figure enter through the swinging door. Even dressed in his scrubs and protective gloves, there was no mistaking that body.
Laurie quickly stepped away from George’s table, making a beeline for the master sheet of the day’s autopsies. She wanted to have a cover in case Calvin asked why she was there. Quickly, she searched for Mary O’Connor’s name. Finding it, she noted that Paul Plodgett had been scheduled for the autopsy. He was at the far table near the wall. Laurie joined him.
“I’ve found a lot of stuff,” Paul said when Laurie asked how the autopsy was going.
Laurie glanced over her shoulder. Calvin had gone directly to Besserman’s table.
“What’s your feeling about the cause of death?” Laurie asked. She was relieved that Calvin hadn’t seen her, or if he had, he didn’t seem concerned about her presence.
“Undoubtedly cardiovascular,” Paul said, gazing down at Mary O’Connor’s body. The woman was considerably overweight. The face and head were a deep blue, almost purple.
“A lot of pathology?” Laurie asked.
“Enough,” Paul said. “Moderate coronary disease for starters. Also the mitral valve was in pretty bad shape. The heart itself seemed awfully flabby. So there are a lot of candidates for the final culprit.”
Laurie thought Jordan would appreciate the news.
“She’s awfully purple,” Laurie commented.
“True,” Paul said. “Quite a bit of congestion in the head and the lungs. Must have been a lot of terminal, agonal effort. She didn’t want to die, poor lady. She apparently even bit her lip.”
“Really?” Laurie asked. “Do you think she had some kind of seizure?”
“Could have,” Paul said. “But it’s more like an abrasion, like she was chewing her lip.”
“Let’s see.”
Paul reached over and drew back Mary O’Connor’s upper lip.
“You’re right,” Laurie said. “What about the tongue?”
“Normal,” Paul said. “That’s why I doubt there was a seizure. Maybe she had a lot of terminal pain. Well, perhaps the microscopic of the heart will show something pathognomonic, but I bet this case will fall into that category of an unknown coup de grace, at least specifically. In general I know it was cardiovascular.”
Laurie nodded but looked at Mary O’Connor. Something bothered her about the case. It was triggering a memory she couldn’t quite put a finger on.
“What about these petechiae on her face?” Laurie asked.
“It’s consistent with terminal heart disease,” Paul said.
“This much?”
“As I said, there must have been a lot of agonal effort.”
“Would you mind letting me know what you find on microscopic?” she asked. “She was a friend’s patient. I know he’ll be interested in what you find.”
“Will do,” Paul said.
Laurie saw that Calvin had moved from Besserman to Fontworth. Lou had wandered back to Southgate’s table. Laurie headed over to him.
“Sorry,” she said to Lou as she came alongside.
“No problem,” Lou said. “I’m starting to feel right at home here.”
“Hey, Laurie, the phone’s for you,” a voice yelled out over the general background noise of the busy autopsy room. Laurie walked to the phone, cringing that her presence had been so blatantly broadcasted. She didn’t dare look in Calvin’s direction. She picked up the receiver: it was Cheryl.
“I wish all your requests were so easy,” Cheryl said. “I called over to Dr. Scheffield’s office and the secretary couldn’t have been more helpful. Henriette Kaufman and Dwight Sorenson were both patients. Does that help you?”
“I’m not sure,” Laurie said. “But it is interesting indeed. Thanks.”
Laurie went back to Lou and told him what she had learned.
“Wow!” he said. “That takes it out of the realm of coincidence. At least I think it does.”
“Five for five,” Laurie said. “The possibility of that happening by chance is extremely small.”
“But what does it mean?” Lou asked. “It seems like an awfully strange way to get at Cerino, if that’s what it’s about. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I agree,” Laurie said.
“One way or the other,” Lou said, “I’ve got to look into it immediately. I’ll be in touch.” He was gone before Laurie could say so much as goodbye.
Laurie hazarded one last glance at Calvin. He was still talking with George and didn’t seem the least perturbed by her presence.
Back in her office, Laurie called Jordan. As usual he was in surgery. Laurie left a message for him to please call back.
Trying to go back to work, Laurie wasn’t much more successful than she’d been earlier. Her mind was in a turmoil concerning her precarious job situation from having alienated so many people, her overdose series, and the odd coincidence that Jordan was treating a string of five gangland-style murder victims.
Laurie’s thoughts drifted back to Mary O’Connor. She suddenly remembered what she’d been trying to think of earlier. The abrasions on the lip, the florid petechiae, and the face’s deep purple discoloration suggested “burking,” the suffocation by compressing the chest while occluding the mouth.
With that thought in mind, Laurie phoned down to the autopsy room and asked for Paul.
“I’ve had a thought,” Laurie said once he was on the line.
“Shoot,” Paul said.
“What do you think about burking as a possible cause of death in the O’Connor case?”
Her suggestion was met with silence.
“Well?” Laurie questioned.
“The victim was in Manhattan General,” Paul said. “She was in a private room in the Goldblatt wing.”
“Try to forget where she was,” Laurie said. “Just look at the facts.”
“But as forensic pathologists we’re supposed to take the scene into consideration. If we didn’t, we’d misdiagnose tons of cases.”
“I understand that,” Laurie said. “But sometimes the scene can be misleading. What about homicides set up to look like suicides?”
“That’s different,” Paul said.
“Is it?” Laurie questioned. “Anyway I just wanted you to give burking some thought. Think about the lip abrasion, the petechiae, and the amount of congestion of the face and the head.”
As soon as Laurie put down the receiver, the phone rang. It was Jordan.
“I’m glad you called,” Jordan said. “I was about to call you. I’m up in surgery and I only have a second. I’ve got a number of cases, including, you’ll be glad to hear, Mr. Paul Cerino.”
“I am glad-” Laurie said.
“And I have a favor to ask,” Jordan said, cutting Laurie short. “In order to get Cerino on the schedule, I’ve had to do some juggling. So I’m going to be stuck here until late.
Could we take a raincheck on our dinner plans? How about tomorrow night?”