“I was hoping they would all have the same condition,” muttered Lou. “I’d hoped to catch twinkle-toes Scheffield in a lie.”
Norman shrugged. “Sorry,” he said. “I can get someone to translate those terms to regular English-if there’s any English to cover it.”
Lou settled back in his chair. “So what do you think?” he asked.
“I don’t have any bright ideas,” Norman said. “When I first saw the doctor’s name pop out of the data, I thought maybe we had something. But now it doesn’t look that way.”
“Any of the patients unhappy with their care?” Lou asked.
“Only positive in that arena is the Goldburgs,” Norman said. “Harry Goldburg had initiated a malpractice suit against Dr. Scheffield after the doctor took out his wife’s cataract. Apparently there was some complication and she wasn’t seeing much through that eye.”
“What’s all this other stuff?” Lou asked, grasping at a fat file folder filled with typed pages.
“That’s the rest of the material that has been gathered by the investigative teams,” Norman said.
“Jesus Christ,” Lou said. “There must be five hundred pages in here.”
“More like four hundred,” Norman said. “Nothing’s jumped out at me yet, but I thought you’d better go through it, too. And you might as well get started: there’ll be more coming as we interview more people.”
“What about Ballistics?” Lou asked.
“They haven’t gotten to us yet,” Norman said. “They’re still on last month’s homicides. But preliminary opinion is that there were only two guns involved: a twenty-two and a twenty-five caliber.”
“What about the housekeeper?” Lou asked.
“She’s still alive but has yet to regain consciousness,” Norman said. “She was shot in the head and she’s in a coma.”
“Do you have her protected?” Lou asked.
“Absolutely,” Norman said. “Around the clock.”
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 décor 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.”