Laurie didn’t even try to argue. She understood more clearly than ever: Jordan Scheffield was not about to help her. She merely thanked him for his time and hung up.
There was only one other person to whom Laurie could turn. Although she was far from optimistic about the reception she’d meet there, she swallowed her pride and called Lou. Since she didn’t have his home number, she called police headquarters to leave word for him. To her surprise, he returned her call almost immediately.
“Hey, how are you?” He sounded pleased to have heard from her. “I knew I should have given you my home number. Here, let me give it to you now.” Laurie got a pen and paper and jotted the number down.
“I’m glad you called,” Lou continued. “I got my kids here. You want to come down to SoHo for some brunch?”
“Another time,” Laurie said. “I’ve got a problem.”
“Uh-oh,” Lou said. “What is it?”
Laurie told him about the double overdose and her conversations with Bingham and Jordan.
“Nice to know I’m at the bottom of your list,” Lou commented.
“Please, Lou,” Laurie said. “Don’t play wounded. I’m desperate.”
“Laurie, why are you doing this to me?” Lou complained. “I’d love to help you, but this is not a police matter. I told you that the last time you brought it up. I can understand your problem, but I don’t have any suggestions. And if you want my opinion, it’s not really your problem. You’ve done what you could and you’ve informed your superiors. That’s all you can expect from yourself.”
“My conscience won’t let me leave it at that,” Laurie said. “Not while people are dying.”
“What did big bucks Jordan say?” Lou asked.
“He was afraid his patients wouldn’t understand,” Laurie said. “He said he couldn’t help me.”
“That’s a pretty flimsy excuse,” Lou said. “I’m surprised he’s not falling all over himself trying to prove what a man he is by helping his damsel in distress.”
“I’m not his damsel,” Laurie said. Even as the words came out of her mouth, she knew she shouldn’t be rising to his bait.
“Not always charming, that prince of yours, eh?”
Laurie hung up on Lou. The man could be so infuriatingly rude. She got her things together, including the address of the double-overdose scene, and was ready to go when the phone started to ring. Figuring it was Lou, she avoided answering. The phone rang about twenty times before it stopped just as she reached the elevator.
Laurie hailed a cab and headed for the address on Sutton Place South. When she arrived, she flashed her medical examiner’s badge at the doorman on duty and asked to see the superintendent. The doorman readily obliged her. “Carl will be down in a minute. He lives right here in the building so he’s almost always available.”
A diminutive man with dark hair and a thin black moustache soon appeared and introduced himself as Carl Bethany. “I guess you’re here about George VanDeusen?” Carl asked.
Laurie nodded. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d like to view the scene where the bodies were found. Is the apartment empty?”
“Oh, yeah,” Carl said. “They took the bodies out last night.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Laurie said. “I want to be sure there aren’t any family members up there. I don’t want to disturb anyone.”
Carl said he’d have to check. He conferred with the doorman, then returned to assure Laurie that the VanDeusen apartment was vacant. Then he took her up to the tenth floor and unlocked the door for her. Stepping aside, he let Laurie go in first.
“Nobody’s cleaned in here yet,” Carl said as he followed Laurie through the door. Laurie noticed a musty, almost fishy smell as she entered the apartment.
Laurie surveyed the living room. An antique butler’s-style coffee table with only three legs lay at an odd angle. The fourth leg was on the floor just by it. Magazines and books were haphazardly scattered across the carpet; it looked as if they had been spilled when the leg was broken. A crystal lamp lay smashed between an end table and the couch. A large, old-master oil painting hung askew on the wall.
“A lot of damage,” Laurie said. In her mind’s eye she tried to imagine the kind of seizure that could have resulted in such breakage.
“That’s just the way it looked when I came in here last night,” Carl said.
Laurie started toward the kitchen. “Who found the bodies?” she said.
“I did,” Carl said.
Laurie was surprised. “What brought you in?”
“The night doorman called me,” Carl said.
Laurie was going to ask about him next. She hoped to speak to him, too, and said so. “Why did he call you?” she asked.
“He said another tenant had called him to report strange noises coming from 10F. The caller was worried that someone was hurt.”
“What did you do?” Laurie asked.
“I came up here and rang the bell,” Carl said. “I rang it several times. Then I used my passkey. That’s when I found the bodies.”
Laurie blinked. Her mind was mulling over this scenario, and something wasn’t making sense. She could remember reading an hour earlier in the investigator’s report that both bodies had significant rigor mortis, even the woman in the bedroom. That meant that they had to have been dead at least several hours.
“You said the tenant called down to the doorman because sounds were coming out of the apartment at that time? I mean at the same time he was calling.”
“I think so,” Carl said.
Laurie began to wonder how the other victims in her series had been found. Duncan Andrews and Julia Myerholtz had been found by their lovers. But what about the others? Laurie had never considered the question before now. Now that she thought about it, she did recognize one strange thing: all the victims had been found relatively quickly. Their bodies were discovered in a matter of hours whereas in many cases single people who unexpectedly died in their apartments weren’t found for days, sometimes only after the smell of decay had alerted neighbors.
The scene in the kitchen was all too familiar. The contents of the refrigerator had been strewn helter-skelter across the floor. The refrigerator door was still ajar. Laurie noticed that the smell of spoiled milk and rotting vegetables permeated the air.
“Someone is going to have to clean this up,” Carl said.
Laurie nodded. Leaving the kitchen, she looked into the bedroom. Again she started to feel incredibly sad. Seeing the apartment where these people had lived made them all the more real. It was easier to remain dispassionate down at the medical examiner’s office than it was in the deceased’s home. Laurie felt her eyes well with tears.
“Is there anything else I can do to help?” Carl asked.
“I’d like to speak to that night doorman,” she said, pulling herself together.
“That’s easily arranged,” Carl said. “Anything else?”
“Yes,” Laurie said, gazing around the apartment. “Maybe you shouldn’t let anyone clean this place up just yet. Let me talk to the police.”
“They were here last night too,” Carl said.
“I know,” Laurie said. “But I’m thinking of someone a little higher on the ladder in the homicide department.”
Downstairs Carl got the night doorman’s phone number for Laurie. The man’s name was Scott Maybrie. He even offered to allow Laurie the use of his phone if she wanted to call immediately.
“Wouldn’t he be asleep at this time?” Laurie asked.
“It won’t hurt him,” Carl insisted.
Carl’s tiny apartment was on the first floor and faced the street, in contrast to VanDeusen’s, which had faced out over the East River. Carl allowed Laurie to sit at his cluttered desk amid notes to plumbers and electricians. Being particularly helpful, Carl even dialed Scott’s number and handed Laurie the phone. As she’d feared, the man’s voice was hoarse with sleep when he answered.
Laurie identified herself and explained that Carl had suggested she call. “I wanted to ask you a few questions about the VanDeusen case,” she continued. “Did you see Mr.