"I didn't know about any others," Chet admitted.
"Nor did anyone else. I'm looking into it, and I'm psyched. There is something weird about these cases, and I'm going to figure it out if it kills me. I've already managed to provoke our fearless leader."
"Let me know if I can help. The reason I still have the case is that I've been waiting for the CDC to get back to me before signing it out."
"Don't tell me you sent an isolate for subtyping," Laurie questioned while trying to keep her excitement in check.
"I did. I sent a sample to a Dr. Ralph Percy. I got him through the CDC's central switchboard."
"That's more than terrific. I'll call Dr. Percy for you, and I'll put the results in the case file. It will save you a step."
Eager to add yet another name to her matrix, Laurie again tried to leave. This time, Chet called her back.
"I took your advice you gave me this morning and called my new lady friend this afternoon," Chet said.
"And? What happened?"
"I was shot out of the sky, and I was as direct as you suggested I be. I put my ego out there on the table, but she blew me off. I had even sent some flowers to soften her up, but no luck."
"Was she rude?"
"No. Actually, I'm exaggerating. She was pretty nice about it, even though I stuck my foot in my mouth with my opening ploy. She had confided to me the evening before that she was desperately trying to raise a couple of hundred thousand dollars for the company she works for. I started the conversation by saying I'd found the money in my bedside table, and I wanted to invest."
"Bad strategy."
"Obviously. She said she felt I was mocking her."
"I think I would have felt the same," Laurie agreed. "How did you leave things?"
"Open-ended. I gave her my cell phone number."
"She's not going to call," Laurie said with a wry chuckle. "That's asking too much. You'd be making her feel like the aggressor. You have to call her back and apologize for your supposed joke."
"You mean I should call her back after she shot me down twice."
"If you want to go out with her, you have to call. If she didn't want you to call she would have said so."
"When do you think I should do it?"
"Whenever you'd like to see her. It's up to you."
"Do you think I should call her back again today? I mean, isn't that a little too pushy?"
"I wasn't a party to your conversation," Laurie said. "But you said you left things open-ended. There's a slight risk she might be perturbed, but I think the chances are better than even she'll be flattered. Call her! Take a chance," Laurie said as she backed out into the hall. "Obviously, you want to see her. What do you have to lose?"
"The rest of my self-esteem."
"Oh, baloney!" Laurie said, heading toward her office.
Chet put his hands behind his head and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. He felt indecisive, yet he trusted Laurie's counsel. She was smart, intuitive, and, above all, female. With sudden resolve, he tipped forward, got out the Post-it note on which he'd written the number of Angels Healthcare, and placed the call. He wanted to do it quickly, before he lost his nerve.
As on the previous call, he had to go through the operator to get Angela's secretary. Then, after identifying himself appropriately, he was put on hold. While he waited, he debated whether to be humorous or serious, but ultimately decided to be merely straightforward. When Angela finally came on the line, he simply told her that he'd been thinking of her and had just had another conversation with his colleague, who'd again urged him to call.
When Angela didn't immediately respond, Chet quickly added, "I hope I'm not annoying you. I was reassured that wouldn't be the case. She said there was always a small risk but that in all likelihood you'd be flattered. When I told her I had given you my cell number, she laughed and said you wouldn't call."
"It sounds to me that your colleague is socially astute."
"I'm counting on it," Chet said. "Anyway, I'm calling for two reasons: The first is to apologize for my earlier insensitive attempt at humor."
"Thank you, but an apology is not necessary. Actually, I overreacted because I am a bit desperate and preoccupied. Your apology is accepted. What's the second reason for your call?"
"I thought I'd ask you out to dinner again. I promise it will be the last time, but you have to eat, and perhaps a break from your routine will give you some fresh insight to where you can find the capital you need."
"Your persistence is indeed flattering," Angela said with a chuckle. "But I really am wickedly busy. But I appreciate the call, especially since I imagine as a doctor you still have a waiting room full of patients."
"That might be true," Chet said, slipping into his defensive humor, "but they are all dead."
"Really?" Angela questioned. She assumed there was humor involved but didn't get it. "I don't understand."
"I'm a medical examiner," Chet answered. "It was supposed to be funny. Actually, I'm free anytime this evening, starting now. What I have left to do, I could always come back later to finish."
"Do you work here in Manhattan?"
"I do. I've been here for twelve years. I know it's not as sexy as being a brain surgeon, but in my book it's intellectually more challenging. Every day we learn something and see something we've never seen before. Neurosurgeons pretty much do the same thing every day. Truthfully, doing craniotomies day in and day out would drive me batty. I suppose the company you work for employs clinical pathologists…" Chet trailed off, unsure how Angela was responding to his line of work. In his experience, women were either fascinated or turned off. There was little middle ground. Unfortunately, Angela didn't respond to his last sentence, which was purposefully a half question. For a moment there was a pause, which progressively made Chet uncomfortable. He worried he'd made a faux pas by bringing up his medical specialty.
"Are you there, Angela?" Chet questioned.
"Yes, I'm here," Angela responded. "So you work at the OCME under Dr. Harold Bingham?"
"That's correct. Do you know him?"
"To a degree. Do you also work with a Dr. Laurie Montgomery?"
"I do. In fact, she just left my office. It's funny you should ask. She happens also to be my social adviser."
"You know, I just remembered something," Angela said to change the subject. "Just a few minutes before you called, I'd had a call from my daughter. She called from her best friend's house. She'd been invited to stay for dinner and was asking if she could. I said yes."
"Does that mean that you might be rethinking your evening plans?" Chet questioned, trying not to get his hopes up.
"It does," Angela said. "Maybe you are right about a change in routine, and you are certainly right about the need to eat. Today I only managed a sandwich on the run."
"Does that mean you'll join me for dinner?"
"Why not," Angela said, as a declarative statement, not as a question.
For the next few minutes, they discussed a time and place. At Angela's suggestion, they decided on the San Pietro on 54th Street between Madison and Fifth. Chet had never heard of it, but Angela told him it was one of those best-kept New York secrets. She said she'd make a reservation for seven-fifteen, and Chet agreed with alacrity.
8
It had not been a good day for Ramona Torres, age thirty-seven, mother of three children ranging in age from five to eleven. Her husband had awakened her at the first blush of dawn in order to drive her to the Angels Cosmetic Surgery and Eye Hospital for her surgery. It was so early that she had to wake the children to say good-bye. Once at the hospital, he had had to drop her off at the posh entrance, where the doorman had relieved her of her overnight bag. She had waved as he pulled away to return home to the Bronx and see that the children had their breakfast before school. She really would have preferred that he'd come in with her to lend moral support.