Lou told Jack what he'd already learned about Najah, specifically regarding his nine-millimeter handgun. He added that the handgun would be tested by ballistics, if they were lucky enough to get their hands on it.
Except for a rather obviously increased uniformed police presence, the hospital appeared to be functioning in its normal, bustling fashion, with people coming and going, and patients in wheelchairs being discharged. A long line of visitors snaked from the information booth, and doctors in white coats and nurses in scrubs crisscrossed the lobby.
Lou excused himself for a moment to talk to one of the policemen. Laurie and Jack stepped to the side.
"How are you holding up?" Jack asked.
"Better than I would have expected," Laurie responded.
"I'm impressed," Jack admitted. "I don't know how you can concentrate with everything that's on your mind."
"Actually, trying to figure out what is going on over here is helpful," Laurie said. "It keeps me from dwelling on my own problems." At the moment, Laurie was referring to the abdominal discomfort she'd been experiencing. It seemed that the jarring she'd experienced in the ride over in Lou's car had aggravated it to a degree. It wasn't as sharp as it had been in the cab the night before, but it was pain nonetheless, and Laurie started thinking seriously about it being appendicitis. The location was correct, even if the presentation was irregular. Just when she was thinking about mentioning it to Jack, Lou returned.
"Let's head down to the crime scene before we hit Rousseau's office," Lou said. "Apparently, the CSI boys have made some headway."
They took the elevator down to the basement level and followed the arrows to the old autopsy amphitheater. The aged leather double doors were propped open with their stops, and a length of yellow crime-scene tape stretched across the entrance. A uniformed police officer stood to the side. Lou ducked under the tape, but when Laurie tried to follow, the policeman blocked her way.
"That's okay," Lou said, coming back to Laurie's aid. "They're with me."
Heavy-duty droplights illuminated the semicircular amphitheater's interior, reaching even the top row of the tiered seats. Several crime-scene investigators were still working.
"Word is you've made some progress," Lou said to the lead tech, Phil.
"I think so," Phil said modestly. He waved for them to follow over to the far wall of the pit. He pointed to markings in chalk on the floor. "We've determined that the body initially ended up here, with the victim's head in contact with the baseboard. Even though the area had been superficially cleaned, we were able to clearly delineate blood spatter, which gave us an idea where the victim had been when he'd been shot."
Phil then took the group back toward the ampitheater's entrance and pointed to two neighboring chalk circles. "This is where we found the two nine-millimeter shell casings, which leads us to believe the killer was about twenty feet from the victim at the time of the shooting."
Lou nodded while looking back and forth between where the body had been found and the cartridge casings.
"And finally," Phil said while motioning for them to follow him again. He walked over and put his hand on the old autopsy table. "This is where the dismemberment occurred."
"A regular operating theater," Lou commented. "That was handy for the killer."
"I should say," Phil responded. He pointed toward the cabinet filled with autopsy instruments. "He even had access to the proper tools. We've been able to determine which knives and saws were used."
"Good work," Lou said. He looked at Laurie and Jack. "You guys have any professional questions?"
"How did you determine the autopsy table had been used to take off the head and the hands?" Jack asked.
"We took the drain apart," Phil said. "There was evidence in the trap."
"Let's see where the body was found," Lou asked.
"No problem," Phil said. He led them back across the pit, beyond where the body had been outlined on the floor, and through a single door into a short hallway. They passed a small, cluttered office, which Phil said was the diener's. At the end of the hall, they came to a stout wooden door that looked as though it belonged in a butcher shop. It made a loud click when Phil opened it. A cool mist that reeked of formaldehyde billowed out to layer itself on the floor.
Both Laurie and Jack were familiar with the style of the room beyond. It was exactly like the anatomy cooler where the cadavers had been stored in medical school before being divvied out for dissection. On either side were rows of naked bodies hanging by tongs inserted into their ear canals and attached to a track in the ceiling.
"The victim's body was on a gurney in the very back, covered by a sheet," Phil said, pointing down the central aisle. "It's a little hard to see the space from here. Want to go back?"
"I think I'll pass," Lou said. He turned around. "Cadaver coolers give me the creeps."
"I'm impressed the body was found so quickly," Jack said. "It looks to me like these other guys have been hanging around for years."
Laurie rolled her eyes. It always amazed her that Jack found humor everywhere. "The murderer didn't want the body found or identified," she added.
"Let's get up to Rousseau's office," Lou suggested.
Since it was a Saturday, the administration office area was mostly deserted. A uniformed police officer reading a copy of the Daily News jumped when he caught sight of the group, particularly Detective Lieutenant Soldano. Behind the officer was the closed door to Roger's office. A piece of yellow crime-scene tape was stretched across the front.
"I trust that no one has been in here," Lou said to the policeman.
"Not since you called this morning, Lieutenant."
Lou nodded and pulled the tape off one side, but before he could open the door, a voice called out his name. Turning around, he saw a tall, lean man with movie-star good looks striding toward him with his hand outstretched. His sandy hair was streaked with gold and his face was tanned, which made his blue eyes seem that much bluer. It appeared as if he'd just returned from the Caribbean. Lou tensed.
"I'm Charles Kelly," the man said, pumping Lou's hand with unnecessary vigor, "president of the Manhattan General Hospital."
Lou had tried to set up a meeting with him the previous day but had been rebuffed, as if it had been beneath the president's dignity. If Lou had felt it had been imperative, he would have insisted, but as it was, he'd had other more pressing things to do.
"Sorry we were unable to connect yesterday," Charles said. "It was a ghastly day, scheduling-wise."
Lou nodded and noticed that Charles was casting a look at Laurie and then at Jack. Lou introduced them.
"I'm afraid I know Dr. Stapleton," Charles said stiffly.
"Good recall!" Jack said. "That must have been a good eight years ago when I helped you guys out when you had all that trouble with those nasty germs."
Charles looked back at Lou. "What are they doing here?" His tone was anything but hospitable.
"They're helping me with my investigation."
Charles nodded as if pondering Lou's explanation. "I will let Dr. Bingham know they were here on Monday. Meanwhile, I wanted to introduce myself to you, Lieutenant, and say that I will avail you of any help we can provide."
"Thank you," Lou said. "I think we're doing okay at the moment."
"There is something I would like to ask of you."
"Okay, shoot," Lou said.
"With two unfortunate murders in as many days, I would like to ask you to be as discreet as possible, particularly about the gruesome details of the one discovered today. Furthermore, I would like to respectfully request that all information to be released goes through our public relations department. We have to think of the institution and limit the collateral damage."