“Oh, please!” Randolph remarked contemptuously.
“Why in hell’s name did you send the Davydov body out when you knew I was coming over here?”
“I got a mysterious message that you might pay us a visit, but there was no request to keep the body here.”
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, since an IQ of fifty or more would have been necessary to have presumed as much.”
“I don’t have to listen to your juvenile slander,” Randolph said. “Have a nice trip back to Manhattan.” He spun on his heels and disappeared from view.
Jack stepped out into the hall. He called out to the retreating Randolph. “Well, let me tell you something. Connie Davydov did not have either asthma or allergies. She was an entirely healthy woman who suddenly experienced respiratory failure without having a heart attack or a stroke. If that’s not the kind of case that deserves an autopsy, I don’t know what is!”
Randolph stopped at the elevators and faced around.
“How do you know she didn’t have asthma and allergies?” he demanded.
“From her brother,” Jack said.
“Well, let me tell you something,” Randolph said disdainfully. “My source of the woman’s history happens to be this office’s most experienced forensic investigator. You can believe whomever you wish. I’ll rely on a professional.”
Randolph turned and calmly pressed the elevator button. He glanced back briefly to give Jack a condescending smile.
Jack was about to counter angrily Randolph’s last statement when it dawned on him how ludicrous it was for him to be arguing with such a blockhead. Besides, a confrontation with this ME would do nothing to advance his looking into Connie Davydov’s case. Shaking his head, Jack went back into the mortuary office and grabbed his satchel from the desk. Doug looked at him curiously but didn’t say anything.
Still fuming, Jack stalked out of the Brooklyn ME’s office and strode down the sidewalk toward Warren’s car. Warren and Flash were leaning up against the Caddy’s fenders. They looked at Jack expectantly as he approached, but Jack didn’t say a word. He just climbed into the back seat.
Warren and Flash glanced at each other and shrugged before climbing into the car themselves. Each twisted in his seat and regarded Jack, who had his mouth and lips clamped shut.
“You look pissed,” Warren commented.
“I am,” Jack admitted. He looked off for a moment, obviously thinking.
“What happened?” Flash asked.
“They sent the body to a local funeral home,” Jack said.
“How come?” Warren asked. “They knew you were coming.”
“It has something to do with how competitive doctors are with each other,” Jack said. “It’s hard to explain and you probably wouldn’t believe it.”
“I’ll take your word,” Warren said. “So what are we going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Jack said. “I’m thinking.”
“I know what I’m going to do,” Flash said. “I’m going to Brighton Beach.”
“Shut up, man,” Warren said. “This is just a wrinkle here.”
“Some wrinkle,” Flash said. “If she’d been white, none of this would have happened.”
“Flash, that’s not the problem,” Jack said. “There’s a lot of racism around this city, that I’ll grant you, but it’s not the problem here, believe me.”
“Why can’t you just have the funeral home send the body back?” Warren suggested.
“I wish it were that easy,” Jack said. “The problem is it’s a Brooklyn case, and I’m from the Manhattan office, which means there’s a lot of politics involved. I’d have to get the super chief to do it, which would get the Brooklyn chief defensive, since he’d assume the affair was a reflection of how he’s running the office. It would become a bureaucratic turf war of sorts. Plus it would take eons. By the time all the paperwork was done, the phone calls made, and the battles waged, the funeral home might have embalmed the body, or worse yet, cremated it.”
“Shit,” Warren said.
“That settles it,” Flash said. “I’m going to Brighton Beach.”
“No, let’s all go to the funeral home,” Jack said. “It might create some waves, but I don’t see we have much choice to keep Flash from self-destructing. Maybe we’ll be lucky. It’s on Caton Avenue near the Greenwood Cemetery. You got a map?”
Warren nodded. He had Flash dig it out of the glove box. While the two of them bent over it, Jack tried to anticipate what they’d be up against in the funeral home. He imagined the funeral director would not be particularly cooperative.
“When we go into the funeral home we’re going to have to kinda barge in and overwhelm them,” Jack said.
Warren looked up. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve got to try to do what we have to do before they have much of a chance to think about it.”
“But you’re a medical examiner,” Warren said. “You’re a city official.”
“Yeah, but this is irregular, to say the least,” Jack said. “The funeral director is not going to like it. You see, the way the system works is that the body is technically released to the next of kin, in this case the husband, even though the funeral home picks the body up. Nothing is supposed to happen to the body unless the husband says so. Obviously we don’t want them calling the husband, because if he’s guilty of what Flash suspects, he’d scream bloody murder.”
“Why not just say you’re from the Brooklyn office and there was a couple things you forgot to do.”
“The funeral director would be sure to call the Brooklyn office,” Jack said. “They’d wonder why they hadn’t gotten a call to bring the body back. Remember, they work with them all the time and know the MEs. For me to suddenly show up will be very irregular. Trust me!”
“So what do you propose?” Warren asked.
“I’m thinking,” Jack said. “Did you find it on the map?”
“I think so,” Flash said.
“Let’s go before I chicken out,” Jack said.
After driving a few blocks Jack got an idea. Taking out his cell phone, he placed a call to Bingham’s office. As expected, Cheryl Sanford answered with her honeyed voice. Jack identified himself and asked if the chief was within earshot.
“Hardly,” Cheryl said. “He’s over at the Commissioner of Health’s office for an impromptu meeting.”
“That’s even better,” Jack said. “Listen, I have a problem, and I need your help.”
“Is this going to get me into trouble?” Cheryl said warily. She knew Jack too well, given the number of times that he’d been on the carpet in Bingham’s office.
“It’s possible,” Jack admitted. “If it does, I’ll take full responsibility. But it’s for a good cause.”
Jack went on to explain about Flash’s loss, the dilemma about Connie’s body, and the discrepancy about the medical history suggesting foul play. Ultimately, Cheryl’s generous nature and sense of fairness won out. She agreed to at least hear what Jack had in mind.
Jack cleared his throat: “If you get a call from Strickland’s Funeral Home within the next half hour or so for the chief, tell them that he’s with the commissioner, which is true. But then add that Dr. Jack Stapleton has been authorized to take some body fluid samples from Connie Davydov.”
“Is that all?” Cheryl asked.
“That’s it,” Jack said. “If you want to get fancy, you can say that you’d meant to call earlier, but it had slipped your mind with the chief’s sudden need to see the commissioner.”
“You are devious,” Cheryl commented. “But it is a good cause, especially if a homicide is involved. Anyway, I’ll do it.”
“I like to think of myself as resourceful, not devious,” Jack joked. He thanked Cheryl on both his behalf and Flash’s, then said goodbye and hung up.
“Sounds like you got it arranged,” Warren said.