“You are most welcome, Dr. Stapleton. And thank you for introducing me around here on the playground. I’m sure I am going to enjoy the experience. And now let’s see what you’ve got. Word is that you aren’t bad for a white boy, so good luck in your upcoming game.” She laughed and fist-bumped with Jack before he trotted out onto the court.
8
TUESDAY, 4:45 A.M.
Jack’s eyes popped open, and despite it being pitch black in the room and outside the window, he knew instantly that any more sleep was out of the question. His mind was in turmoil with a mélange of Emma, Dorothy, and the subway-death conundrum. Being careful not to awaken Laurie, he slipped out of bed and tiptoed into the bathroom. Since Laurie was the opposite of the morning person that Jack was, they had designed their bedroom such that Jack could go from the bathroom directly into their dressing room without having to return to the bedroom.
It didn’t take long for Jack to shave, shower, and dress. It was a little after five when he soundlessly descended the stairs to the kitchen/family room. At this point he wasn’t worried about disturbing Laurie. Nor was he concerned about waking the kids or Caitlin. It was Dorothy he was terrified of rousing. He knew she was a poor sleeper and would occasionally wander around in the dark like a specter. He was relieved when he didn’t see her. Already on two occasions he’d had to face her early in the morning when he’d made himself coffee and a bit of breakfast. Fearingit would happen again, Jack skipped the breakfast idea and continued down the second flight. The closer he got to the guest room door, the more catlike he became. Exiting the apartment, he closed the door as quietly as he could. With the final loud click, he winced and then descended the rest of the stairs quickly, worried that she might call out his name.
By the time Jack got his bike out of the storeroom, he found himself irritated all over again about Dorothy’s continued presence. He was not confident in the slightest that Laurie would do anything about it, despite their discussion the previous evening. They had talked again after his b-ball playing. All he could hope for was that she’d have a real talk with Caitlin, because the only thing Jack was absolutely certain about was that they could not afford to lose the nanny at this point. Maybe once Emma’s diagnosis was firmly established, as there was some disagreement, and a plan of action conceived and started, they might be in a better position. There was just too much up in the air at the moment.
Once he was on the bike, particularly when he reached the park and the wind was whistling in his helmet, Jack began to calm down. Instinctively he knew he had to leave the home problems at home, since they were not something his surgical personality could fix. He was also enough of a realist to fully comprehend that he could not metamorphose into a house husband. The requirements were simply beyond his current ken. Instead, he had to concentrate on the frustrating subway death, and as he shot along West Drive with a handful of other cyclists, he began to plan his day.
As Jack continued to pedal furiously, he found himself smiling. He could tell that his presence irritated the other bikers, who were all very serious. They were all decked out in biker’s gear, with special shoes and skintight shorts and tops in wildly bright colors, with European advertisements plastered on the arms and bodices. In contrast, Jack wore a leather bomber jacket with unstylish jeans and tennis shoes. But what annoyed them was that Jack was keeping up with them, despite his lackof appropriate apparel, and even pushing them to greater effort, especially on the uphill sections.
Jack exited the park at its southeast corner, cycling past the recently regilded statue of William Tecumseh Sherman. From there he rode over to Second Avenue before turning again to the south. Although Jack used to challenge taxis with an apparent death wish, he’d matured enough over the years not to do that anymore. Though he still weaved in and out of the traffic, allowing him to travel considerably faster than the cars, buses, and trucks, he no longer tempted fate. He even found it relaxing enough that he had a chance to think about his day. What he decided was to take a “paper day,” meaning he would not do any autopsies. Since he did many more autopsies than all the other MEs and rarely asked for a paper day, he knew it would not be a problem. His plan was to concentrate on the subway death. What he didn’t know was that by doing so, he would be facing more surprises.
Since it was so early and he was famished, Jack stopped at a bagel shop between 39th and 38th Streets and had a bagel smeared with cream cheese and piled with lox and sliced red onions. By the time he got down to the area where the two OCME buildings were located, it was still just after sixA.M.Knowing that neither Vinnie nor Dr. Jennifer Hernandez, the current on-duty ME, would be available at 520, meaning there would be no fresh coffee and Jack wouldn’t be able to request his paper day, he continued all the way down to the 421 high-rise. He’d not heard from any MLI, despite having asked Bart to be sure he got called when the subway death case had been identified. But he wasn’t surprised. Requests that required word of mouth often got messed up.
The building seemed deserted as Jack rode up in an empty elevator. The only person Jack had seen was the security guard at the front desk, who’d looked at Jack with surprise when Jack had gone through the turnstile. When Jack got off on the notoriously busy fifth floor, he didn’t see a soul. It took a bit of effort to find Janice Jaeger, the lone night-shiftmedical-legal investigator, in the canteen along with the night-shift Communications person.
“Dr. Stapleton!” Janice called out with surprise when she caught sight of Jack. “What on earth are you doing here so early?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Jack quipped. Professionally, he knew Janice very well. She was one of the most skilled and reliable MLIs. She and Jack had worked many cases together, and Jack knew that he could always count on her to do an extremely thorough job.
Guiltily, the woman from Communications got up as Jack sat down. She returned to her station.
“Busy night?” Jack asked.
“No, it’s been very light,” Janice said. “What’s up?”
“I wanted to talk about a case I processed yesterday afternoon,” Jack explained.
“Is this the subway death?” Janice asked, with no other provocation.
“Exactly,” Jack said. “I was supposed to be called when she was identified.”
“So I heard,” Janice said. “When I came on duty, the evening people told me.”
“Don’t tell me there’s still no ID.”
“Apparently not.”
“That’s incredible,” Jack said. “Bart was so sure there’d be a call. It was a young woman, well dressed. She even had a coat from Bergdorf’s that I’d probably have to take out a mortgage to buy.”
Janice laughed and then shrugged. “What can I say. Maybe she’s from out of town and here on her own.”
“I suppose,” Jack said, even though his intuition was telling him something else. How many people from out of town rode the R train from Brooklyn? The answer was zilch, in his estimation.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t have been more help. If a call had come in, I was prepared to do some footwork for you. But there was nothing.”
Jack ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. He wondered how thehell he was going to use the case as a diversion from his own domestic problems if he couldn’t learn anything about it.
“What did she die of?”
“Some sort of an acute pulmonary problem,” Jack said. “My first fear was it was a new lethal strain of influenza, reminiscent of the infamous influenza pandemic of 1918. And it looked like it could be influenza grossly, but it wasn’t. The samples all tested negative.”
“A call will most likely come in today,” Janice said encouragingly.
