10
TUESDAY, 10:40 A.M.
With the Post-it Note Sergeant Murphy had given him pressed against his monitor screen to be in full view, Jack called Detective Pauli Cosenza at the Thirteenth Precinct. Jack had returned from the high-rise building and was back in his office. From having had to call police stations around the city as well as other city bureaucratic offices on many previous cases, Jack knew he would have to be patient. In anticipation, he had his feet up on the corner of his desk and was sipping a fresh mug of coffee as the call went through.
Using a pen, he absently made a mark on a scratch pad with each ring. As he did so, he vaguely wondered what Detective Cosenza might tell him. Jack was hoping for the best, as Cosenza was most likely the only member of the NYPD Missing Persons Squad specifically tasked with making an identification on the subway death. From experience, Jack was not particularly optimistic that he’d learn much. After twenty rings, he became even less hopeful, realizing there was a chance no one would answer the extension he was calling. After thirty rings, he began to consider calling the main number of the Thirteenth Precinct andasking for the detective, although from sore experience he knew that wasn’t necessarily better and was maybe worse.
After thirty-six rings, just when his patience was at an end, the phone was answered. And to Jack’s astonishment it was the detective himself rather than someone else lower on the totem pole.
For a brief moment Jack was flustered and tripped over his words as they spilled out too quickly. Having the phone answered just when he was about to hang up made him fear that if he didn’t speak fast enough the man might disconnect. Making an effort to slow down, Jack introduced himself, giving his name and position as a medical examiner at the OCME. He then told the detective that he had autopsied a youthful, unidentified woman the previous day who’d become sick on the R train and then had been declared dead at the Bellevue Hospital emergency room.
“I know the case,” Pauli said. His voice was flat and unemotional, as if he was bored to tears.
“Excellent!” Jack said. He remembered Sergeant Murphy saying the man wasn’t a ball of fire, so Jack purposefully tried to sound enthusiastic and upbeat. “I was told the case had been assigned to you.”
Hoping the man would pick up on the thread of conversation, Jack purposefully paused. Unfortunately, there was nothing but silence on the other end of the line. “Hello?” Jack questioned after a few beats. He feared they’d been disconnected.
“Hello yourself,” Pauli said.
“Am I wrong?” Jack questioned. “Was the case assigned to you or not?”
“It was assigned to me,” Pauli said.
“Okay, good. What’s happened so far? The OCME has not received any inquiries from family, coworkers, or friends. We still do not have an identification, and it’s important that we get one.”
“What do you mean, ‘What’s happened so far’?” Pauli questioned. “I got the report from the responding officer at the Bellevue ER and forwarded it down to One Police Plaza Missing Persons like I’m supposed to do. I also copied it to the OCME PD liaison, whatshisface.”
“You mean Sergeant Murphy?” Jack questioned.
“That’s the guy,” Pauli said.
“Okay,” Jack repeated. “What has Missing Persons done?”
“Not much, would be my guess, beyond adding the case to the list of missing persons. Just to give you an idea, we get around thirty-five missing-persons reports every day, three hundred sixty-five days a year. The Squad has a backup of almost thirteen thousand cases.”
“And what have you done as the assigned detective during this critical first twenty-four-hour period on this particular case?” Jack asked, struggling to keep sarcasm out of his voice. It was already clear to him that Pauli was giving him the classic runaround. The so-called assigned detective was just sitting at his desk doing nothing instead of investigating anything.
There was a short silence until Pauli said, “Look, Doc, I sent the material where I’m supposed to send it. Since then I’ve been waiting.”
“Waiting for what?” Jack questioned with obvious incredulity.
“I wait for more information. So far there’s almost zilch, you know what I’m saying? I got a sketchy description from a patrol officer and that’s it. I wait for prints, photos, and whatever you guys get from the autopsy in terms of descriptions of scars, tattoos, broken bones, you name it. When I get prints I run them locally, and if no hits are found, we run them on the state level up to federal. But I have to warn you. On a case like this with a snappily dressed broad, we rarely get hits. It’s up to family to come forward. Beyond all that, we wait for DNA info so we can run CODIS and NamUs. And to give you an idea of what I’m up against, I have a hundred and seven other missing-persons cases besides this one sitting here on my desk.”
Struggling to be civil, as it would be counterproductive to alienate the detective, Jack thanked him for his time. Jack then gave his mobile number on the outside possibility that Pauli might learn something that could be helpful in making an ID. Jack promised to do the same before ringing off.
After hanging up, Jack rocked back in his desk chair, stared up at the ceiling, and fumed for a few minutes to regain his composure. Even though he was a civil servant himself, he’d always found dealing with bureaucrats and government employees in general to be emotionally challenging, and Detective Cosenza was no exception. Jack had the sense that the man did as little work as humanly possible and merely shuffled papers around on his desk. But to make certain he had all the information, Jack called Sergeant Murphy to make sure the detective received what was now available—namely, the digital body photos, tattoo photos, and fingerprints.
When his mind was clearer and his emotions under control, Jack struggled to remember the name of Laurie’s friend who was a supervisor at PSAC, the NYC Public Safety Answering Center. He and Laurie had talked about the woman a few months ago because Laurie had learned she’d been moved to the new, fortresslike 911 PSAC II building in the Bronx. Previously she’d worked at PSAC I in Brooklyn. Jack remembered the woman as having been a big help to Laurie when Laurie had investigated the case involving the unidentified Japanese homicide victim. Jack thought she might be able to help him in a similar fashion, if he could only remember her name. He thought briefly about calling down to the front office and asking Laurie, but quickly changed his mind. Laurie would want to know why he wanted the number, and after their words yesterday afternoon and last night, Jack preferred she didn’t know what he was up to. Despite Laurie’s orders to the contrary, Jack was hoping the subway death would lead to some serious fieldwork.
The raucous ring of his office phone snapped Jack’s attention back to the immediate present. It was Sergeant Murphy.
“I got the responding transit patrolman’s name, badge number, and mobile phone,” Murph said. “You have a pencil and paper handy, or do you want me to text it?”
“I have pencil and paper,” Jack said. “Go for it.”
“His name is Dominic Golacki. Obviously, a nice Irish boy,” Murphjoked. The sergeant had a renowned sense of humor. He spelled the name for Jack and then gave the badge and mobile numbers. “I was told he’s Polish.”
Jack was about to dial the number when he suddenly remembered the name of the 911 supervisor. It was Cynthia Bellows. Although Jack had the Brooklyn 911 call center phone number in his contacts, he didn’t have the new Bronx one. To get it, he called Sergeant Murphy back. A few minutes later he was talking to the operator of PSAC, and he asked to be put through to Cynthia’s line.
