“So post-transplant patients generally remain near their transplant center,” Jack said. He was thinking that if the subway death patient lived in Sunset Park she probably had had her surgery in the metro area.
“I’d say that was the case. At least, that has been our experience.”
“At autopsy this patient’s heart looked perfect. There was no sign of any inflammation whatsoever. From what you are saying, she might not be scheduled to be seen for a month or two.”
“That would be an appropriate assumption. If what you’re thinking is that it might take some time before she is missed in terms of her post-op appointments, you are probably correct.”
Suddenly Jack remembered the surprising toxicology result. “One other thing of note: Toxicology determined she had no immunosuppressant drugs on board. Is that surprising?”
“It is more than surprising,” Nancy said with obvious incredulity. “I think you should run the tests again. She had to be on immunosuppressants to avoid acute rejection. It’s standard procedure.”
“What if the heart happened to be a particularly good match?”
“It would have to be from an identical twin,” Nancy said with equal skepticism. “And if that had happened here in NYC, it would have made the headlines or even the front page of theDaily News! Maybe with a kidney, but not a heart, for obvious reasons. She had to have been on immunosuppressants. Even if it had been a decent match. No question.”
Jack thanked Nancy for her time.
“No problem,” Nancy said. “Do you want my mobile number, in case you have any other questions?”
“I would,” Jack said. He wrote it down on his scratch pad and then rang off.
“Damn!” Jack shouted at no one, and he slapped the surface of his desk with an open palm hard enough to make his keyboard jump. He felt frustrated. But then, out of the blue, an idea popped into his head:What about the tattoos?
11
TUESDAY, 12:38 P.M.
Like most people, Jack thought of himself as having a reasonable amount of self-knowledge. A realist, he knew that some of his personality traits were not ideal, like his limited patience with lazy, self-indulgent people—a designation he unfortunately gave to most of the people he had to deal with. But there was one trait he prided himself on that had stood him in good stead, and that was determination. When he got something in his craw, such as this subway death case, he didn’t give up easily.
Turning on his monitor, Jack brought up the digital images of the three tattoos on the woman’s body. He looked at each carefully and was again impressed by the puzzle piece. Vinnie had said something about Pinterest, so that seemed like a good place to start. He was somewhat hesitant to sign up, not knowing if he’d be bombarded with unwanted emails, but he took the risk. Once he was on the site, he searched for “puzzle piece tattoo.” He was surprised by the variety available, including permutations of the one on the woman’s arm. Then he searched for “puzzle piece tattoo rainbow” and found the exact image, complete with the rainbow colors in the puzzle piece’s base, just as Vinnie had said.
He then Googled palm tree tattoos and discovered they were alsoextremely popular, even more so than the puzzle piece. He was interested to find that they appropriately stood for beach life, summer, and relaxation. Researching for the meaning of the Chinese character, he learned it meant “love.” He then read a long Wikipedia article about tattoos and how their popularity had grown in mainstream culture.
Jack sat back in his chair and thought about what he’d read and about tattoos in a general sense. He’d never understood why someone would be tempted to permanently mar his or her body with ink, what with the risks of infection or just a subsequent change of heart. But having seen the profusion of images on Pinterest, some of which, like the puzzle piece, were quite clever, he thought of the activity in a slightly different light. He was no more tempted to get a tattoo himself than he’d ever been, but he’d come to recognize that there was more artistry involved than he’d previously thought, which made him believe the tattooists probably thought of themselves as artists and not as mere technicians. Following that line of thinking made him wonder if the artists recognized one another’s work. With everything else going against him, Jack thought it was another possible line of attack in the ID effort.
Tipping forward again, Jack sent the three images he’d taken of the tattoos with zero compression down to the printer in the front office. He wanted some high-resolution photos. Then he Googled tattoo establishments in lower Manhattan and found a highly rated one not that far away called Tattoo Art and Piercings. Checking their website, he learned they had three supposedly vaunted tattoo artists. It was on the West Side, but his Trek would get him there in a flash. Grabbing his bomber jacket, he left his office to head down to get the photos. As he waited for the elevator, he worried about running into Laurie, who had already warned him about not making any field trips. He was in no mood to get into another argument. Unfortunately, since it was lunchtime, the possibility of a confrontation wasn’t a hypothetical concern. But he decided it was a risk he had to take, because for what he had in mind, he needed good pics.
Jack zipped into the front office and headed for the printer, with theidea of making it a very quick in-and-out visit. He waved a casual hello to Cheryl, who was on the phone, which he thought was auspicious because it precluded any conversation. But a moment later he noticed Laurie’s door was ajar, forcing him to make a snap decision of whether to proceed or retreat. An instant later the decision became academic when Laurie caught sight of him through the open door and waved at him to come into her office.
Jack got the photos first. They were as clear as a bell, with good color. He then went into the inner sanctum and tried to gird himself. In retrospect, he did feel a bit guilty for having snuck out of the apartment that morning without so much as leaving a note.
“I’m glad to see you, and it’s good timing,” Laurie said. She was sitting at her desk with blueprint architectural plans spread out in front of her. “I have a few minutes before my next conference call. I missed you this morning.” She spoke with a sincere and uncritical tone. Jack felt relieved, especially having been caught red-handed wearing his bomber jacket and advertising he was on his way out of the OCME. “I ended up oversleeping,” Laurie added. “I suppose I was counting on you waking me up before you left, which isn’t fair. It was my own fault. As usual, I stayed up much too late going over all that budget nonsense.”
“It was too early when I left,” Jack said. “The subway death had me awake before five. I was eager to get in here to find out why I hadn’t been called about an ID, but the explanation turned out to be pretty simple. There’d been no ID because there had been zero calls from family or friends.”
“That’s strange,” Laurie said. “Especially the way you described her. She certainly wasn’t a homeless person.” Laurie stood up from her desk, walked around Jack, and closed her office door for privacy. Then she stood on her tiptoes and gave him a peck on the cheek. Jack took it as a gesture of reconciliation and felt encouraged.
“It’s more than strange,” Jack said. “And it’s driving me to distraction.”
“And now that it has been more than twenty-four hours, it’s beginningto remind me of my Japanese subway homicide, which took days to get an ID. You remember the case, don’t you?”
“Absolutely, and I thought the exact same thing,” Jack said. “And since ‘imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,’ I’ve been faithfully reenacting your efforts.”
Laurie failed to suppress a laugh. “Isn’t that ironic. I remember at the time you made fun of what I was doing and thought I was wasting my time.”
“Guilty as charged,” Jack confessed. “But in my defense, I haven’t gone to the extent of getting transit videotapes. My victim certainly wasn’t the victim of a homicide.”
“Then how did you imitate me?”
