“Are you looking for a case to tackle?” Jennifer asked. She had already gotten to know Jack and his work habits fairly well.
Jack was about to answer in the affirmative and inquire about the homicide when he felt his mobile ring in his pocket. He motioned for Jennifer to hold on as he pulled out the phone. It was the night-shift MLI, Janice Jaeger.
“Dr. Stapleton, I’m glad I got you,” Janice said. “Right after Dr. Montgomery phoned me this morning, I got a call on another case that wasclinically similar to the two subway deaths but also slightly different. I assumed it was the first of many until I learned the pandemic influenza emergency had been canceled. Anyway, I know you asked to be notified when and if there were any more, so that’s what I’m doing.”
Jack moved a few steps away so he wouldn’t bother Jennifer. “How do you mean ‘clinically similar’?”
“It involved the rapid onset of respiratory distress in an otherwise healthy individual that very quickly resulted in death.”
“And how was it different?” Jack asked.
“Well, first of all, it wasn’t on a subway,” Janice said. “It happened in someone’s apartment. And second of all, it was a male in his late twenties, not a female.”
“Was the case handled at the Bellevue ER?” Jack asked.
“Yes, and it was treated as potentially contagious, just like the other two,” Janice said. “It is already in the morgue cooler in a sealed body bag.”
“How about the identification situation?”
“Not a problem,” Janice said. “The victim was accompanied by a friend, and I spoke with her at length. She’s there at 520 as we speak, ready to make a formal identification as soon as photos are available. I thought you might like to talk with her.”
“I would indeed,” Jack said. “One more question: Was a transplant involved?”
“Not that I am aware of,” Janice said. “Should I have asked?”
“No, we’ll find out soon enough,” Jack said. “Thanks for letting me know.”
“You’re welcome,” Janice said. “I would have called sooner, but we really did think it was the beginning of a dreaded surge. We’re so relieved we’re not going to be overwhelmed.”
“That we’re not going to be overwhelmed with deaths is the good side,” Jack said. “The bad side is that it is going to take the city days to recover.” He disconnected, then stepped back over to Jennifer. “Is there afile on the case I was just talking with Janice about? A male with rapid onset respiratory distress, out of Bellevue?”
“There is.” Jennifer handed the file to Jack. Jack opened it and read the name. He was shocked. It was John Carver. Could it possibly be the John Carver he’d interviewed yesterday after the man had made the identification of Helen VanDam? Jack thought it was possible, if not probable. After all, the John Carver he’d talked with had reputedly been intimate with both subway death victims.
“Vinnie!” Jack called.
“I’m right here,” Vinnie said. “You don’t have to yell.”
Surprised to find Vinnie standing right behind him, Jack slapped him with the Carver file. “Let’s get a jump on the day.”
“It’s only a quarter past seven,” Vinnie whined. “I haven’t finished my coffee or read the sports page. Have a heart!”
“This is another case just like the subway deaths,” Jack said with mounting excitement. He needed something to take his mind off the morning’s disaster, and this new case was perfect. “We’ll do it in the same fashion we did the other two, meaning full moon suits in the decomposed room.”
“If it is like the other two, I wouldn’t be willing to do it any other way,” Vinnie said. He could tell by Jack’s tone that there was no way he was going to be talked out of getting right to work.
“Have one of the other skilled mortuary techs help you with weighing and X-raying,” Jack said. “Then both of you suit up and take some photos for ID purposes and do the fingerprinting. When that’s done, prepare for the autopsy. I should be down there by then. I’m going to go talk with the individual who came in to do the identification. It could be important. I’m starting to get a sense of the viral culprit we’re dealing with.”
Without waiting for Vinnie’s inevitable further complaints about not having had enough coffee or gotten to check out the morning newspaper, Jack headed out to the family ID room. He passed the cubicles used by the identification clerks and walked into the room where he’d spokenwith John Carver the day before. Sitting on the same blue couch was a woman Jack thought looked cut from a similar mold. She was about the same age, maybe a little younger, but also slender, well groomed, with blond-streaked hair and form-fitting contemporary clothes, and was rather attractive in a clean, well-scrubbed fashion.
Jack carried over one of the wooden chairs from the round table and sat down. He introduced himself and learned that the woman’s name was Darlene Aaronson, originally from Orlando, Florida. She had a slight southern accent and appeared nervous, like a caged wild bird, crossing and uncrossing her legs and alternately chewing on her cuticles.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions about John Carver,” Jack began. “I imagine this has been a difficult episode for you, and I hope talking about it isn’t too upsetting. I’ve been told you are prepared to formally identify Mr. Carver when photos are available.”
“Photos? Oh, thank goodness,” Darlene said. She appeared to relax a degree. “I was afraid I’d have to look at the body, like they do in the movies.”
“We use photos almost exclusively,” Jack said. “Can you tell me if this was the John Carver who grew up in Seattle?”
“I suppose,” Darlene said. “He did mention he’d gone to high school in Seattle, so I guess he grew up there.”
