MONDAY, 12:20 P.M.
Jack dialed his mobile phone before he was even out of the 421 elevator, but he waited until the doors opened and he got a decent signal before he put the call through. He wanted to talk to Vinnie ASAP. Vinnie’s irritated voice came on the line after two rings. Over the years, Vinnie had gotten wise to Jack’s demanding nature, as Jack performed far more autopsies than any of the other doctors, by a long shot. When Vinnie saw it was Jack calling, it usually meant yet another trip back to the pit, no matter the time of day. If it was after threeP.M., he avoided answering at all.
“A case should have come in recently,” Jack began, unable to keep the excitement from his tone.
“Aren’t we lucky,” Vinnie said. He’d also acquired a strong predilection for serious sarcasm from Jack. “Should I clap or cheer?”
“I’d like you to take your sorry ass into the cooler and let me know if it’s there yet,” Jack said. “It will be in a body bag and labeledJANE DOEor something similar. I’ll hold on.”
Jack arrived at his bike and waited. He smiled at the guard in the tiny booth that overlooked the entire loading area. The guard glanced athim askance, as if he’d never seen a doctor in a white coat using a bike in the city, even though with Bellevue and NYU Hospital in the immediate area there were doctors galore.
Maybe Jack’s impatience stemmed from his exhilaration after meeting with Bart, but it seemed to take Vinnie an age to accomplish such an easy task. Finally, he came back on the line.
“It’s here, zipped up tight. Don’t tell me you are thinking of us doing it today. It’s after twelve, and we’ve already done three cases. Why not spread the wealth?”
“This one has the makings of being an interesting case,” Jack said. “We might even become heroes. Who knows? It is a potentially contagious problem involving a woman who died on the subway.”
“Shit! Double whammy,” Vinnie complained. “You know how I hate contagion cases. Can’t you find another sap to torture? Why me?”
“I wouldn’t want to deny you the pleasure, and we are a team, my friend,” Jack said. It was true, to an extent. They had worked so often together that they often anticipated each other’s actions. “I want to do the case in the decomposed room, for safety’s sake.” The decomposed room was a separate, relatively small autopsy room usually reserved for decomposing corpses, to limit the smell of putrefaction. It had its own self-contained ventilation system with high-efficiency particulate filters and odor absorbers.
“What did I do to deserve this?” Vinnie questioned rhetorically, then sighed. “Well, the upside is that Carlos Sanchez will get a serious introduction to what being a mortuary tech is all about. Does this mean we’ll be in moon suits?”
“For sure,” Jack said.Moon suitwas the in-house term for a one-piece isolation getup made of Tyvek that featured a hood and a self-contained HEPA filter with a battery-driven ventilation pack. Like spacesuits, they were cumbersome and difficult to work in. They were also hot and generally uncomfortable. Needless to say, they weren’t the most popular item of apparel at OCME.
“Weigh and X-ray the body in the body bag,” Jack added. “And don’t take the body out until I get over there and we’re ready to start. We can do the photographing and fingerprinting after the autopsy is under way.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at 421, but I’m on my way back to 520. I’ll be there in minutes, so let’s get the show on the road.”
Hefting his bike up on his shoulder, Jack carried it down the half-flight of stairs from the receiving dock to the street level. Once on the bike, he pedaled up to First Avenue and turned north. He had to go only four blocks, so he made the best of it by accelerating to almost the speed of the traffic. By the time he turned into the receiving dock at the 30th Street building, he was breathing heavily from the exertion. It gave him a bit of a high, as if he’d had a cup of espresso.
When he passed the decomposed room, he glanced in through the small central wire-meshed window. The light wasn’t even on yet, meaning Vinnie needed more time to get set up. After storing his bike near the Hart Island coffins used for the unidentified dead, Jack made a quick trip up to the front office on the first floor. With the concern he felt about the potential ramifications of the upcoming case, he thought it best to at least let Laurie know there was a potential extraordinarily hot-button issue on the horizon. If it turned out the woman had died of a particularly lethal new strain of influenza, the involved city agencies in the Department of Health needed to know right away. Notifying them appropriately would be Laurie’s responsibility.
“Hello, Cheryl,” Jack said in a chipper tone. Cheryl Sanford was the administrative secretary to the chief medical examiner, meaning she now reported to Laurie. For the whole time Jack had been a member of the OCME staff, she had been secretary to Dr. Harold Bingham, and Jack had had many interactions with her, as he’d been called to Bingham’s office more times than he liked to admit. Jack’s attitude toward rules was best described as selective. He thought rules were suggestions, and if they got in the way of his work, he often ignored them. Although he’d beenproven to be inordinately effective as a medical examiner, his methods often got him in trouble with the front office, ergo many visits to the couch beside Cheryl’s desk while waiting to be reprimanded by the big boss. On one of those visits, Jack had learned that Cheryl was also a neighbor, living only a block away from Jack. At the same time, Jack had also learned that she was raising a teenage grandson who played basketball. Jack ended up getting the boy involved in the basketball games across from the Stapletons’ house in the public playground Jack had paid to have refurbished.
With his excitement brimming Jack didn’t stop to chat but rather headed directly for Laurie’s closed office door. Cheryl called out sharply enough to stop him in his tracks. “I wouldn’t go in there!” she warned, under no uncertain terms. “Dr. Montgomery is on a conference call with the mayor and members of the City Council and will be for some time. Can I give her a message?”
For a second Jack debated whether he should just push right in despite the warning.
“It has been a heated phone call,” Cheryl added.
“Okay,” Jack said. He realized he was jumping the gun in his enthusiasm, and Laurie had already asked him not to barge in as he had on one occasion a month ago. “Fair enough. Tell her I’m doing a post on an important case she should know about and that when I’m finished I’ll pop up and fill her in.”
“Should I tell her anything specific, like what kind of post it is?”
“No, it’s probably better if you don’t,” Jack said. The more he thought about the situation, the more he understood he’d need concrete laboratory confirmation of a new influenza strain if any official whistles were to be blown. Such news could cause a panic in the city, depending on who happened to get the info and what they did with it. Jack even felt a bit embarrassed he’d not given enough thought to what he had planned to do. As he walked out of the front office he felt distinctly thankful that Cheryl had saved him from himself.
In the public waiting area, Jack asked the receptionist, Marlene, to buzz him into the family ID area, where relatives gathered when they were required to identify their deceased family members. He was looking for Rebecca Marshall, one of the clerks trained to deal with bereaved families. He found her finishing up with a couple who had to identify one of their teenage sons, who had overdosed just that morning. Such tragic scenes were a daily occurrence not only in NYC but all across the country.
As soon as she was free, Jack took her aside. She was in late middle age and had a kind face and tightly curled silver-gray hair. “What can I do for you, Doctor?” Rebecca asked. She was one of those employees who was always eager to help, which was why Jack often sought her out.
“A case came in within the last hour,” Jack said. “The death of a relatively young woman on the subway. I haven’t seen the victim myself, but I spoke with Bart Arnold, who has. There was no ID. Have you heard about this case yet?”
“I haven’t,” Rebecca said.
“Bart said the woman was well dressed, so I imagine she’ll be missed rather soon. Would you keep an eye out for any information or inquiries? Making an ID as soon as possible is going to be important on many levels.”
