“Okay, thanks,” Laurie said. Reluctantly she recognized that dealing with the emotions of her positive cancer screening would have to wait. Being chief medical examiner was far too demanding. As she picked up the phone, she felt mildly irritated that Chet must have taken it upon himself to speak with the chief of the NYU Department of Pathology about Dr. Aria Nichols even though Laurie had told Chet that she preferred to speak with the resident before speaking with her boss. Although Laurie had met Carl Henderson at several NYU functions, she had never spoken with him on the phone. He was relatively new to the NYU Medical School community, having been recruited from the University of Pittsburgh just two years earlier. She remembered he was a tall, slender, worldly-appearing man who dressedparticularly nattily, in contrast with so many of the other male pathologists that Laurie knew.
“Dr. Montgomery,” she said into the phone in lieu of saying hello. As she had done with Detective Soldano, she struggled to sound normal.
“Thanks for taking my call,” Carl said with a certain urgency. He had a deep, commanding baritone voice. “I needed to talk to you about a developing problem. One of our own, a pediatric social worker named Kera Jacobsen, has apparently overdosed and will be coming into the OCME shortly if she is not already there.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Laurie said. Opioid overdose deaths were disturbingly common in NYC, occurring at a rate of one every six hours on average.
“As you know, the NYU medical community has been making a big effort to do something about this terrible, ongoing tragedy in our neighborhood and city,” Carl said. “Having one of our own succumb is hardly an appropriate advertisement for our efforts. As I’m sure you are aware, we have been spending considerable resources polishing our image in the city, as has Columbia-Cornell. It’s a dog-eat-dog world in medical academe.”
“I’m well aware of the competitive hospital environment,” Laurie said, wondering where this surprising conversation was going. She thought for sure it would be about Aria Nichols, not an overdose victim.
“I just got off the phone with our hospital president, Vernon Pierce,” Carl continued. “He thought that it would be a proper gesture to handle any autopsy that might need to be done here in-house rather than at the OCME. The idea would be to sort of bring her home since she is part of our community. I thought the idea has some merit even if it is a little unusual. I offered to do it myself in our autopsy theater in the Bellevue Hospital, which the president thought would be appropriate.”
“This is a rather strange request,” she said. She tried to keep her voice neutral, but she was shocked at the suggestion as it was unprecedented as far as she knew. The NYC OCME did not outsource its mandated autopsies, which an overdose was.
“I know it’s unusual,” he continued, “but Mr. Pierce also thought this might be a way of preventing the episode from possibly appearing in the tabloids. On occasion in the past the tabloids have seemed to have an inside source as to what’s going on in the OCME.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Henderson, but we are required by law to do the autopsy, and it will be done here.” She was aware there had been rare OCME leaks, as it was difficult to prevent them with as many employees as they had, but they certainly weren’t a justification for having an autopsy done elsewhere. She had tried to think of a diplomatic way to make this point clear, but nothing had come to mind. Instead she thought it best to be blunt.
“I see,” Carl said. By the tone of his voice it was apparent he was disappointed.
“But there is a way we could perhaps partially satisfy your president,” she added as a sudden idea occurred to her in an attempt to appease NYU’s fears. “We could have one of your pathology residents who is currently rotating through the OCME assist on the case. And I could make it a point to be involved personally. This would keep it in the family, because, as you know, I am officially part of the NYU family.”
“That’s a creative suggestion and very nice of you, Dr. Montgomery,” he said. “I’m sure Mr. Pierce would be pleased, especially if we can keep your in-house gossip to a minimum and, more important still, keep it out of the papers. Do you know offhand the name of our resident?”
“I do,” she said. “Dr. Aria Nichols. By coincidence I was scheduled to work with her this afternoon. What I can do is arrange for us to do the case together. What was the name of the victim?”
“Kera Jacobsen,” Carl said.
Laurie wrote the name down on the Post-it Note alongside Lou Soldano’s number. As she was doing so, she heard another knock on her office door. She looked up, expecting to see Cheryl, but instead it was Jack, dressed in scrubs. Laurie pointed to the phone pressed against her ear. He nodded, closed the door behind him, and went to the couch, where he sprawled out. He looked annoyed. Still, she was glad to see him to share the bad news about the MRI and mammogram.
“Okay,” Laurie said into the phone as she struggled with herself, trying to decide if she should bring up Dr. Nichols’s less than exemplary professional behavior during her OCME rotation.
“I’d personally like to know if anything abnormal is found on the autopsy,” Carl said. “And to emphasize, I’m sure Vernon Pierce will be pleased that it’s being kept quiet, particularly in regard to the media.”
“With as many overdose cases as we handle, I can’t imagine there would be any particular media interest,” Laurie said. “But I will let our public relations department know of your president’s wishes. Of course, Kera Jacobsen’s family will have the last word. As for anything out of the ordinary I might find during the case, I will personally let you know.”
“That would be terrific. I appreciate your help, Doctor,” Carl said sincerely. “Let me give you my mobile number so you have it if you need to get in touch with me after hours.”
Laurie dutifully wrote down the number although she doubted she would need it.
“Again, I appreciate your cooperation and understanding,” Carl said. “If I can be of any help to you in the future, please let me know.”
Laurie kept the receiver in her hand even after she’d disconnected the call. Ultimately, she had decided not to say anything about Aria Nichols’s odd behavior as it would complicate an already mildly complicated situation. Instead she turned to face Jack. “You won’t believe the call I just had.”
“Who was it?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute,” she said as she placed a call to Bart Arnold, the head of the Medical Legal Investigator Department. The MLIs were the physician assistants or paramedics who did all the investigative work for every death in New York City, which was a lot of effort, considering that between a hundred and a hundred and fifty people died in the city every day. Of those, about ten percent were judged by the MLIs as needing to be brought to the OCME for further review, and of that ten percent a bit more than half ended up being autopsied.
“Has a Kera Jacobsen been brought in yet?” Laurie asked when she had Bart on the line.
“Let me check,” Bart said. She could hear the click of his keyboard. “Yes,” he said after a pause. “She arrived just after noon.”
“Anything abnormal in the MLI’s report?” Laurie said.
“Nothing noteworthy,” he said after another pause. “Seems a straightforward opioid overdose. Death must have been rapid because the syringe was left in the vein.”
After thanking Bart, Laurie put in a call to Chet McGovern.
