“Let me tell you something about myself,” Aria began. On the spot she made up an elaborate story of being the child of a married lesbian couple who used sperm donation for her conception and for the conception of her brother. She then said that she and her brother shared a mild medical problem that made them want to find out about their genetic heritage. At that point, she paused to see if Diane was following the narrative and whether she had any questions.
“This is all very interesting,” Diane said. “But why are you telling this to me?”
“I’m glad you asked,” Aria said. “My brother and I hired a genetic genealogy company to see if we could find out about our ancestors, particularly our father. As I’m sure you know, twenty to thirty years ago men who donated sperm were assured that their generosity would remain anonymous. Things have changed today, for the reason I’m talking about. Anyway, after a lot of work, the genealogy company has determined that our father was adopted, so we’ve hit a brick wall in trying to figure out his identity.”
Aria paused at this key moment in her narrative and watched Diane for the slightest sign of comprehension of where the conversation was going. Unfortunately, there was none. Diane stared back as if she was totally in the dark. If anything, she looked as if she was becoming progressively bored.
“Let me ask you this,” Aria said, trying to decide exactly how todrop the bomb. “Do you have any idea whatsoever why I might be telling you my story?”
“No,” Diane said with a shake of her head. “When you called earlier and said you were a doctor at the NYU Langone Medical Center, I thought it had something to do with my husband and I being rather generous donors. Is that why you’re here?”
“Hell, no!” Aria said. The comment so surprised her that she’d not had the opportunity to filter her response. Aria was aware her choice of language often affected older people negatively and generally didn’t care.
“Then perhaps you had better tell me,” Diane said. “My husband and I are going to the opera tonight, and he’ll be home imminently.”
“The genetic genealogy company that my brother and I hired has determined with a high degree of certainty that our father is your son.”
For a few beats it seemed to Aria as if the earth stopped its rotation. Even the birds in Central Park, which had been making a comparative racket, seemed to go silent. For a brief moment there seemed to be no horns blowing or sirens sounding, which were otherwise part of the constant background noise of New York City.
The only change that she could detect involved Diane’s face. Simultaneously her overly pouty lips became compressed to practically disappear, the nostrils of her artificially small nose spread, and her powdered face flushed. By reflex Aria leaned back in her chair to avoid whatever was coming.
“I do not have a son!” Diane snapped while she stood up and glared at Aria, daring her to suggest otherwise.
Although Aria distinctly remembered reading in the Bettinger book in a section discussing adoption that “navigating this minefield of potential ethical issues can be difficult,” she thought Diane was carrying it to the extreme with her response. In contrast, Aria kept her seat and tried to project a sense of calm.
“Did you hear me?” Diane practically yelled.
“Yes, I heard you,” she said. “But I have several family trees that the genetic genealogy company has constructed to show how they have come to the conclusion they have. By any chance, back when you were Diane Carlson, did the name Eric Thompson mean anything to you?”
“Get out of here before I call the police!” Diane raged at this new information. As if Aria needed any help in finding her way, Diane used her extended index finger to point multiple times in the direction of the door leading out to the hall.
“I’d prefer to discuss this situation further,” Aria said, with diminishing hopes Diane might reconsider and be encouraged to sit back down. “I’m only trying to find my father.”
“I want you out of here, and I never want to see you again,” Diane shouted.
“All right.” Aria stood. “Whatever you say, you plastic-surgerized, fake piece of shit. You probably couldn’t have helped me anyway.”
With a strong feeling of disgust, Aria headed for the door.
CHAPTER 31
May 10th
5:35P.M.
Emerging from the Hanna apartment building onto a Fifth Avenue clogged with rush-hour traffic, Aria stopped at the curb just under the very end of the blue awning. She needed a moment to take a few deep breaths and allow herself to calm down. Diane’s intransigence to even speak about her adoption experience seemed like the final nail in the coffin of Aria’s commitment to expose Kera Jacobsen’s homicidal-at-worst, inconsiderate-at-best lover. It was particularly frustrating after having spent all afternoon closeted at GenealogyDNA with a bunch of arrested-development nerds.
Gazing at the beckoning park greenery over and through a rising haze of exhaust coming from the slowly passing cars, taxis, and buses, Aria thought she should walk home rather than trying to languish in traffic. Not only would it be more pleasant, walking across town would undoubtedly again be faster.
Just when she was about to cross the street, Vijay’s comment about the district attorney having the power to unseal adoptionrecords popped back into her consciousness. What brought the thought to mind was having learned during her first week at the OCME how close a working relationship the OCME had with the district attorney’s office. On many cases of homicide, of which there was almost one a day in New York, both organizations had to collaborate closely for justice to prevail. What that said loud and clear to Aria was that Dr. Montgomery, as the OCME chief, would undoubtedly know some of the DAs personally and thereby could have significant clout. Maybe there was a way to get around the problem of sealed adoption records. One way or the other, it suddenly seemed to Aria to be worth trying.
Quickly Aria got her phone out and checked the time. By coincidence it was almost the same time as yesterday when she found Laurie Montgomery alone in her office. Gambling that might be a regular occurrence for the chief, Aria opened the Uber app. Just as she was about to order a vehicle, a taxi pulled up directly in front of her and disgorged a resident of 812. After checking with the driver to ascertain that he was free, Aria jumped in.
A little after six Aria paid the fare and got out in front of the OCME at 520 First Avenue. After being buzzed in by a uniformed security man, she headed directly into the front office. To her encouragement, the scene was almost an exact visual repeat of what she had encountered a bit more than twenty-four hours previous. Once again, the only artificial light was spilling out of Dr. Laurie Montgomery’s office, suggesting that all the secretaries had departed and the chief was still toiling away. Advancing to the open inner office door, Aria saw that even Dr. Montgomery was in the same position, elbows on the desk, hands supporting her head, studying what might have been the same architectural plans.
“Hello, hello!” Aria called out as she walked in, which Laurie had specifically asked her to do rather than sneak in and surprise her like she’d done the night before. Since she was going to be essentiallyasking Laurie for a favor, Aria felt compelled to be more considerate, despite the fact that to her an open door was both literal and figurative.
“Come in and have a seat, Dr. Nichols!” Laurie said, even though by then Aria was already nearing the desk. “Seems that you and I are on the same schedule.”
