“Maybe you’re right,” Laurie said. The idea did make sense, and it did provide a modicum of relief. “Can I assume now that since neither the mother nor the father are willing to acknowledge the son, you won’t be harassing them anymore?”
“I’m done with them,” Aria said. “Actually, I never had much hope either one would be able to help, particularly not the father. The only way they might have been useful was if the adoption had been an open adoption, at least from the mother’s side. In retrospect, the chances of that were extraordinarily slim, but I had to try.”
“What exactly did you intend to do if you had discovered Lover Boy’s identity?” Laurie suddenly asked. “I hope you weren’t entertaining any thoughts of confronting him.”
“What would I have done personally?” Aria questioned. She pondered the question for a moment and then shrugged. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but I’d have to say no, I wouldn’t have confronted him. I just want the guy exposed. It irks me to death that he is free and clear without having to face any questions about Kera Jacobsen’s death. In my experience, it happens too often. Too many men get away with fucking up women’s lives and walking away. I still feel that way, which is why I came over here to see you tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“The only thing that stands between my finding out Lover Boy’s identity is the strict adoption laws here in New York State,” Aria said. “The records are sealed, but I was told that a district attorney can unseal them. What I’m hoping is that you might persuade the Manhattan district attorney to do it. I know you and the DA’s office have to work together closely so it occurred to me...” Aria let her voice trail off.
For a moment Laurie averted her gaze to give herself the opportunity to let the idea percolate. She wasn’t completely averse to mentioning the problem to one of her frequent contacts in the DA’s office to get a sense of their interest, yet with her impending surgery the timing was hardly opportune. Redirecting her attention back to Aria, she said, “All right. I’ll talk to someone at the DA’s office. But to be completely open, there are two problems that immediately jump out. First is that our relationship with the DA is dependent on facts, not conjecture. What I’m saying is that the idea that Lover Boy had something to do with Kera’s overdose is conjecture, not fact. Second is that there is a specific reason adoption records are sealed, and that is to protect people’s lives from information that can sometimes be disruptive. On top of these two issues, there is a timing circumstance that I will share with you. Tomorrow I’m scheduled to have major surgery here at NYU, which is certainly going to keep me mentally occupied at least through the weekend. Physically a bit longer. Be that as it may, let’s plan on talking again by phone on Monday or Tuesday. That will give me a chance to think about everything you’ve told me. Does all this sound acceptable to you?”
“I suppose,” Aria said without a lot of emotion. Although what Laurie was saying did sound reasonable, Aria wasn’t convinced of Laurie’s sincerity, thinking that maybe she was merely putting her off. “What kind of surgery are you going to have?”
“I don’t think that’s relevant,” Laurie said calmly and withoutrancor. “I’m already sharing privileged information with you. Let me add that my surgery plans are for your ears only and that you don’t say anything to anyone, although there will be a general announcement. And I have another request: I’d like you to give the Jacobsen case a rest until we talk.” Laurie handed Aria the family trees across the desk. “Is that a deal?”
Aria took them back, nodded several times, and then started for the exit.
“Wait!” Laurie suddenly called out, halting Aria halfway to the door. “I wanted to ask you how the autopsies went this morning. When I was in the pit doing my rounds, you were totally absorbed in dissecting a heart.”
“They went fine,” Aria said. “A subway accident and a commotio cordis.”
“I heard the subway accident victim was Madison Bryant, Kera’s friend. That’s quite a coincidence, and a tragedy.”
“I guess,” Aria said. And then she was gone.
For a time Laurie continued to stare at the open doorway, marveling at how strange and complicated a person Aria was and how smart yet disruptive she could be. For a moment she felt sorry for Carl Henderson, because Aria was his problem, not hers, provided she could be shepherded through the rest of her time at the OCME. Laurie also realized that Jack was right; although Aria had a lot of antisocial symptoms, including her obvious disrespect for others, her manipulative behavior, and her lack of empathy, to name a few, all of which made her difficult to deal with, she certainly didn’t have an antisocial personality disorder. She was much too high-functioning. It seemed to Laurie that a good psychiatrist or psychologist could have a ball trying to get behind her insufferable shell.
CHAPTER 32
May 10th
6:25P.M.
More discouraged than when she arrived, Aria wandered out of the OCME front office and into the public lobby. A large group of people, half of whom were crying, were mostly congregating at the far end of the room. They were also occupying most of the ample seating. Aria stopped and observed them for a moment, feeling some kinship with their distress, although she was more irritably depressed than sad. Coming as close as she had to Lover Boy’s identity and yet still being denied success didn’t seem at all fair to her. Yet what could she do? Coming to the OCME in an attempt to snare Laurie’s help with the DA’s office had been the last gasp of her search for the missing father. Short of walking into the DA’s office herself come morning, which she was convinced would be a total waste of time, she had no more ideas except possibly going to the police. Unfortunately, David Goldberg had nixed that idea by explaining that the police didn’t like to make paperwork for themselves except when itwas reasonably clear homicide was involved, which certainly didn’t include overdose cases.
All of the sudden one of the grief-stricken mourners let out a particularly loud wail that grated on Aria’s nerves. She glanced at the uniformed security guard, whose expression didn’t change, suggesting that he’d seen it all over the years and was immune. Aria felt otherwise, and quickly pushed out through the front door onto First Avenue. The scene in the lobby was making her feel more depressed.
Just being outside helped, despite the roar and exhaust of the rush-hour traffic. What made it somewhat pleasant was that the weather continued to be almost perfect, with the late-afternoon sun again bathing the tops of the buildings in a golden glow. Intending to summon a rideshare to get her over to the Upper West Side, Aria pulled out her phone. Once she did, she hesitated before opening the Uber app. Something about merely holding the phone keyed off the memory of having gotten the surprising text from Dr. Henderson while she was talking with David Goldberg two days ago. It had been just about the same time of day. Out of curiosity, she pulled up the message and reread it, which brought to mind the rather strange meeting she had with the head of Pathology that the text had initiated. What particularly popped into her mind was his being supportive of her search for Lover Boy and his interest in being kept up to date on her progress. He’d also expressed immediate fascination with her idea of using genetic genealogy when she’d mentioned it.
For a few moments she stared blindly into the chaotic traffic scene playing out in front of her while she thought about Dr. Carl Henderson. As the chief of the Department of Pathology at a major academic medical center, he was, by definition alone, a connected individual who might be not only willing to help but also possibly highly capable. As soon as the idea occurred to her, Aria wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before. Suddenly it seemed so obvious.
Without a second’s hesitation, Aria used the text from Carl to call him. It certainly wasn’t too late to be calling, especially since it had been slightly later when she’d called him two nights ago. With each ring, her optimism lessened, but then on the fourth, he picked up.
“Aria?”
“I hope I’m not calling at a bad time,” she said, even though she didn’t care if she was.
“Not at all,” Carl said. “What’s up?”
“I’m wondering if you might be free. I’ve made some significant progress in finding the missing lover, but I’ve hit up against a problem. I need to ask for your help, but I’d rather explain it to you in person. To explain it, I would like to show you something I think you will find fascinating.”
“This sounds intriguing. By all means, I can meet you. Are you in the neighborhood?”
“Yes, I’m at the OCME. Are you in your office?”
“No, but I could be in a matter of minutes,” Carl said. “I’m nearby in my lab. Coincidentally, your question about channelopathies and fentanyl keyed off my interest. Since there was nothing in the literature when I looked, I’m putting in for a grant to investigate the association.”
