“What about if you talk to Dr. Henderson?” Chet suggested. Dr. Carl Henderson was chief of the NYC Department of Pathology. “I would think that he or the head of the pathology residency program would be able to talk some sense into her and get her to take her OCME rotation seriously. I mean, if nothing else, it’s damn disrespectful.”
“You know, maybe I should talk to her first,” Laurie said. Suddenly the idea that she could possibly prevent a problem between the OCME and the NYU Department of Pathology before it developed had a lot of appeal. Prevention was always vastly superior to cure.
“That’s probably the best approach,” Chet said. “The way she has responded to me makes me sense she’s not all that fond of men.”
“On second thought, better than just talking with her, maybe I should do a case with her. There’s a chance I could get her excited about forensic pathology. I’ve had some luck in the past. Our ownDr. Jennifer Hernandez is living proof.” When Jennifer was a teenager and having problems, Laurie arranged to have her come to the OCME as an extern. Not only did the experience turn her around, she ended up going to medical school and becoming a forensic pathologist.
“Now, that’s an idea,” he said. “If anybody could motivate her, you could. But I thought you didn’t do cases now that you’re chief.”
“This could be an exception,” she said, warming to the idea. It was only this morning that she was ruing the fact that she didn’t get to do forensics. Here was a good excuse to rectify that for a good cause, and she’d make sure it wasn’t publicized. “Tell Dr. Nichols when she comes in this morning that she will be working with me this afternoon and that I’m looking forward to meeting her. And check with the day ME to make sure I have a case to do, preferably an interesting one. And mum’s the word.”
“Got it,” he said. “About what time do you think you want to do this?”
“Let’s say, middle of the afternoon,” Laurie said, remembering all her commitments. It was also the time that the autopsy room was generally vacant.
“I’ll see that it happens,” Chet said.
CHAPTER 3
May 8th
9:45A.M.
Madison Bryant watched the three-member Pierson family file out of her small office. Marge Pierson was the last out the door, and she paused briefly to smile back at Bryant and wave before disappearing up the hallway. It was one of those “happy ending” cases that gave Madison the fortitude to soldier on with her career as a social worker at the Hassenfeld Children’s Hospital. After a number of bone marrow transplants, Wayne Pierson, eight, was doing remarkably well, with his leukemia now in complete remission. With everything going so smoothly, including Wayne’s experiences at school and the family dynamics getting back to normal, a session scheduled for an hour and a half had taken only fifteen minutes. As a result, Madison had some free time, especially since her next appointment had been canceled.
Putting the Pierson file on her desk, Madison walked out of her windowless office. As usual at that time of the day, the clinic was jam-packed with people and kids of all ages. Thanks to the acoustic-tiled ceiling, the din was bearable. After skirting the reception desk,Madison walked into the staff lounge and then on to the women’s room. At that time of morning, it was like an oasis of solitude. As she dutifully washed her hands, she eyed herself in the mirror. Recently her hairstylist had talked her into a straight asymmetrical bob, claiming the sleek look was modern glamour at its best. Madison wasn’t so sure, as it was a quantum leap away from her previous short Afro, plus it took a lot more work, but it did frame her face rather nicely.
A tall, light-skinned black woman with a splash of freckles across her nose and cheeks, Madison was from St. Louis but had always dreamed of eventually moving to New York City. She had gotten her wish eight months ago and had been having the time of her life. One of the reasons things had worked out so well was that she had met Kera Jacobsen, who had arrived in the city within days of Madison to work at the same hospital in the same field. As a consequence, they had been introduced and had shared their orientation experience. Being close to the same age, having had similar educational backgrounds, and conveniently free of current romantic involvement with men, the two women bonded. Their friendship thrived, thanks to their similar interests in everything New York, such as theater, ballet, modern art, and bike riding along the Hudson River.
But then, after the holidays, things had changed. With no warning or explanation, Kera suddenly became less available for the numerous activities they had so enjoyed together. When Madison finally built up the courage to question this change, Kera denied it, explaining that starting in January she just preferred to stay in her warm apartment. She said that having lived her whole life in LA made dealing with the NYC winter weather an unpleasant ordeal.
During January and February, Madison accepted this story, especially since on occasion Kera would still be available, particularly on a Friday or Saturday night. The problem was there was little notice, and it had to be Kera calling Madison rather than the other way around. Still, Madison took it all in stride. But things hadn’t changed with thearrival of spring and much warmer weather, which called into question Kera’s original explanation.
Eventually Madison had given up trying to understand and had made it a point to concentrate on developing other friendships, including several new male friends. Over the past several months her social schedule returned to a semblance of normal, and when Kera called, she was less likely to be available. Gradually it was only in the hospital that they saw each other, either between patients or even more frequently for lunch. It was a source of continued amazement for Madison that Kera pretended everything was entirely normal, as if nothing had changed. And then something truly abnormal happened; yesterday Kera failed to show up for work. Madison had found out because all Kera’s patients had to be either canceled or seen by other people, including Madison.
Since Kera had never been so irresponsible as to not show up for work without calling in sick, Madison had become immediately concerned, especially when coupled with the fact that Kera had been acting strangely for months. That was when Madison had started texting Kera to ask if she was okay. When there had been no response to several texts, she tried calling and left several voice messages over the course of the day. Today was the second day and still no Kera.
Madison took her phone from the pocket of the white medical coat that she was encouraged to wear by her department head and placed yet another call. She listened to it ring and intuitively knew that Kera wasn’t going to answer. The moment the ring was interrupted, and Kera’s outgoing voicemail began to play, Madison disconnected. There was no need to leave yet another message. Instead Madison made a snap decision. With the hour and a half she had before her next appointment, she would go to Kera’s building and ring her buzzer. Her hope was that even though Kera wouldn’t answer texts or phone calls, it might be harder for her to avoid responding to an actual visitor. It had suddenly occurred to Madison that maybeKera had been caught up in a mad, passionate romantic affair these months and that perhaps her lover had dumped her. This scenario seemed to match the facts. In that case, maybe Kera was in dire need of a friend. It also helped that Madison was familiar with Kera’s apartment since she had visited prior to the holidays. Kera liked to cook and had insisted on making dinner on several occasions, so Madison knew exactly where it was.
Exiting the hospital onto First Avenue and still wearing her medical jacket, Madison intended to quickly walk down to the main entrance where she knew she could easily catch a taxi. But it turned out she didn’t need to go that far. Almost immediately she hailed a free cab coming north in moderate traffic, telling the driver to take her to Second Avenue and 23rd Street.
Kera’s building was three in from the corner heading west. It was a nondescript brick structure that mirrored the surrounding buildings. Before entering, Madison looked up to what she thought were Kera’s windows. They were closed, whereas a number of other windows in the façade were open. The weather was particularly mild for an early spring day.
At that moment a well-appointed middle-aged businesswoman emerged from the building. Like all New Yorkers, she seemed in a rush, but Madison called out to her and brought her to a halt. Madison asked if by any chance she knew Kera Jacobsen, who lived on the fourth floor.
“Sorry,” the woman said quickly with a shake of her head. In the next instant she was off toward Second Avenue as if she was a power walker.
Undeterred, Madison went into the building’s foyer, where there was a large group of metal mailboxes that covered the wall to the left, each with a button and a nameplate. There were also three marble steps up to the locked front door. To the right was an ornately framed mirror and a hastily constructed wooden wheelchair ramp.
From her previous visits, Madison had a good idea where Kera’s mailbox was located. When she found it, she pressed the buzzer button for Kera’s apartment, holding it in for five to ten seconds. Above the mailboxes was what looked like a speaker grate that had been painted over multiple times. She stared at it, as if by doing so she could entice it to come to life. But it didn’t. Outside she could hear the distant undulation of a diminishing siren, an omnipresent background sound in New York City. Then there was the brief blaring of a car horn, but not a peep from the speaker.
She tried pressing the buzzer again, this time keeping pressure on it for nearly half a minute. She felt there was no way Kera could avoid hearing it no matter what she was doing. But the speaker above the mailboxes stayed frustratingly silent.
“Come on, girl,” she said as she pressed Kera’s buzzer for the third time. She kept it pressed for more than a minute out of frustration, yet she knew it was hopeless. Just then the inner door opened and a nattily dressed, tall, thin-faced Caucasian man appeared. Like the previous woman, he seemed to be in a hurry, yet when he saw Madison holding down Kera’s buzzer, he stopped short. Behind him the inner door clicked shut.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
Madison released the button. “Actually, there is,” she said. “By any chance do you know Kera Jacobsen? She lives in 4B. She’s a woman my age.”
