“I’m afraid I have to ask you to stay to talk to the patrol officers,” the operator said. “Your assistance will be needed.”
“I have patients that are scheduled,” Madison said. She was paralyzed by ambivalence about remaining where she was. With the smell of death seeping out of the apartment she was terrified of what was going to be found.
“Perhaps you should call your supervisor and say you’re involved in an emergency. It shouldn’t be much longer. I’m sure the patrolmen are getting close. While we wait, I want to ask you if your friend had any serious medical issues.”
“Not that I know of,” Madison said. She leaned her back up against the hallway wall. She changed hands with her phone since her palms had become sweaty. She felt claustrophobic.
“Does your friend have family in the area?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” she said. “She’s from LA.”
“Does the building have a live-in superintendent?”
“I don’t believe so,” Madison said, but she wasn’t a hundred percent certain.
The operator asked a number of additional questions before interrupting herself by saying: “I’ve just got confirmation that the patrolmen are at the front door of the building, but it’s locked. Can you go down and let them in?”
“Yes, of course,” she said. In truth, she felt relieved to disconnect from the 911 operator and get in the elevator. As soon as she got out on the ground floor, she saw the uniformed police patrolmen peeking through the door’s sidelights. There were two. Both appeared to be rather young. The fact that one of the cops was African American made her a bit more comfortable. She’d never had the opportunity to interact with the New York Police Department, but as a woman of color, she’d heard stories.
The moment Madison opened the door, the taller, black officer asked if she was Miss Bryant. When she said yes, he introduced himself as Officer Kevin Johnson and his partner as Officer Stan Goodhouse. It was Madison’s sense they were rather new to the job but making an attempt to pretend otherwise. She thought they were somewhere around the same age as she.
“We understand that you’re concerned about your friend and a bad smell,” Officer Johnson said. “Let’s go take a look.”
As they rode up in the elevator, the officers quizzed Madison on the information provided by the 911 operator, in particular about Miss Jacobsen not having been seen or heard from since Friday.
“That’s true as far as I know,” Madison said. “And I’ve tried to call and text her multiple times over the last two days.”
On the fourth floor, Madison led the policemen down to Kera’s door. Officer Goodhouse went through all the motions Madison had already tried. He rang the doorbell and then knocked loudly. Next, he tried the doorknob, but it was clear the door was still locked. He even put his shoulder to it to give a hesitant try to force it open, but it held solid.
“Do you smell the bad odor?” Madison asked.
Officer Johnson put his nose close to the crack between the door and the jamb. Quickly he straightened up. “It would be hard to miss that,” he said with a grimace.
The two officers looked at each other.
“What’s the protocol?” Goodhouse asked.
Madison rolled her eyes. It was even more obvious to her these policemen were relatively new to the job.
“I think it best we call ESU,” Johnson said.
Goodhouse nodded and unclipped his handheld radio microphone from his shoulder. As he put in the call Madison asked what ESU was.
“It stands for Emergency Service Unit,” Johnson said as Goodhouse talked in the background. “We can’t go bashing in doors unless wethink we’re intervening in an acute emergency. Detecting a bad smell doesn’t qualify. But the ESU guys are used to this kind of situation, and they’re the best.”
“Will they be here soon?” Madison questioned. Every minute they lingered outside the door was a minute when they weren’t helping Kera. And there was still the issue of her looming appointments. She looked at her watch. She’d been gone for well over forty-five minutes.
“Should be,” Johnson said. “ESU has REP vehicles out on patrol twenty-four-seven. REP means Radio Emergency Patrol. There’s probably one in the neighborhood as we speak.”
“I have to get back to work,” Madison said, still feeling conflicted.
“I’m afraid we have to ask you to stay,” Johnson said.
“Okay,” Goodhouse said, interrupting. “A REP car is en route. They’ll be here in five.”
“I want to stay and find out what’s going on with Kera,” Madison said. “But I’ve got patients scheduled.”
“Are you a doctor?” Johnson asked.
