“Can you try to have your lab document that it was acid? This could be the start of the lucky breakthrough I’ve been praying for.”
“Of course we’ll try,” Laurie said. “But like I said, his having been in the river might make it tough. We’ll also examine the bullet in the present case. Maybe it will match the one from Frankie.”
“I haven’t been this excited for months,” Lou said.
“Come on,” Laurie said. “Let’s see what we can do.”
Together they went down to the lab. Laurie found the director, a toxicologist, Dr. John DeVries. He was a tall, thin man with gaunt cheeks and an academic’s pallor. He was dressed in a soiled lab coat several sizes too small.
Laurie made introductions, then asked if any of the results on the previous day’s cases were available.
“Some might be,” John told her. “You have the accession numbers?”
“Absolutely,” Laurie said.
“Come in my office,” John said. He led them to his office, a narrow cubbyhole filled with books and stacks of scientific journals.
John leaned across his desk and punched a few keys on his computer. “What are the accession numbers?” he asked.
Laurie gave Duncan Andrews’ number and John entered it.
“There was cocaine in the blood and urine,” John said, reading off the screen. “And apparently in high concentration. But this was only by thin-layer chromatography.”
“Any contaminants or other drugs?” Laurie asked.
“Not so far,” John said, straightening up. “But we’ll be using gas chromatography and mass spectrometry as soon as we have time. We got a lot of work around here.”
“This was a cocaine overdose case but it’s a little atypical in that the deceased did not appear to be a habitual user. And if he did use drugs-which his family swears he didn’t-it wasn’t interfering with his life. The man was very successful, a solid citizen: the kind of person you do not expect to overdose. So his death was unusual perhaps, but not extraordinary. Cocaine can be an upscale drug. But now I’ve got two more OD’s with similar profiles the very next day. I’m concerned that a batch of cocaine may be poisoned with some kind of contaminant. That’s what may be killing these seemingly casual users. I’d really appreciate it if you ran the samples sooner rather than later. We might be able to save some lives.”
“I’ll do what I can,” John said. “But as I told you, we’re busy. Was there another case you wanted to know about now?”
Laurie gave Frank DePasquale’s accession number and John consulted the screen. “Only a trace of cannabinoid in the urine. Otherwise, nothing on screening.”
“There was a sample of eye tissue,” Laurie said. “Find anything there?”
“Hasn’t been processed yet,” John said.
“The eye appeared burned,” Laurie added. “We now suspect acid. Could you look for acid? It might be important if we can document it.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
Laurie thanked John, then motioned for Lou to follow her to the elevator. As they walked, Laurie shook her head. “It’s like squeezing water out of a stone to get information out of him,” she complained.
“He seems exhausted,” Lou said. “Or he hates his job. One of the two.”
“In his defense, he is busy,” Laurie said. “Like everything else here, his funding is limited and getting progressively worse, so he’s stretched thin when it comes to staff. But I hope he can find the time to search for a contaminant in the drug cases. The more I think about it the more sure I am.”
When they got to the elevators, Laurie glanced at her watch. “I have to get a move on!” She lifted her eyes to Lou. “I can’t afford to have Dr. Washington mad at me as well as Dr. Bingham. I’ll be out pounding the pavement, looking for a new job.”
Lou gazed into her eyes. “You really are upset about these overdose cases, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am,” Laurie admitted. She averted her eyes and glanced up at the floor indicator. Lou’s comment brought up the memory of the nightmare she’d had that morning. She hoped that he wouldn’t mention her brother. Thankfully the elevator door opened, and they boarded.
They changed into scrub clothes and entered the main autopsy room. It was a beehive of activity; every table was occupied. Laurie saw that even Calvin was working at table one. Things were definitely hopping for him to be there; it was not customary for Calvin to do routine cases.
Laurie’s first case was on the table. Vinnie had taken the liberty of getting all the paraphernalia he anticipated she’d need. The deceased’s name was Robert Evans, aged twenty-nine.
Laurie set out her papers and switched into her professional persona, beginning her meticulous external exam. She was halfway through when she realized that Lou was not across from her. Raising her head, she saw him standing to the side.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been including you,” she said.
“I understand,” Lou said. “You do your thing. I’m fine. I can tell that you are all very busy. I don’t want to be in the way.”
“You won’t be in the way,” Laurie said. “You wanted to watch, so come over and watch.”
Lou stepped around the table being careful where his feet touched the floor. His hands were clasped behind his back. He looked down at Robert Evans. “Find anything interesting?” he asked.
“This poor fellow convulsed just like Duncan Andrews,” Laurie said. “He has all the consequent bruises and badly bitten tongue to prove it. He also has something else.
Look here in the antecubital fossa. See that blanched puncture mark? Remember seeing that on Duncan Andrews?”
“Sure,” Lou said. “That was the intravenous site where he mainlined the cocaine.”
“Exactly,” Laurie said. “In other words, Mr. Evans took his cocaine the same way Mr. Andrews did.”
“So?” Lou questioned.
“I told you yesterday that cocaine can be taken lots of ways,” Laurie said. “But sniffing, or the medical term, insufflation, is the usual recreational route.”
“What about smoking?” Lou asked.
“You’re thinking of crack. Cocaine hydrochloride, the salt, is poorly volatile and can’t be smoked. For smoking it has to be converted to its free base: crack. The point is that although the usual form of cocaine can be injected, it usually isn’t. The fact that it had been used that way on both these cases is curious, not that I know what to make of it.”
“Wasn’t it common in the sixties to shoot cocaine?” Lou asked.
“Only when it was combined with heroin in what they call speedball.” Laurie closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and let it out with a sigh.
“Are you all right?” Lou asked.
“I’m fine,” Laurie said.
“Maybe what we’re seeing is the beginning of a new fad,” Lou suggested.
“I hope not,” Laurie said. “But if it is, it’s much too deadly to be a fad for long.”
Fifteen minutes later, when Laurie plunged the scalpel into Robert’s chest, Lou winced. Despite the fact that Robert was dead and that there was no blood, Lou could not dismiss the idea that the razor-sharp knife was cutting into human tissue just like his own skin.
With no pathology apparent, Laurie finished the internal aspect of Robert Evans’ autopsy in short order. While Vinnie took the body away and brought in Bruno Marchese, Laurie and Lou went to the X-ray view box to look at Bruno’s X-rays and the one of the headless woman.
“The bullet is in just about the same location,” Laurie said, pointing to the bright dot inside the outline of Bruno’s skull.
“Looks like slightly larger caliber,” Lou said. “I could be wrong, but I don’t think it’s from the same gun.”