14
6:45 a.m., Monday
Manhattan
The alarm went off and Laurie went through her usual routine of rapidly fumbling with it to get it turned off. As she set the clock on her windowsill, she realized that for the first time in many days she’d not awakened with the anxiety of having had her recurrent nightmare. Apparently her conscience had been temporarily appeased by her visit with Bob Talbot.
But as Laurie slipped into her sheepskin slippers and turned on the bedroom TV to the local news, she began to feel progressively nervous about what the day would bring vis-á-vis Dr. Bingham. She was particularly anxious to get a copy of the paper to see Bob Talbot’s piece and how prominently it would be featured. It was quite apparent Bingham would suspect her as the source. What would she say if he asked her directly? She doubted she would be able to lie to the chief.
Pausing in the kitchen on her way to the bathroom, Laurie hazarded a glance out at the tiny wedge of sky she could see from her window. The dark swirling clouds suggested that the weather had not improved since yesterday.
Later, after her shower and with a second cup of coffee balanced on the edge of the sink, Laurie started applying her makeup, all the time going over various scenarios of what she might say to Dr. Bingham. In the background she heard the familiar theme music to Good Morning America as the show came on the air. A little later she heard the equally familiar happy voices of the hosts.
As Laurie was about to apply her lipstick she heard Mike Schneider come on and talk about more weapons of mass destruction that a UN team had found in Iraq. Laurie had her upper lip done and was about to do the lower when she flinched. She’d heard Mike Schneider say a surprising name. It was her name!
Laurie dashed into the bedroom and turned up the volume. Her expression changed from disbelief to horror as Schneider gave an overview of her overdose series starting with Duncan Andrews, son of senatorial hopeful Clayton Andrews. He went on to cite three cases unfamiliar to Laurie: Kendall Fletcher, Stephanie Haberlin, and Yvonne Andre. He mentioned the double overdose at George VanDeusen’s. Most disturbing of all, he repeated Laurie’s name, saying that according to Dr. Laurie Montgomery, there was reason to believe these deaths were deliberate homicides, not accidental overdoses, and that the whole affair potentially represented an extraordinary cover-up on the part of the New York City police and the medical examiner’s office.
As soon as Mike Schneider moved on to other news, Laurie dashed into her living room and literally threw papers aside searching for her address book. Finding Bob Talbot’s number, she punched it into the telephone.
“What did you do to me?” she screamed as soon as he picked up the phone.
“Laurie, I’m sorry,” Bob said. “You must believe me. It wasn’t my fault. To get the story into the morning paper my editor had me write up a memo to him. I wrote that your name was not to be included, but he stole the story from me. It was totally unethical in every regard.”
Laurie hung up the phone in disgust. Her heart was pounding. This was a disaster, a catastrophe. She’d surely be out of a job. There was no question of Bingham’s response now; he’d be furious. And after this, where would she ever find a job in forensics?
Laurie walked over to the window and gazed out at the sad, refuse-strewn warren of neglected backyards. She was so distressed she felt numb. She couldn’t even cry. But as she stood there looking at the depressing vista, her emotions began to change. After all, her actions had come from a need to follow her conscience. And Bingham had admitted, during her call to him yesterday, that he knew her intentions were good.
Laurie’s initial fear of total calamity mellowed. All at once she didn’t think she would be terminated. Reprimanded, yes; suspended, possibly; but fired, no. Turning from the window, she went back into the bathroom to finish her makeup. The more she thought about the situation, the calmer she became. She could see herself explaining that she had been true to her sense of responsibility as a person as well as a medical examiner.
Returning to the bedroom for the last time, Laurie completed her dressing. Then, gathering her things, she left her apartment.
As she was standing at the elevator awaiting its arrival, she noticed a newspaper in front of a neighbor’s door. Stepping over to it, she slipped it from its plastic cover. There on the front page as a second headline was the story of her overdose series. There was even an old picture of her taken in medical school. Laurie wondered where the picture had come from.
Opening the paper to the proper page, Laurie read the first few paragraphs, which were a repeat of Mike Schneider’s summary. But, true to tabloid-style journalism, there was much more lurid detail, including reference to a number of victims having been stuffed into refrigerators. Laurie wondered where that distortion had come from. She certainly hadn’t mentioned anything like that to Bob Talbot. There was also more emphasis on the alleged cover-up, making it sound far more sinister than Mike Schneider had.
Hearing the elevator arrive behind her, Laurie dropped the newspaper in front of the proper door and hurried back before the elevator left. When she was halfway into the car, she heard Debra Engler’s hoarse voice.
“You shouldn’t read other people’s papers,” the woman said.
For a moment Laurie stood holding the insistent elevator door from closing. She wanted to turn around and bash her umbrella against Debra’s door to frighten the woman. But she controlled herself, and finally boarded.
As she descended, Laurie’s calmness crumbled and was replaced by apprehension of meeting with Bingham. Laurie dreaded confrontations. She had never been good at them.
Paul Cerino was hunched over his favorite meal of the day: breakfast. He was enjoying a hearty feast of eggs over easy, pork sausage, and biscuits. He was still wearing the same metal patch over his eye, but he was feeling terrific.
Gregory and Steven were momentarily quiet, eating their own choice of sugar-coated breakfast cereal which they had selected from a bewildering choice of single serving boxes. Each had his own empty box in front of him which he was studying intently. Gloria had just sat down after having retrieved the newspaper from the front stoop.
“Read me about yesterday’s Giants and Steelers game,” Paul mumbled with his mouth full.
“Oh my!” Gloria said, staring at the front page.
“What’s the matter?” Paul asked.
“There’s a story about a bunch of drug deaths of wealthy and educated young people,” Gloria said. “Says here they think they were murders.”
Paul choked violently, spraying most of the food that he’d had in his mouth out over the table.
“Daaad!” Gregory whined. A layer of partially chewed egg and sausage had settled on the surface of his Sugar Pops.
“Paul, are you all right?” Gloria questioned with alarm.
Paul held up a hand to indicate he was fine. His face had become as red as the heeling patches of skin on his cheeks. With his other hand he picked up his orange juice and took a drink.
“I can’t eat this,” Gregory said looking at his cereal. “It’s going to make me puke.”
“I can’t either,” Steven said, who tended to do just about everything Gregory did.
“Get yourselves clean bowls,” Gloria directed. “Then pick another cereal.”
“Better read me that article about the drug deaths,” Paul said with a hoarse voice.
Gloria read the whole article straight through. When she was finished, Paul headed for his den.