Thinking about Satoshi reminded Ben that he’d promised to call up to Columbia and check on the status of his request to lease laboratory space. As he put the call through, he mildly chided himself for not following up on it sooner. Knowing Satoshi as he now did, had he been more responsible, he wouldn’t have to worry about Satoshi’s whereabouts, because the man would spend all his time in the lab.
The conversation with the powers-that-be at Columbia was short and sweet, and very positive. The space was definitely available, the price was high but fair, and all Satoshi would have to do was provide a list of equipment and reagents, which the school would be happy to provide.
On a three-by-five card Ben scribbled the words Columbia bench space available, can start immediately, need to know reagents and special equipment.
Adding the index card to the already sizable stack of contract, wills, and trust, Ben reached for the phone. He’d waited long enough, and his impatience had taken over. He dialed Satoshi’s cell phone number, which he’d committed to memory.
With an uncomfortable premonition building with each hollow ring, Ben impatiently drummed his fingers on the edge of the desk. When the prerecorded generic outgoing message came on, Ben’s premonition was unhappily vindicated. When appropriate, he left a message for Satoshi to return the call, adding that he had some good news to report. It was Ben’s hope that such a message was the best way to ensure a call back as soon as possible.
With that accomplished, Ben went into his closet and dragged out his coat. It was time to leave for his morning meeting with Michael.
5
March 25, 2010
Thursday, 10:18 a.m.
Laurie realized she was not concentrating as she went back once again to the beginning of the chapter of the book she was reading. With nothing else to do, she resigned herself to reviewing general forensics, reading up on gunshot wounds. She had chosen GSW after hearing Lou’s story about the case that Jack was currently doing down in the pit. The trouble was that her mind was running all over creation, jumping from one thing to another. She’d already called Leticia so many times just to check in that she had detected a bit of frustration on Leticia’s part. During her last call Laurie had even detected irritation. While Leticia said everything was fine, she suggested that perhaps she, Leticia, should be the next to call, and only if there was a problem of any sort. In her highly sensitive state, Laurie felt as if she was being told that she was not quite as important as she thought and that it was she who was having the problem of adapting, not JJ.
As for her general reception at OCME, Jack had been right. Everyone from the janitorial staff and building engineers all the way up to the chief and the deputy chief had been effusive in welcoming her back. The universality of the response had been warming, but it had done nothing for her professional anxieties. If anything, they’d hardened partially as a consequence of not having been assigned a case. She had found herself unreasonably interpreting the situation not as a favor to her to get acclimated but rather because they, meaning Bingham, didn’t think she could do it to their expectations. The problem, however, was more because she had too much time on her hands with essentially nothing to do.
Laurie’s eyes drifted around her office. There were no Post-its clinging to the tops, sides, or bottom of her computer screen, as there usually were. No stacks of case files on the corner of her desk waiting for information or laboratory results before they could be signed out. In fact, the entire room looked so clean as to be sterile. The microscope standing by itself without slide trays seemed the most lonely, with protective covers on its eyepieces.
Laurie was about to give up trying to read, thinking she would wander down to the autopsy room and at least participate with Jack and Lou on the GSW case. By doing so she hoped she would feel that she was participating, if not contributing. Instead her phone surprised her by filling the room with its persistent jangle. Laurie snapped it up as if it was a desperate emergency, thankful that someone wanted to talk with her.
“Laurie, I have a problem,” a voice said. It took her a moment to recognize that it was Dr. Arnold Besserman, the on-call medical examiner who’d denied her a case that morning and who was thereby guilty of intensifying her anxieties, or so she irrationally and unfairly thought.
“Oh?” Laurie questioned with a glimmer of hope. Maybe a new case had just come in.
“Kevin’s going home sick,” Arnold continued. Kevin was Dr. Kevin Southgate, one of Arnold’s sidekicks. The two argued over everything, particularly religion and politics, despite being quite fond of each other. “I gave him only one post, from the looks of it an easy one at that: an apparently natural death following a collapse on the Fifty-ninth Street platform of the A train. It’s just a routine case. Anyway, he claims he’s coming down with H1N1, and he’s heading home.” Arnold laughed into the phone. “Have you seen Bingham yet, and if you have, could you come down and take over? I know I said I’d give you the day as a freebie, but I’m kinda stuck, and you’re the only one available. What do you say?”
Laurie smiled. Of course she wanted the case, even if it turned out to be a natural death. In fact, she thought a natural death was probably a good way to start; it was hard to screw up a natural death. What made her smile was the fact that Arnold didn’t mention whether he was busy or not. Often when he was the on-call medical examiner, he rarely assigned himself any cases.
“Who’s the mortuary tech on the case?” Laurie asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.
“Marvin,” Arnold said. “That’s another reason I thought you might be willing to take over.”
Arnold was speaking the truth. Marvin Fletcher was Laurie’s favorite tech, and she worked with him as often as she could.
“I’ll be happy to do it,” Laurie said. “I’ll be right down.”
True to her word, Laurie left her office as soon as she’d replaced the receiver, and wasted no time pulling on a Tyvek suit, gloves, and her plastic face mask. So attired, she pushed into the autopsy room and glanced around. All eight tables were in use, and Marvin waved from where he was standing at the head of the fourth table. As luck would have it, Jack and Lou were at the neighboring fifth table. They were just finishing up by closing the autopsy incision, with Lou doing the stitching. He’d become such a frequent visitor that he enjoyed helping. Laurie made a brief stop to say hello.
“Hey, how’s it going?” Jack said, catching sight of her. “I’d heard you were to have a free day, thanks to our fearless leader. What brings you down here?”
“That was before Kevin Southgate fell ill next to you guys.”
Jack glanced at the table just behind him and nodded to Marvin, who was patiently waiting. “I had no idea,” Jack said, returning his gaze to Laurie. “Of course, Arnold couldn’t come down and stand in for his friend.”
“Of course not,” Laurie agreed. “But I’m pleased. I wanted a case, particularly a straightforward case.” Since she didn’t want to get into a discussion of Arnold’s shirking tendencies, which was one of Jack’s pet peeves, she changed the subject and asked how the GSW case had gone.
“I’d say very well,” Jack responded.
“I agree wholeheartedly,” Lou chimed in. “The path of the bullet into the driver’s chest was definitely from the right to the left, meaning he was facing forward when he was shot and not straight on, as he would have been if he was twisted in his seat, backing up, as the accomplices contend. And the core jacket, which separated off as the bullet went through the windshield, did quite a number on the man’s forearm, which couldn’t have happened if he’d had his right arm over the back of the van’s bench seat, as the accomplices also contend.”