“Smart or not, I’m not sure I would have voted for her. Needless to say, she was accepted into the program prior to my becoming the head of the department.”
“Personality notwithstanding, I do have to give her credit where credit is due. She’s hardly likable, but she did a superb forensic autopsy today, so my reservations in her technical abilities have been lessened. It’s amazing how much basic forensics she’s apparently picked up from just observing a few cases over a little more than a week. And the finding of the unknown pregnancy seems to have kindled at least some interest in the field. I’ve gotten the impression she’s seriously committed to following up on this particular case. It seems almost like she’s emotionally invested, which is what happened to me on my first forensic autopsy.”
“Well, that’s encouraging,” Carl said. “Maybe some good will come from this double tragedy.”
“It would be nice to believe,” Laurie said.
“I personally want to thank you for all your help in this affair,” he said. “And I assume any investigating she does will be under your close mentorship.”
“Completely,” she said. “Although I let her do the autopsy, I was there for the entire procedure and would have intervened if necessary. Legally the case is mine, and when the death certificate is filled out, it will be my signature on it. I specifically told her that she has to keep me informed of any and all progress as it happens, and she has to do it in close conjunction with one of our medical-legal investigators.”
“Perfect,” Carl said. “And can I ask you to keep me updated as well? Also, I would like as much input about this resident as I can get, particularly favorable information like you are suggesting. After all, ultimately it will be up to me whether she is certified as a board eligible pathologist.”
“I’ll be happy to keep you updated,” Laurie said. As she hung up the phone, she only hoped she’d be able to send favorable reports — with Aria, she was quickly learning, one just never knew.
Chapter 9
May 8th
5:55 P.M.
Flashing her temporary OCME card for the guard manning the front desk, Aria pushed through the turnstile at the relatively new OCME forensic science high-rise at 421 East 26th Street. Compared with the old OCME Forensic Pathology building up the street at 520 First Avenue, it was akin to being in a different universe. To Aria it was new, modern, and cold compared with being old, dilapidated, and cold.
She had been given a tour of this impressive structure on her first day of her OCME rotation, so she knew where she was going and how to get there. The medical-legal investigator team occupied a spacious area on the fifth floor immediately adjacent to the bank of elevators.
When the elevator door opened, Aria was greeted by David Goldberg holding open the door separating the glass-enclosed elevator lobby from the MLI common office. He was short, shorter than Aria’s five-six, and appeared mildly overweight, with rounded facial features, moderately long brown hair, sleepy eyes, and a heavy five-o’clock shadow. His clothes consisted of a white shirt open at the collar, a loosened dark tie, and a brown, baggy corduroy jacket. On his head was a black-and-white yarmulke held in place with a hair clip. Aria guessed he was somewhere in his thirties and had not been captain of the football team in high school.
“Dr. Nichols?” David asked.
“No other,” Aria said.
“Welcome,” he said as he gestured for her to step out of the elevator lobby. “My desk is over yonder a bit beyond the pale.” He chuckled at his own humor as he pointed to one of the desks against the far wall, one with a lamp illuminated despite the overhead fluorescent lighting. The room was a sea of identical metal desks, each with a chair on casters. Some were neat while others were messy, reflecting their occupants. Only a few were occupied with people working. Aria guessed the evening shift had begun.
Leading the way, David took Aria to his desk, which he had seemingly partially organized as there was a clear corner on its surface. His definitely belonged in the messy category. Next to the cleared-off corner was a straight-backed metal chair, obviously for her benefit.
“Please.” David gestured for her to take a seat. He sat down in his own chair and pulled himself in to the desk. “So, you’re a pathology resident with the OCME for a month, and you are interested in the Kera Jacobsen case.”
“That’s my story,” Aria said.
“How can I help you?”
“I read your MLI report,” she said. “There is something missing.”
“Something missing?” he questioned with a hint of offense. “I don’t think there’s anything missing. What exactly do you mean?”
“I’ve been warned about who I can tell this to, but I assume you are legally in the loop. There was a surprise finding at the autopsy. The woman was ten weeks pregnant, give or take a week. That means around the first of March there had been some hanky-panky going on, which I have to assume was consensual. Nothing in your report talks about a boyfriend or lover.”
“No one said anything about a boyfriend,” David said defensively.
“Did you ask?”
“I don’t remember,” he said. “Possibly. Wait, the mother might have mentioned something. Let me look at my notes.”
After clearing off his keyboard, David brought up the Kera Jacobsen case on his monitor.
“Okay, here we go. I remember speaking with the mother and a younger sister, both of whom had no idea Kera was using drugs. When I asked them if Kera had experienced any emotional problems or physical pain that might account for the drug use, they both told me no. But then the mother admitted that Kera had broken up with a long-term boyfriend over the summer, though she added that Kera had taken it in stride, using it as an excuse to move to New York, which had been a childhood dream. The mother did say that Kera sounded a bit down on the phone over the last few weeks and just a few days ago, for the first time, talked about possibly moving back to Southern California. She said this took her completely by surprise. But other than that, the mother thought she was a happy, well-adjusted woman who was enjoying New York.”
“Did you get this long-term boyfriend’s name?” Aria asked. She knew from experience that old boyfriends could be like a bad penny and turn up when not expected. In her senior year at Princeton, she thought she had fallen in love with a fellow student named Brian Higgins. It was the first time, and turned out to be the last. When things had advanced to the brink of being consummated, she interrupted their lovemaking to make sure he understood that it might not be the best time for what they were doing since she was smack-dab in the middle of her cycle. Brian’s response was that there was never a bad time to make love with the right person. Unfortunately, that turned out to be false on both counts. Not only did she get pregnant, but he denied responsibility, claiming there was no way he could be the father, and if he was, she had seduced him against his will. Then, a year later, when she was in Boston in her first year of medical school and he in law school, he showed up, tail between his legs, hoping to patch things up. Aria had told him, appropriately enough, to go fuck himself.
“Yes, his name is Robert Barlow,” David said. “He’s a fourth-year medical student doing a sub-internship at Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center.”
“Okay, that lets him off the hook,” Aria said. She had a good idea of what surgical sub-internships were like since she had made the mistake of doing one. “What about this more recent depressive episode? Any clarification on that?”
“As far as they knew, it was only that Kera was homesick. I sensed from the mother that she was a homebody and very close to both the mother and the high-school-aged sister, who still lived at home. You’ll be able to check all this out yourself. The mother is on her way and will be here tomorrow.”