Although she’d been a tad anxious when the chief of the department had answered the call, the anxiety had quickly evaporated as his tone was congenial from the get-go and the conversation turned out to be remarkably benign. Instead of him being pissed that she’d violated some old, senseless rule or tradition of academic medicine like not taking the Forensic Pathology rotation seriously, he’d been surprisingly gracious, even indulging in a little small talk about how nice the weather was before getting to the reason for the call. “I would very much like to talk with you, preferably right now if you are available,” he’d said. Asking to see her right away was mildly ominous, but his tone wasn’t accusatory and in truth she was more curious than concerned.
As she passed the old, squat, and crumbling OCME Forensic Pathology building on the corner of 30th Street, she thought about the conversation she’d just had with David Goldberg. She’d not learned much, but what she had learned supported her intuition that the unknown father certainly needed to be found to learn of his possible role in the fatal dose of illicit drugs. She had almost laughed that afternoon at Dr. Montgomery’s flowery paean of forensic pathology as “listening to the dead tell their stories.” It was so hokey. Yet now, Aria had to admit that Kera Jacobsen seemed to be communicating with her on some level via the mother’s describing Kera as being recently “down,” and through the neighbor who said that Kera had been having late-night visitors once or twice a week. All this meant there was covert sex going on, meaning one of the couple or both didn’t want their liaison to be public knowledge, which was mildly suspicious in and of itself, and that the potential arrival of a little one didn’t bring joy to one or both of the participants. From Aria’s experience, it had to be the mysterious father who was less than enthused, ergo the tragic outcome.
Just beyond the OCME building loomed the multi-block New York University Medical Center. Cars were backed up while attempting to get into the parking garage. Aria had to squeeze through the waiting autos to continue north until she could enter the building that housed the Department of Pathology. Although she’d never been in Dr. Henderson’s office, she was familiar with its location since it was down the hall from the director of the pathology residency program’s office, where she’d been called on the carpet on far too many occasions.
As soon as she stepped off the elevator, it was apparent that most everyone in the department had left for the day. The only people present were two of the medical center’s janitors busily vacuuming the wall-to-wall carpeting and who ignored her as she passed. Dr. Henderson’s private, corner office was down at the far end. The door to the inner office was open. Aria walked in without bothering to announce herself. Rules of etiquette and kowtowing to supposed superiors were not of her concern. Thanks to her fashionable spring-inspired pink leather sneakers, she didn’t make a sound.
Pausing just inside the door with the realization she’d not been seen, Aria took the time to glance around at the office’s interior. It didn’t give her a good feeling as it reminded her of her father’s home office in their Greenwich, Connecticut, mansion overlooking the Long Island Sound. For her the décor had the same hackneyed male ambiance, with its dark wood, lots of books supposedly attesting to intellectual and cultural prowess, and framed photos of the occupant indulging in various sports or posing with celebrities. There was even a signed football in a plexiglass case to complete the similarities.
Still unnoticed, Aria directed her attention to the chief’s profile. He was sitting at his desk staring intently at his monitor, which was angled away such that she could see the screen. Although she had never spoken to the man in person, she’d seen him at a multitude of departmental functions. As a resident she was required to attend a bewildering number of conferences, seminars, case presentations, and meetings of all types, and the chief came to a fair number of them, often eloquently introducing the various speakers, especially the famous doctors or researchers from particularly prestigious institutions. He was always dressed in a long, shockingly white and highly starched doctor’s coat over a wrinkle-free white shirt with a carefully knotted, brightly colored — but usually pink — tie. As a mild clotheshorse herself, Aria appreciated this aspect of the man’s persona. At the same time, she couldn’t help but see him as the entitled, chauvinistic male authority figure that he undoubtedly was, and for that Aria was on guard despite his graciousness on the phone.
Moving closer, she was a bit surprised she’d not been seen or even heard. She imagined it had something to do with the hypnotic sound of the vacuum cleaners drifting in through the open door, progressively getting louder, suggesting the janitors were approaching this end of the floor.
Reaching the desk and still undiscovered, she was suddenly seized by a mildly devilish way of making her presence known. With the flat of her palm, she reached out and slapped the surface of the desk several times in a row. The result was almost as comical as it was predictable. The man leaped to his feet with such suddenness that his desk chair tipped over backward. Aria did all she could do to keep from smiling.
“My God,” Carl said while pressing his palm against his chest. “You scared the daylights out of me.”
“I’m so sorry, Dr. Henderson. I called out several times but couldn’t get your attention,” she lied, while laughing inwardly.
Carl righted his chair. For a moment he seemed mildly addled and stared at her as if trying to recover. Aria noticed he somehow managed to look as fresh as if he’d just put on his shirt and tied his tie. She also noticed he wore cuff links, which was not common for a doctor in her professional experience.
“Ummm, let’s see! Can I get you something? Coffee? A soft drink?”
“I’m fine,” Aria said. “Actually, Dr. Henderson, I’m a little busy. On the phone you suggested there was something you wanted to talk to me about immediately. Maybe you could just tell me what it is, so we can both go about our business.”
“Of course. But please, call me Carl.”
“If you’d like,” she said, but her guard went up a notch with the implied and questionable familiarity.
“I would like,” he said, regaining his usual poise. “I’m sorry that you and I have never met on a personal basis and hope that can be changed in the near future. I’ve tried to make it a point to personally meet everyone who is part of our Pathology team over these past two years. To that end, my wife, Tamara, and I have been inviting the staff over to our home in New Jersey for dinner, and we’re just now getting to do the same with the residents.” He smiled. “Do you mind if I call you Aria?”
“I suppose not,” Aria said. She couldn’t think of anything she’d like less than to go to the Henderson manse for dinner. She hoped the reason for this impromptu meeting wasn’t merely to extend a dinner invitation.
“How about we sit over on the couch,” Carl said, pointing across the room to a dark, tufted leather sofa, similar to what Aria’s father also had in his study.
“I suppose,” she said, even though she wasn’t wild about the idea as it added to her unease.
Carl came around his desk, stepped over to the sofa, and gestured for her to sit. As soon as she had, he joined her. She purposefully sat at the very right end of the sofa next to a side table. On the table was a small Eskimo statue carved in black stone. It gave her peace of mind to have a heavy, blunt object within reach if she needed it.
“I have heard quite a bit about you from Dr. Zubin,” Carl said as he crossed his legs and folded his arms across his chest.