Chapter 12
May 8th
8:32 P.M.
Here you go, miss,” the Lyft driver said, pointing off to the right. “Have a great meal.”
Aria opened the door and got out of the black Toyota, which whisked away before she even got to the curb. For a moment she stood looking at the restaurant. She’d heard about Cipriani Downtown, located in SoHo, but had never been there. It wasn’t a big place, maybe twenty-five or so feet wide, with a bright yellow awning. How deep it was, she couldn’t tell. Despite the chill in the air, there were a half dozen or so round tables outside on the sidewalk, but all were pulled back and under the awning. Some sliding glass doors had been opened so that there wasn’t much separation between the outside tables and the inside ones. There were several gas-fired heat lamps among the outside tables, whose warmth Aria could feel on her face from where she was standing at the curb.
Having heard the restaurant was popular among the in-crowd, which was reason enough for her to avoid it, Aria wasn’t surprised it was jam-packed. Every seat at every table that could be seen was occupied, and there were a lot of tables mashed together. The bar to the left was almost completely concealed by standees. There was even a rather large group of people standing on the sidewalk near the entrance that was positioned half under a retractable metal stairway that rose up to the apparent darkness of the second floor. Most intimidating was the bright light and noise of the hundred or so competing conversations that burst out from the interior like a tsunami, especially compared with the immediate neighboring commercial establishments, which were all closed for the night and dark. To add to the confusion, waiters in white coats and bow ties were darting around carrying trays of food despite the mob of customers milling about. Busboys in less impressive white jackets without ties were collecting soiled dishes and rolling out clean tablecloths. The scene was frantic. For Aria it wasn’t promising for an interview.
After leaving Dr. Henderson’s office, she had managed to get Madison Bryant on the phone right away, which was initially encouraging. Unfortunately for Aria, the woman wasn’t at home stressed out from the Kera episode like Aria had hoped. Instead Madison had been in a taxi when the call had gone through, heading downtown to eat with someone she described as a friend. To make it less auspicious, she sounded tipsy. Even though Aria knew she was overstepping her bounds, when she declared herself to be a medical examiner who needed to talk with her as soon as possible, Madison was unintimidated. Instead of immediately agreeing, she had invited Aria to come to the restaurant if it was so important. When Aria suggested they meet after her dinner, Madison said that she hoped she wouldn’t be available after dinner, meaning that if Aria wanted to talk with her that evening, it had to be at the restaurant. With serious misgivings, she had acquiesced to the plan.
Skirting the people standing outside, some of whom were smoking, she approached the entrance. A dark-haired man in a dark jacket stood by the door, watching people go in and out. He obviously was employed by the restaurant, but in what capacity, Aria had no idea. He smiled at her as she passed. She ignored him.
Inside the restaurant was as chaotic as it looked from the outside. Although most of the tables were round, those to the far right against the wall were rectangular and had bench seats. On the walls were framed photographs. One large one was of a young woman who looked like a model wearing seriously distressed jeans not too dissimilar from Aria’s. Since she’d not been home, Aria was still dressed as she had been all day, in a white cotton designer blouse, jeans, pink leather sneakers, and her resident white medical coat. To avoid any hecklers who might catch her name, she’d removed her DR. ARIA NICHOLS NYU Medical Center name tag.
She was looking for the host, but it wasn’t an easy task. Madison had said she would leave her name with the host and say she was expecting her to join them. Pushing through the standees crowded around the bar, Aria continued deeper into the restaurant.
“Hey, baby,” a man said, holding a drink as was everyone else standing or sitting at the bar. “Are you a real doctor or one on TV?” He laughed uproariously, as did his friends. Aria ignored him just as she had the man at the door.
Once she had managed to push her way ten or fifteen feet into the restaurant, she could see that the dining room extended back farther than the room was wide. In the depths of the dining area things seemed to be a bit calmer. The party scene and the noise were all up front, mostly around the bar and the more closely grouped tables. To Aria’s chagrin there didn’t seem to be any host stand. Just when she was thinking of giving up and retreating, she spotted a man in a dark business suit, white shirt, and dark tie who was about her height and who seemed to be giving orders to the serving staff. Aria approached and caught his eye. Although he had hair almost as dark as that of the man standing at the entrance, he looked more Hispanic than Italian. She gave her name, practically shouting to be heard, and said that a Madison Bryant was expecting her.
After a moment of thought the man said: “Yes!” Then he raised an index finger and motioned for her to follow him. Aria did just that but continued to find making progress difficult. Ahead, the man, who still had his index finger raised for her benefit, seemed to effortlessly slide between standees. A moment later they broke free of the crowd and entered the back area of the dining room. Not only was it less crowded, but the noise level dropped considerably.
Like a slalom skier on a packed hillside, the host rapidly worked his way through the dining room to approach a two-top table against the back wall. He then gestured toward it and moved aside. Aria stepped up to the table and took stock of its occupants. Both Madison and her male dinner partner were African American, with Madison having a considerably lighter complexion than her muscular, bearded male companion. She was dressed casually, while he was in a white shirt open at the collar with a loosened tie. A business suit jacket hung over the back of his chair. The table was chock-full of plates, breadbasket, olive oil, and wine and water glasses. Taking up most of the space was a platter of pasta in red sauce.
“I’m Dr. Aria Nichols,” she said to the woman. “Are you Madison Bryant?”
“None other,” she said with a broad smile. “And this is Richard Abrams.” She nodded to her companion.
The host who’d momentarily disappeared produced a chair for Aria, posing a mystery from where he had found it in the crowded environment. With flair he positioned it closer to Richard than to Madison. He didn’t put it in the middle to avoid blocking the aisle for the waiters’ benefit. Without a second’s hesitation she moved it over next to Madison and sat down. Richard’s self-satisfied expression changed. He’d taken offense from being slighted.
“I want to make this as short as possible,” Aria said to Madison, totally ignoring her dining partner.
“Would you like something to drink?” the host said. “How about a Bellini?”
“They’re terrific,” Madison said excitedly. “I had two.” Then, talking directly to the host, she added: “She’ll have one!”
“You got it,” the host said and quickly disappeared.
“I need to talk to you about Kera Jacobsen,” Aria said.
“Why?” Madison demanded. Her happy mood disappeared in the blink of an eye. “Listen, I had the worst day of my life today. My friend is dead. I’m trying to recover. I talked to a medical legal investigator at the scene. After that I was dragged over there to the medical-examiner’s office, and I identified her body. I cooperated fully. Why are you bothering me now? I mean, I said everything I know. The whole situation has me bummed out. And Richard says I don’t have to talk to you if I don’t want to. And he’s a lawyer.”