“Oh, people say things like that that they don’t really mean,” Laurie said.
“My feelings exactly,” he said. “But Dr. Muller swore that she said it and that she didn’t bat an eyelash.”
“Do you know if she’s married?” Laurie asked, still wondering if Jack could have been right about Chet’s motivation.
“She’s not married,” Chet said without hesitation.
“All right, what do you think we should do?” she asked while inwardly sighing. With everything else going on trying to keep the OCME on an even keel, she didn’t need another problem, which this was beginning to sound like Aria Nichols could become. She checked the time, feeling her anxiety rising again.
“I was hoping you’d tell me,” he said. “I could try reading her the riot act and say that if she doesn’t take this OCME rotation seriously, we’ll have to say she failed. To be honest, I don’t know whether that would mean she wouldn’t get her Pathology certification, since the month over here is more or less a survey course just to give them an idea of forensics.”
“I don’t know, either,” she said. “As far as I know, such a situation has never come up before. In all the time that NYU Department of Pathology residents have been required to spend one month here during their four-year residency there’s never been a problem.”
“What about if you talk to Dr. Henderson?” Chet suggested. Dr. Carl Henderson was chief of the NYC Department of Pathology. “I would think that he or the head of the pathology residency program would be able to talk some sense into her and get her to take her OCME rotation seriously. I mean, if nothing else, it’s damn disrespectful.”
“You know, maybe I should talk to her first,” Laurie said. Suddenly the idea that she could possibly prevent a problem between the OCME and the NYU Department of Pathology before it developed had a lot of appeal. Prevention was always vastly superior to cure.
“That’s probably the best approach,” Chet said. “The way she has responded to me makes me sense she’s not all that fond of men.”
“On second thought, better than just talking with her, maybe I should do a case with her. There’s a chance I could get her excited about forensic pathology. I’ve had some luck in the past. Our own Dr. Jennifer Hernandez is living proof.” When Jennifer was a teenager and having problems, Laurie arranged to have her come to the OCME as an extern. Not only did the experience turn her around, she ended up going to medical school and becoming a forensic pathologist.
“Now, that’s an idea,” he said. “If anybody could motivate her, you could. But I thought you didn’t do cases now that you’re chief.”
“This could be an exception,” she said, warming to the idea. It was only this morning that she was ruing the fact that she didn’t get to do forensics. Here was a good excuse to rectify that for a good cause, and she’d make sure it wasn’t publicized. “Tell Dr. Nichols when she comes in this morning that she will be working with me this afternoon and that I’m looking forward to meeting her. And check with the day ME to make sure I have a case to do, preferably an interesting one. And mum’s the word.”
“Got it,” he said. “About what time do you think you want to do this?”
“Let’s say, middle of the afternoon,” Laurie said, remembering all her commitments. It was also the time that the autopsy room was generally vacant.
“I’ll see that it happens,” Chet said.
Chapter 3
May 8th
9:45 A.M.
Madison Bryant watched the three-member Pierson family file out of her small office. Marge Pierson was the last out the door, and she paused briefly to smile back at Bryant and wave before disappearing up the hallway. It was one of those “happy ending” cases that gave Madison the fortitude to soldier on with her career as a social worker at the Hassenfeld Children’s Hospital. After a number of bone marrow transplants, Wayne Pierson, eight, was doing remarkably well, with his leukemia now in complete remission. With everything going so smoothly, including Wayne’s experiences at school and the family dynamics getting back to normal, a session scheduled for an hour and a half had taken only fifteen minutes. As a result, Madison had some free time, especially since her next appointment had been canceled.
Putting the Pierson file on her desk, Madison walked out of her windowless office. As usual at that time of the day, the clinic was jam-packed with people and kids of all ages. Thanks to the acoustic-tiled ceiling, the din was bearable. After skirting the reception desk, Madison walked into the staff lounge and then on to the women’s room. At that time of morning, it was like an oasis of solitude. As she dutifully washed her hands, she eyed herself in the mirror. Recently her hairstylist had talked her into a straight asymmetrical bob, claiming the sleek look was modern glamour at its best. Madison wasn’t so sure, as it was a quantum leap away from her previous short Afro, plus it took a lot more work, but it did frame her face rather nicely.
A tall, light-skinned black woman with a splash of freckles across her nose and cheeks, Madison was from St. Louis but had always dreamed of eventually moving to New York City. She had gotten her wish eight months ago and had been having the time of her life. One of the reasons things had worked out so well was that she had met Kera Jacobsen, who had arrived in the city within days of Madison to work at the same hospital in the same field. As a consequence, they had been introduced and had shared their orientation experience. Being close to the same age, having had similar educational backgrounds, and conveniently free of current romantic involvement with men, the two women bonded. Their friendship thrived, thanks to their similar interests in everything New York, such as theater, ballet, modern art, and bike riding along the Hudson River.
But then, after the holidays, things had changed. With no warning or explanation, Kera suddenly became less available for the numerous activities they had so enjoyed together. When Madison finally built up the courage to question this change, Kera denied it, explaining that starting in January she just preferred to stay in her warm apartment. She said that having lived her whole life in LA made dealing with the NYC winter weather an unpleasant ordeal.
During January and February, Madison accepted this story, especially since on occasion Kera would still be available, particularly on a Friday or Saturday night. The problem was there was little notice, and it had to be Kera calling Madison rather than the other way around. Still, Madison took it all in stride. But things hadn’t changed with the arrival of spring and much warmer weather, which called into question Kera’s original explanation.
Eventually Madison had given up trying to understand and had made it a point to concentrate on developing other friendships, including several new male friends. Over the past several months her social schedule returned to a semblance of normal, and when Kera called, she was less likely to be available. Gradually it was only in the hospital that they saw each other, either between patients or even more frequently for lunch. It was a source of continued amazement for Madison that Kera pretended everything was entirely normal, as if nothing had changed. And then something truly abnormal happened; yesterday Kera failed to show up for work. Madison had found out because all Kera’s patients had to be either canceled or seen by other people, including Madison.