Riva nodded. "I'd say she was fine, maybe a little excited about all the fuss around here. She'd apparently had a conversation with Janice about the Manhattan General case. That's why she wanted it."
"Did she say anything about me?" Jack asked Lou, leaning forward and lowering his voice.
"What's with you today?" Lou asked. "Is everything copacetic with you guys?"
"Oh, there's always a few bumps in the road," Jack said vaguely. Laurie being "bubbly" added insult to injury, under the circumstance.
"How about assigning me the Cromwell case!" Jack called over to Riva.
"Be my guest," Riva said. "Calvin left a note saying he wanted it done ASAP." She took the folder from the "to be autopsied" pile and put it on the corner of the desk. Jack grabbed it and opened it, revealing a case worksheet, a partially filled-out death certificate, an inventory of medical-legal case records, two sheets for autopsy notes, a telephone notice of death as received by communications, a completed identification sheet, an investigator's report dictated by Fontworth, a sheet for the autopsy report, a lab slip for HIV analysis, and an indication that the body had been x-rayed and photographed when it had arrived at the OCME. Jack pulled out Fontworth's report and read it. Lou did the same over Jack's shoulder.
"Were you at the scene?" Jack asked Lou.
"No, I was still up in Harlem when this was called in. The precinct boys handled it initially, but when they recognized the victim, they called in my colleague, Detective Lieutenant Harvey Lawson. I've since talked with all of them. Everyone said it was a mess. Blood all over the kitchen."
"What was their take?"
"Considering she was seminude, with the apparent murder weapon sticking out of her thigh just below her private parts, they thought it was a fatal sexual assault."
"Private parts! So restrained."
"That's not quite how they described it to me. I'm translating."
"Thank you for being so considerate. Did they mention the blood on the front of the refrigerator?"
"They said there was blood all over."
"Did they mention blood being inside the refrigerator, particularly on the wedge of cheese as described here in Fontworth's report?" Jack poked the paper with his index finger. Jack was impressed. Despite his previous experience with Fontworth's desultory work, the report was thorough.
"Like I said, they reported blood was all over the place."
"But inside the refrigerator with the door closed. That's a bit odd."
"Maybe the door was open when she was attacked?"
"So then she carefully put the cheese away? That's more than odd in the middle of a homicide. Tell me this: Did they mention footprints in the blood besides those of the victim?"
"No, they didn't."
"Fontworth's report specifically says there were none, but quite a few of the victim's. That's odder still."
Lou spread his hands and shrugged his shoulders. "So, what's your take?"
"My take is that in this case, the autopsy is going to be significant, so let's get the ball rolling."
Jack walked over to Vinnie and slapped the back of his paper, making the tech jump.
"Let's go, Vinnie, old boy," Jack said happily. "We've got work to do."
Vinnie grumbled under his breath but stood up and stretched.
At the door into the communications room, Jack hesitated, looked back at Riva, and called out: "If you don't mind, I'd like to do that double suicide as well."
"I'll put your name on them," Riva promised.
three
"HOW ABOUT THIS," LAURIE suggested. "I'll call you just as soon as I finish and let you know what I found. I know it won't bring your son back, but perhaps knowing what happened will be some comfort, especially if we're able to learn from this tragedy, to keep it from happening to someone else. If by some slim chance we still don't have any answers after the autopsy, I'll call you after I've had a chance to look at the microscopic and give you the definitive answers."
Laurie knew what she was suggesting was out of the ordinary and that skirting Mrs. Donnatello in the public relations office and giving out preliminary information would annoy Bingham and Calvin, both of whom were sticklers for rules, if they got wind. But Laurie felt the McGillin case warranted this change of protocol.
After talking with them for only a short time, she'd learned that Sean McGillin Sr. was a retired physician who'd had a large internal-medicine practice in Westchester County. He and his wife, Judith, who'd been his office nurse, were not only fellow medical professionals but also extremely simpatico. The McGillins projected a salt-of-the-earth honesty and graciousness that made Laurie like them instantly; it also made it impossible for her not to feel their pain.
"I promise to keep you in the loop," Laurie continued, hoping her reassurances would allow the McGillins to go home. They'd been at the ME's office for hours, and it was obvious that they were both exhausted. "I'll personally watch over your son." Laurie had to glance away after her last comment, knowing it was deliberately misleading. She again caught sight of the crush of reporters in the reception area, even though she was trying to ignore them, and heard muffled cheering as coffee and donuts arrived. Laurie winced. It was unfortunate that as the McGillins were suffering their private grief, a media circus was going on in the next room. It had to make it harder for the McGillins, hearing banter and laughter.
"It just isn't fair that it isn't me who is lying downstairs in that refrigerated compartment," Dr. McGillin said with a sad shake of his head. "I've had a good run at life. I'm nearly seventy. I've had two bypass procedures, and my cholesterol's too high. Why am I still here, and Sean Jr. is down there? It doesn't make sense; he's always been a healthy, active boy, and he's not even thirty."
"Was your son's LDH high as well?" Laurie asked. Janice hadn't included anything about that in her forensic investigator's report.
"Not in the slightest," Dr. McGillin said. "In the past, I made sure he had it checked once a year. And now that his law firm contracted with AmeriCare, which requires yearly physicals, I know he'd continue to be checked."
After a quick glance at her watch, Laurie made direct eye contact with the McGillins, looking from one to the other. They were sitting bolt upright on the brown vinyl couch, their hands folded in their laps, clutching the identification Polaroids of their dead son. Rain spattered intermittently against the glass. The couple reminded her of the man and woman in the painting "American Gothic." They radiated the same resoluteness and moral virtue along with a hint of Puritanical narrowness.
The problem for Laurie was that she was organizationally shielded from the emotional side of death, and consequently had limited experience with it. Dealing with the grieving families, as well as helping them through the identification process, was done by others. She was also sheltered by a kind of academic distance. As a forensic pathologist, she saw death as a puzzle to be solved to help the living. There was also the acclimatization factor: Although death was a rare event for the general public, she saw it every day.
"Our son was to be married in the spring," Mrs. McGillin said suddenly. She hadn't spoken since Laurie had introduced herself forty minutes earlier. "We were hoping for grandchildren."
Laurie nodded. The reference to children touched a tender chord in her own psyche. She tried to think of something to say but was saved when Dr. McGillin suddenly stood up. He took his wife's hand and pulled her to her feet.
"I'm sure Dr. Montgomery has to get to work," Dr. McGillin said. He nodded as if agreeing with himself while collecting all the Polaroids and pocketing them. "It's best if we go home. We'll leave Sean in her care." He then took out a small pad of paper and a pen from his inside jacket pocket. After writing on it, he tore off the top sheet and extended it to Laurie. "This is my personal phone line. I'll be awaiting your call. I will look forward to it sometime before noon."