Suddenly he stood up quickly enough that his desk chair skidded across the room on its casters to thump against his bookcase. “Okay,” he said with determination as he switched off the lamp on his microscope. “I was looking for a challenge, and, as Laurie said, I’ve found it. Or, more accurately, it found me!”
With an infusion of energy and direction, Jack leafed through the contents of Sue Passero’s autopsy folder, pulling out Kevin Strauss’s investigative report. After pocketing it, he grabbed his jacket and left his office. He had made a snap decision. Although it was strict NYC OCME policy that the medical examiners were not to go out in the field for scene investigation, since that was the role the MLIs were trained to do, Jack was going to do it anyway. He understood that if he had questions or needed other specific case-related information, he was supposed to call the involved MLI and have them do it, but the problem was that he was caught in the Socratic conundrum of not knowing what he didn’t know, so it was impossible to ask Kevin Strauss for help. From Jack’s perspective, it was a simple decision, and it didn’t particularly bother him that he was disobeying the rules the OCME chief, his wife, was committed to enforcing.
As he rode down to the basement, using the slow back elevator because it reduced the chance of running into anyone who might question where he was headed, he seriously considered the rather unique situation in which he found himself. Never had he been involved in a case where he was as acquainted with the deceased as he was with Sue Passero, particularly knowing her as a happy, engaged, proud mother and wife as well as an accomplished, well-trained, and knowledgeable internist. Given that such an individual had to be inordinately capable of handling her type 1 diabetes, the idea that her passing could have been accidental, meaning giving herself the wrong dose of insulin or something along those lines, was a nonstarter. Same situation existed for suicide with no history of depression, no note, and no obvious method. What that left was homicide, which seemed equally unlikely because there was no apparent method of murder and there had been no robbery involved. Kevin Strauss had noted in his report that her personal belongings, including a certain amount of cash, were found untouched in her BMW.
He found himself guiltily smiling as he got out on the basement level. He had no idea if a site visit was going to help but was determined to do it. What he did know was that if Laurie found out about it, she’d be fit to be tied. On numerous occasions during Thursday afternoon department-wide staff conferences, she reminded the entire medical examiner team that off-site investigating by the MEs was verboten even though when she was an ME and not the chief, she had chafed under the rule and had violated it almost as often as Jack. Her rationale for her current stance was that the MEs had more than enough work to keep them in-house; most of them — including Jack — were behind on signing out their cases; and, more important, the MLIs were far better at scene investigation since that was what they were trained to do. The MLIs also got along better with the police because they saw each other more as workaday equals. And in contrast to Jack they tended not to ruffle feathers of various influential people like hospital presidents, CEOs, or police brass, which Laurie was well aware that he had a particular proclivity to do since, as she explained it, he didn’t suffer fools.
Another reason for her strong feelings was the need to keep the medical legal investigators happy, which wasn’t easy, as they were overworked, prideful about the role they played, and resentful about having their autonomy and expertise challenged. When Laurie became chief, she’d had a rude awakening about the difficulty of keeping the number of MLIs needed to handle some forty thousand deaths a year on staff. To qualify for forensic training, an MLI had to become a physician assistant first, which required a lot of training and investment. Since PAs often could get jobs that paid more than what the NYC civil service had to offer, recruiting and retaining them was no easy task, especially since dealing exclusively with death didn’t appeal to everyone.
As Jack unlocked his bike, he promised himself that he’d make his site visit as short as possible and also that he’d make an effort to be as diplomatic as he was capable. He wanted to keep his activity a secret, and unless Laurie specifically asked, he wasn’t going to volunteer. It seemed opportune that it was nearly lunchtime, so his absence wasn’t likely to be noticed. His plan was to be quick about his inquiries, and as soon as he had some sense about what he needed to know, he’d beat it back to the OCME. He would then ask Kevin Strauss or even Bart Arnold, the MLI department head, to follow up and get what was needed.
Chapter 8
Tuesday, December 7, 12:02 p.m.
At the corner of First Avenue and 30th Street, Jack waited for the light to turn green. When it did, he crossed the avenue to gain access to the First Avenue bike path on the left side of the road. Because it was lunchtime there were more bikes than earlier, but because it was December, there weren’t that many bikes despite the hour, and for safety reasons, he stuck to the bike lanes. He knew Laurie was against his bike riding for reasons of safety, but he persisted. For him cycling was part of his identity, representing a kind of freedom that characterized his new life. Instead of giving it up, he made concessions, like using the bike lanes. Although he knew that if he went out into the street, he’d be able to go faster, he wasn’t that concerned about the time. He guesstimated the journey would take about twenty minutes and only five minutes less if he were to ride out in the road with the motorized traffic.
Using the bike lane had its own hazards and required considerable attention. First of all, it wasn’t the same all the way to 78th Street, where he planned to turn west to Park Avenue, where the front entrance to the Manhattan Memorial Hospital was located. For the first fifteen or so blocks, there was an isolated bike lane separated from the vehicular traffic, but at 46th Street it changed to be merely a painted lane along the side of the road. Adding to the problem in Midtown, there were more of the electric bike delivery people who flaunted every rule, even to the point of going in the wrong direction. At various times as he headed north, Jack was forced to venture out into the road, keeping up with the cars, taxis, trucks, and buses before returning to the bike path.
When he turned left at 78th Street, the traffic diminished significantly. But here the connected bike path was a mere painted strip running along the street side of parked cars, providing the added danger of someone opening their car door without looking. Even more nerve-wracking were the many taxis and rideshare vehicles, which completely ignored the painted right-of-way by blocking it when picking up or discharging passengers.
Despite the potential hurdles and hazards, including Park Avenue having no bike lane, Jack arrived safely at the front entrance to the Manhattan Memorial Hospital in slightly less than the twenty minutes he’d anticipated. Pulling over to the curb, he dismounted and gazed up at the multistory structure. The entire medical center was an enormous complex of buildings occupying several square blocks of the Upper East Side of Manhattan, stretching all the way from Park Avenue west to Central Park. It served as the flagship hospital of AmeriCare, a large healthcare corporation that owned multiple hospitals and rapid-care clinics around the country.