“Okay, I hadn’t considered that. I can see how that kind of attitude could become a problem.”
“But you are probably right. I’m going to take your advice to heart and let things slide on the home front. At least this Sue Passero case is giving me something to occupy my mind.”
As Lou got to his feet Jack’s mobile rang. When he glanced at the screen, intending to silence the ringer, he saw it was Naomi Grossman. Instead, he took the call. As he did so, he waved to Lou to hold up a moment.
“Well, your persistence has paid off,” she said with no preamble.
“What did you find?” Jack asked, his hopes rising.
“Now this is just a preliminary screen, as I told you, and we will be following up with the usual full amplification process. But the rapid screen tells us that there is no inheritable genetic evidence of any channelopathy. None of the usual mutations are present.”
As quickly as Jack’s hopes rose, they now collapsed.
“I trust that providing this information as fast as we have helps your case,” Naomi said. “And, needless to say, we’ll get you the full report as soon as it is available, but it is going to be a week or two.”
Jack thanked the department head, terminated the call, and tossed his phone onto his desk. He looked over at Lou with a hangdog expression. “That was really my last hope of science providing the how,” he said. “There’s still histology and toxicology, but my intuition tells me that both are going to be negative as well.”
“Is it time for me to get involved?” Lou asked.
“Not yet,” Jack said. “But maybe soon.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Lou said. “I’ve got to run, but you stay put here.” He waved over his head as he walked out into the hallway and turned toward the elevators.
Jack looked back at the stack of unfinished autopsy folders and then over at the equivalent stack of histology slide trays. He knew he should get some of his looming paperwork done, but after the short talk with Lou and getting the disappointing call from Naomi, he was reinvigorated about the Passero case.
Picking up his phone again, Jack texted Laurie. Undoubtedly, she was at still at 421 continuing her attempt to indoctrinate the incoming mayor. In the message he told her he was leaving for the day so that she wouldn’t be looking for him when she returned to the office. When he was finished, he pocketed his phone and pulled on his jacket. From one of the coat hooks on the back of the door, he took down a backpack and put it on. His plan was to stop at the MMH, pick up Sue’s folders at the information desk, head to the ED to try to meet up with Ronnie Cavanaugh, and then go home. As he walked down toward the elevators, he mused about how nice it would be to take advantage of the mild weather and get a run in on the basketball court that evening. Some good competitive exercise would do wonders for his patience on the home front.
Chapter 16
Tuesday, December 7, 4:55 p.m.
Jack used the same route as he had at midday, yet the ride was far different since the sun had set. It was also rush hour with an increase in vehicular traffic as well as the number of bikes. The congestion was particularly significant all through Midtown and didn’t ease up until he was well beyond the Ed Koch Queensboro Bridge. The crosstown traffic was the worst, making him feel particularly thankful to be on his bike, cruising past all of it.
At the front of the MMH, he used the same no parking sign to lock up his bike and helmet. Jack wanted to make his visit to the information booth as quick as possible after apparently having been seen by chance in the lobby earlier that day by Martin Cheveau, resulting in the confrontation with Marsha Schechter. Luckily, when he approached there was no one waiting, and he was able to walk directly up to the counter.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Jack Stapleton, and I believe there should be a parcel waiting for me from Virginia Davenport.” As he spoke, he slipped off his backpack and unzipped it.
His comment precipitated a brief questioning conversation between the two women and the one man behind the counter. Then one of the women seemed to have recollection, as she snapped her fingers and bent forward, briefly disappearing from Jack’s view. But instead of producing a package, she extended a mere letter-sized envelope toward him, along with a pleasant smile. Confused, Jack took the envelope. Written on it in an elegant cursive was his name and, in the lower left-hand corner, to be picked up.
Getting his thumb under the flap, Jack opened the letter and pulled out a note written in the same style. It was short and sweet, merely stating that Virginia was sorry, but when she returned to Sue’s office, the committee folders had vanished, and she had no idea where they had gone or who could have taken them. As a final postscript he read: If you have any questions, I’m here at least until 6:00 p.m.
Jack cursed under his breath, believing Marsha Schechter was to blame. The missing folders also underlined his sense that things had hardly been copacetic regarding Sue Passero’s relationship with the administration and some of her committee co-members. Why else would those folders be taken from her office, particularly the one labeled hospital mortality articles of interest? It certainly didn’t contain any private letters or communications.
Whether the disappearance of these folders could in any way be related to her death, he had no idea. He also knew it was associated more with the idea of who, not how, yet if he was going to be denied whatever insight the folders might have provided, he was going to have to come up with an alternative plan.
He thanked the woman, and because of his disappointment, he made a beeline to the doctors’ cloakroom, where he intended to get himself a white lab coat and leave his backpack. Doctors who were not part of the salaried staff used the cloakroom to leave their outer coats and don a doctor’s coat. Obtaining one was a way for Jack to blend in, which he wanted to do now that he was going to make a quick return visit to the Internal Medicine Clinic. Jack had used this ruse in the past when he’d visited the MMH for investigative purposes. If possible, he wanted to avoid being spotted by Cheveau or anyone from administration or security, particularly any of the those who had interrupted him in Sue’s office earlier that day.
Now clothed in a highly starched white doctor’s coat plus a hospital-issued pandemic mask, he set out for the Kaufman Outpatient Building. To complete his disguise, he’d added Sue Passero’s hospital ID, hanging its lanyard around his neck while being careful to have the photo turned toward himself.
Although the hospital’s lobby had been relatively busy, the clinic building was quiet. As Jack rode up to the fourth floor, he was happy to be the only person in the elevator.
As it was now after five p.m. and the clinic supposedly closed, there were far fewer patients waiting, although still a few. At the patient sign-in desk there were none, and the two remaining clerks were seated and chatting among themselves.
“Excuse me,” he said, approaching the counter. “I’m looking for Virginia Davenport.”
Almost simultaneously the two clerks pointed behind them at the scheduling office where Jack had found her earlier that day. Approaching the door, he briefly debated whether to knock but decided against it, remembering it had been unnecessary earlier. Inside he found her at her desk. The other two scheduling secretaries had apparently left for the day.
“Still at it?” he questioned.
“It’s the burden of being the clinic supervisor,” Virginia explained. She took off her headphones and then reached for her mask.