Jack’s normal route would have taken him to the southeastern corner of Central Park, but because of the dramatic uptick in bicycle use in Manhattan due to a combination of frustratingly heavy vehicular traffic, the Covid-19 pandemic, and E-bikes, bike lanes had majorly proliferated. The result was that his commute was significantly faster and safer, although Laurie doubted the latter. Now Jack exited the park in the southwest corner into Columbus Circle. From there, he used the dedicated bike lane to head south on a combination of Broadway and Seventh Avenue all the way to 30th Street. Conveniently, 30th Street also had a bike lane, although it wasn’t as safe since it was merely painted on the pavement alongside the parked cars. Jack’s destination was at the corner of 30th Street and First Avenue, where the old OCME building stood, which still housed the autopsy suite.
As Jack rode east on 30th, his thoughts went back to Dorothy’s role. He recognized she evoked serious ambivalence in his thinking. In relation to his daughter, Emma, who had been diagnosed several years earlier with autism, Dorothy had played a positive role. She had taken it upon herself to organize and then manage the complicated interviewing, choosing, and scheduling of the behavior therapists, speech therapists, and physical therapists who were responsible for Emma’s impressive progress. But even Emma’s improvement was not without some controversy. Jack was inclined to enroll Emma in a specialized school for children on the autism spectrum that was close to the Brooks School. But Dorothy disagreed and so far had convinced Laurie to her point of view.
Worse than the mild disagreement over Emma’s situation was Dorothy’s continued anti-vaccine stance, since she still insisted that it had been Emma’s MMR vaccine that had caused her autism, even though the possibility had been scientifically proven false. Worse still, her anti-vaccine feelings had extended to the Covid-19 vaccine, and no matter what Jack or Laurie said, Dorothy refused the jab. Making her intransigence that much worse was that Dorothy had all but moved in with them to take over the second guest room right after her husband, Laurie’s stern cardiac surgeon father, had passed away three months ago, in September.
On several occasions Jack had tried to broach the issue of establishing some appropriate time frame for Dorothy to move back to her spacious Park Avenue co-op, but Laurie wouldn’t hear of it. It was her belief that Emma was benefitting greatly from having her grandmother constantly around and that Dorothy was still much too fragile to move back to an empty apartment.
All in all, Jack was feeling a bit like the odd man out, especially with Laurie acting more and more like the chief both at work and at home. Not wanting to force the issue and possibly cause a disruption in the fragile home environment, Jack looked to work to occupy his mind and emotions. He needed to scare up some kind of difficult case to monopolize his thoughts. It had worked in the past; investigating a chiropractic death had helped him deal with JJ’s diagnosis of neuroblastoma when the boy was an infant. One of the definite benefits of being a medical examiner was that every day was different and there was always the possibility of confronting a perplexing circumstance. He and Laurie certainly had proven that over the years without an ounce of doubt.
After waiting for a green light to cross First Avenue at the corner of 30th Street, Jack rode down along the old OCME building that had long ago overstayed its usefulness. When it had been built more than a half century ago it had been state of the art. Now it was hardly that. A new autopsy building with offices for the medical examiners and the Toxicology Department was sorely needed. It was supposed to be built near the new high-rise OCME building four blocks to the south but had been held up by budgetary problems. It was one of his wife’s main objectives in her role as the chief medical examiner of the City of New York, and she was counting on the new mayor soon to be sworn in to give it the green light.
Turning in at the receiving bay where bodies arrived and departed, Jack rode between the parked ME Sprinter vans, hoisting his bike up onto his shoulder as he climbed the side stairs up onto the platform. Then, walking the bike, he passed the security office and waved to the guards, who were busy in the process of changing shifts. Jack did the same passing the mortuary techs’ office. Off to the left, where the Hart Island coffins for unclaimed bodies were stored, Jack secured his bike and helmet with a cable lock to a standpipe. He was the only one who used his bike to commute to work, and there was no official bike stand. Nearby was the darkened, isolated autopsy room for decomposing bodies.
Eager to see what the night had brought in terms of new cases, Jack mounted the stairs one floor, passed through the sudden infant death syndrome room, and entered the part of the ID area where the day began for the OCME. It was a little after seven in the morning.
Chapter 2
Tuesday, December 7, 7:10 a.m.
“Good morning, Jennifer,” Jack said with more alacrity than he felt. In contrast to some of the other forty-one medical examiners, Jack did not make it a habit to project his inner mindset and mood to others, mainly because he was a private person. Dr. Jennifer Hernandez was one of the relatively new medical examiners on staff, and it was currently her turn to be on call for the week, meaning if one of the medical examiners was needed during the night to back up the forensic pathology fellow, she was the designee. It was also her role to come in early, go over the cases that had come in during the night, confirm the need for each to be autopsied, and then divide them up between the medical examiners. “Anything particularly interesting today?” Jack added as he approached the desk where Jennifer was sitting. He tried to act casual.
“I just got here two minutes before you,” Jennifer said. “I haven’t even started looking at them.” In front of her was a modest stack of folders containing the workups done by the medical legal investigators, or MLIs, highly trained physician assistants who went out into the field, if necessary, to investigate all deaths thought to be possible medical examiner cases. The police and hospital supervisory personnel were all highly cognizant of which deaths were required to be reported to the OCME by law and which weren’t. Although the previous day’s haul was extensive since it included the entire weekend, today’s cases were modest in number. Jack estimated no more than about twenty.
“Did you get any calls during the night from the pathology fellow or the MLIs for any problems?” Jack asked, trying not to sound too eager. Cases where the on-call ME participated were invariably more challenging and interesting.
“I didn’t,” Jennifer said. “I gather it was a fairly quiet night. Mostly overdoses.”
Jack inwardly groaned. He wasn’t surprised. They were seeing on average five overdose deaths a day, which were more depressing than intellectually stimulating. There was no forensic mystery involved, only the social question of what was happening to society to foment such an ongoing tragedy, above and beyond the appearance of fentanyl in the drug world. “Do you mind if I take a look?” Jack asked. He was sensitive to not be too pushy with his seniority.
Jennifer laughed. “Be my guest,” she said, gesturing to the stack of folders. It was common knowledge among the MEs that Jack often arrived early to cherry-pick cases to find the most challenging. No one denied him because everyone knew he was the kind of workaholic who always took more than his share of cases, even the routine ones. Jack was the opposite of a slacker, especially when he was stressed out like he was at the moment.
“Oh, no!” a voice cried. Both Jack’s and Jennifer’s head bobbed up as Vinnie Amendola breezed into the room with his ever-present New York Post tucked under his arm. He was a slight, dark-haired, and unshaven man who was dressed in a hooded sweatshirt and baggy sweatpants, looking slouchy despite being the most senior mortuary technician at the OCME. In contrast to his appearance, he was impressively knowledgeable about forensics. Having worked closely with Jack for many years, they were a well-oiled team. “God! I hate to see Dr. Stapleton here this early,” he moaned, rolling his eyes skyward while slapping his paper down onto the side table between two upholstered easy chairs as if angry. “Damn it all! It means I’m going to be stuck in the pit all day listening to his bullcrap. What could I have done to deserve this?” The pit was the nickname for the autopsy room among all the mortuary techs.