Blindsight

“You’re right, it won’t happen again,” Laurie said. She turned and headed for the inner door, ignoring Bob as he called out to her. But although she ignored him, her anger had lessened. After all, she had been speaking the truth the day before. She wondered vaguely if she shouldn’t be more uncomfortable with the social and political aspects of her job that Bingham had referred to than with Bob. One of the attractions for Laurie of pathology in general and forensics in particular was that they tried to deal with the truth. The idea of compromise for whatever reason disturbed her. She hoped she would never have to choose between her scruples and the politicking.

After Marlene Wilson buzzed her through, Laurie went directly to the ID office. As per usual Vinnie Amendola was drinking coffee and perusing the sports pages. If the date on the paper hadn’t been that day’s, she might have sworn he’d never left. If he noticed Laurie, he didn’t give any indication. Riva Mehta, Laurie’s office-mate, was in the ID office. She was a slight Indian woman with a dark complexion and a soft, silky voice. On Monday they’d not crossed paths.

“Looks like today’s your lucky day,” Riva teased. She was getting herself some coffee before heading up to the office. Tuesday was to be a paper day for her.

“How so?” Laurie questioned.

Vinnie gave a short laugh without looking up from his paper.

“You got a homicide floater,” Riva said. A floater was a body that had been in water for a period of time. They generally were not desirable cases since they frequently were in advanced stages of decomposition.

Laurie looked at the schedule Calvin had made up that morning. Listed were that day’s autopsies and the people to whom they’d been assigned. After her name were two drug overdoses and a GSW homicide. The GSW stood for Gun Shot Wound.

“The body was hauled out of the East River this morning,” Riva said. “An attentive security man had apparently seen it bobbing past the South Street Sea Port.”

“Lovely,” Laurie said.

“It’s not so bad,” said Vinnie. “It hadn’t been in the water long. Only a matter of hours.”

Laurie nodded in relief. That meant she probably wouldn’t have to do the case in the decomposing room. It wasn’t the smell that bothered her on such cases as much as the isolation. The decomposing room was all by itself on the other side of the morgue. Laurie much preferred to be in the thick of things and relating to the other staff. There was a lot of give and take in the main autopsy room. Often she learned as much from other people’s cases as she did from her own.

Laurie looked at the name of the victim and his age: Frank DePasquale. “Poor fellow was only eighteen,” she said. “Such a waste. And like most of these homicides, the case will probably never be solved.”

“Probably not,” Vinnie agreed as he struggled to fold his newspaper to the next page.

Laurie said good morning to Paul Plodgett when he appeared at the door. He had dark circles under his eyes. She asked him how his famous case was progressing.

“Don’t ask,” Paul said. “It’s a nightmare.”

Laurie got herself a cup of coffee and picked up the three folders for her day’s cases. Each folder contained a case worksheet, a partially filled-out death certificate, an inventory of medico-legal case records, two sheets for autopsy notes, a telephone notice of death as received by communications, a completed identification sheet, an investigative report, a sheet for the autopsy report, and a lab slip for HIV antibody analysis.

As she was shuffling through all the material, Laurie noticed the names of the other two cases: Louis Herrera and Duncan Andrews. She remembered the name Duncan Andrews from the day before.

“That was the case you asked me about yesterday,” a voice said from over Laurie’s shoulder. She turned and looked up into Calvin Washington’s coal black eyes. He’d come up behind her and put a finger by Andrews’ name. “When I saw the name, I thought you’d want the case.”

“Fine by me,” Laurie said.

Each one of the medical examiners had his own way of approaching his autopsy day. Some grabbed the material and went directly downstairs. Laurie had a different modus operandi. She liked to take all the paperwork up to her office to plan her day as rationally as possible. With her coffee in one hand, her briefcase in the other, and the three new files under her arm, Laurie set out for the elevator. She got as far as communications when Sergeant Murphy, one of the policemen currently assigned to the medical examiner’s office, called her name. He bounded out of the police cubicle, dragging a second man behind him. Sergeant Murphy was an ebullient, red-faced Irishman.

“Dr. Montgomery, I’d like you to meet Detective Lieutenant Lou Soldano,” Murphy said proudly. “He’s one of the brass in the homicide department at headquarters downtown.”