Blindsight

Laurie checked the address she’d jotted on a piece of paper, then looked up at the impressive Fifth Avenue apartment building. It was in the mid-Seventies, bordering on Central Park. The entrance had a blue canvas, scalloped awning that extended to the curb. A liveried doorman stood expectantly just behind the glazed, wrought-iron door.

As Laurie approached the door, the doorman pushed it open for her then politely asked if he could help her.

“I’d like to speak to the superintendent,” Laurie said. She unbuttoned her coat. While the doorman struggled with an old-fashioned intercom system, Laurie sat on a leather couch and glanced around the foyer. It was tastefully decorated in restrained, muted tones. An arrangement of fresh fall flowers stood on a credenza.

It was not difficult for Laurie to imagine Duncan Andrews striding confidently into the foyer of his apartment building, picking up his mail, and waiting for the elevator. Laurie glanced over at the bank of mailboxes discreetly shielded by a Chinese wooden screen. She wondered which one was Duncan ’s and if letters awaited his arrival.

“Can I help you?”

Laurie stood and looked eye-to-eye at a mustachioed Hispanic. Stitched into his shirt above his breast pocket was the name “Juan.”

“I’m Dr. Montgomery,” Laurie said. “I’m from the medical examiner’s office.” Laurie flipped open the leather cover of her wallet to reveal her shiny medical examiner’s badge. It looked like a police badge.

“How can I help you?” Juan asked.

“I would like to visit Duncan Andrews’ apartment,” Laurie said. “I’m involved with his postmortem examination and I’d like to view the scene.”

Laurie purposefully kept her language official. In truth, she felt uncomfortable about what she was doing. Although some jurisdictions required medical examiners to visit death scenes, the New York office didn’t. Policy had evolved to delegate such duties to the forensic medical investigators. But when Laurie was training in Miami, she had had a lot of experience visiting scenes. In New York, she missed the added information such visits afforded. Yet she wasn’t visiting Duncan ’s apartment for such a reason. She didn’t expect to find anything that would add to the case. She felt compelled more for personal reasons. The idea of a privileged, accomplished young man ending his life for a few moments of drug-induced pleasure made her think of her brother. This death had stirred up feelings of guilt she’d suppressed for seventeen years.

“Mr. Andrews’ girlfriend is up there,” Juan said. “At least I saw her go up half an hour ago.” Directing his attention to the doorman, he asked if Ms. Wetherbee had left. The doorman said she hadn’t.

Turning back to Laurie, Juan added, “It’s apartment 7C. I’ll take you up there.”

Laurie hesitated. She’d not expected anyone to be in the apartment. She really didn’t want to talk with any of the family members, much less Andrews’ girlfriend. But Juan was already in the elevator pressing the floor button and holding the door for her. Having presented herself in her official capacity, she felt she couldn’t leave.

Juan pounded on the door to 7C. When it didn’t open immediately, he pulled out a ring of keys the size of a baseball and began flipping through them. The door opened just as he was about to insert a key.

Standing in the doorway was a woman about Laurie’s height with blond, curly hair. She was wearing a sweatshirt over acid-washed jeans. Fresh tears stained her cheeks.

Juan introduced Laurie as being from the hospital, then excused himself.

“I don’t remember seeing you at the hospital,” Sara said.

“I’m not from the hospital,” Laurie said. “I’m from the medical examiner’s office.”

“Are you going to do an autopsy on Duncan ’s body?” Sara asked.

“I already have,” Laurie said. “I just wanted to see the scene where he died.”

“Of course,” Sara said. She stepped back from the door. “Come in.”

Laurie stepped into the apartment. She felt extremely uncomfortable knowing she was intruding on this poor woman’s grief. She waited while Sara locked the door. The apartment was spacious. Even from the foyer Laurie could see out over the leafless expanse of Central Park. Unconsciously she shook her head at the senselessness of Duncan Andrews’ taking drugs. At least on the surface his life seemed perfect.

“ Duncan actually collapsed right here in the doorway,” Sara said. She pointed at the floor by the door. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “Just before I knocked he pulled it open. It was as if he’d gone crazy. He was heading outside practically naked.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” Laurie said. “Drugs can do that to people. Cocaine can make them feel like they’re burning up.”

“I didn’t even know he took drugs,” Sara sobbed. “Maybe if I’d gotten over here faster after he called, it wouldn’t have happened. Maybe if I’d stayed Sunday evening…”