Blindsight

With three of her four cases out of the way before noon, Laurie felt comfortable enough with her progress to suggest that she and Lou have a quick cup of coffee. Lou happily agreed, saying he could use the fortification after the morning’s ordeal. Besides, he would have to leave to get back to his office. Having seen the autopsies of the two “floaters,” he couldn’t rationalize any more time. He jokingly told Laurie that she’d have to do the second overdose without his assistance.

After taking off her goggles, apron, and gown, Laurie took Lou up to the coffeemaker in the ID room. It was just one floor up, so they used the stairs. Laurie sat in a desk chair while Lou sat on the corner of a desk. Just as happened the previous day, Lou’s demeanor suddenly changed when he was about to leave. He became clumsy and self-conscious. He even managed to spill some of his coffee down the front of his scrub shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he said, dabbing at the coffee spots with a napkin. “I hope it doesn’t stain.”

“Don’t be silly, Lou,” Laurie said. “These scrub clothes have had lot worse stains than coffee.”

“I guess you’re right,” he said.

“Is something on your mind?” Laurie asked.

“Yeah,” Lou said. He stared into his coffee. “I wanted to know if you’d like to grab a bite to eat tonight. I know a great place down in Little Italy on Mulberry Street.”

“I’d like to ask you a question,” Laurie said. “Yesterday you asked if I was married. You never said whether you’re married.”

“I’m not married,” he said.

“Have you ever been married?” Laurie asked.

“Yeah, I was married,” Lou said. “I’ve been divorced for a couple of years. I have two kids: a girl seven and a boy five.”

“Do you ever see them?”

“Of course I see them,” Lou said. “What do you think? I wouldn’t see my own kids? I get ’em every weekend.”

“You don’t have to be defensive,” Laurie said. “I was just curious. Yesterday I realized after you’d left that you’d asked me about my marital status without telling me yours.”

“It was an oversight,” Lou said. “Anyway, how about dinner?”

“I’m afraid I have plans tonight,” Laurie said.

“Oh, fine,” said Lou. “Give me the third degree about my marital and parental status, then turn me down. I suppose you’re seeing the fancy doctor with the roses and the limo. Guess I’m not quite in his league.” He stood up abruptly. “Well, I better be going.”

“I think you’re being overly sensitive and silly,” Laurie said. “I only said I was busy tonight.”

“Overly sensitive and silly, huh? I’ll keep that in mind. It’s been another illuminating morning. Thank you so very much. If you come up with anything interesting on any of the floaters, please give me a call.” With that, Lou tossed his Styrofoam cup into a nearby wastebasket and walked out of the room.

Laurie remained in her seat for a moment, sipping her coffee. She knew that she’d hurt Lou’s feelings, and that made her feel uncomfortable. At the same time she thought he was being immature. Some of that “blue collar” charm she’d noted the day before was wearing thin.

After finishing her coffee, Laurie returned to the autopsy room and her fourth case of the day: Marion Overstreet, aged twenty-eight, editor for a major New York publishing house.

“You want anything special for this case?” Vinnie asked. He was eager to get under way.

Laurie shook her head no. She looked at the young woman on the table. Such a waste. She wondered if this woman would have gambled with drugs if she could have anticipated such a terrible price.

The autopsy went quickly. Laurie and Vinnie worked well together as a team. Conversation was kept to a minimum. The case was remarkably similar to both Duncan Andrews’ and Robert Evans’, down to the fact that Overstreet had injected the cocaine, not snorted it. There were only a few minor surprises that Laurie would have Cheryl Myers or one of the other forensic investigators check out. By twelve forty-five Laurie walked out of the main autopsy room.

After changing to her street clothes, Laurie took it upon herself to carry the specimens from each of the day’s cases to Toxicology. She hoped to have another chat with the resident toxicologist. She found John DeVries in his office eating his lunch. An old-fashioned lunch box with a Thermos built into its vaulted cover was open on his desk.

“I finished the two overdoses,” Laurie said. “I’ve brought up their toxicology samples.”

“Leave the samples on the receiving desk in the lab,” he told her. He held an uncut sandwich in both hands.

“Any luck finding a contaminant in the Andrews case?” she asked hopefully.

“It’s only been a few hours since you were here last. I’ll call you if I find anything.”

“As soon as possible,” Laurie encouraged. “I don’t mean to be a bother. It’s just that I’m more convinced than ever that a contaminant of some sort is involved. If there is, I want to find it.”

“If it’s there, we’ll find it. Just give us a chance, for Chrissake.”

“Thanks,” Laurie said. “I’ll try to be patient. It’s just that-”