Blindsight

“I’ll go,” Laurie said. “Thanks.” She hung up the phone and stood up. She felt miserable. Tom, on the other hand, seemed pleased to be awake. Purring contentedly, he rubbed against her legs.

Laurie threw on some clothes and grabbed a camera and several pairs of rubber gloves. She left her apartment still buttoning her coat and dreaming of returning home to climb back in bed.

Outside, Laurie found her street deserted, but First Avenue had traffic. In five minutes she was in the back of a taxi with an Afghani freedom fighter for a driver. Fifteen minutes later she got out of the cab at 970 Fifth. An NYPD car and a city ambulance were pulled up on the sidewalk. Both vehicles had their emergency lights blinking impatiently.

Inside, Laurie flashed her medical examiner’s badge and was directed to Penthouse B.

“You the medical examiner?” a uniformed policeman asked with obvious amazement when Laurie entered the apartment and again showed her badge. His name tag read “Ron Moore.” He was a muscular, heavyset fellow in his late thirties.

Laurie nodded, feeling little tolerance or reserve for what was coming.

“Hell,” Ron said, “you don’t look like any of the medical examiners I’ve ever seen.”

“Nonetheless I am,” Laurie said without humor.

“Hey, Pete!” Moore yelled. “Get a load of what just walked in. A medical examiner who looks more like a Playboy Bunny!”

Another uniformed but younger-appearing policeman poked his head from around a doorway. His eyebrows went up when he saw Laurie. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said.

He had a handful of correspondence in both hands.

“Who is in charge here?” Laurie questioned.

“I am, honey,” Ron said.

“My name is Dr. Montgomery,” Laurie said. “Not honey.”

“Sure, Doc,” Ron answered.

“Who can give me a tour of the scene?” Laurie asked.

“Might as well be me,” Ron said. “This here’s the living room, obviously. Notice the drug paraphernalia on the coffee table. The victim apparently injected himself there, then went into the kitchen. That’s where the body is. You get to the kitchen through the den.”

Laurie took a quick look around the apartment. It was tiny but beautifully decorated. From her spot in the foyer, she could see the living room and part of the den. In the living room two large windows with a southern exposure afforded an extraordinary view. But more than the view, Laurie was interested in the clutter on the floor. It appeared that the room had been ransacked.

“Was this a robbery?” Laurie asked.

“Nah,” Ron said. “We did this. Part of our usual thorough investigation, if you know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure I do,” Laurie said.

“We’re always exhaustive in our search,” Ron said.

“For what?” Laurie demanded.

“For proper identification,” Ron said.

“You didn’t notice all these diplomas here on the foyer walls?” Laurie questioned while making a sweeping gesture. “The name seems to be rather obvious.”

“Guess we didn’t see them,” Ron said.

“Where’s the body?” Laurie asked.

“I told you,” Ron said. “It’s in the kitchen.” He pointed toward the den.

Laurie walked ahead, avoiding the debris on the floor, and stepped into the den. All the drawers to the desk were open. The contents looked as if they’d been roughly gone through.

“I suppose you were looking for identification in here as well?” she said.

“That’s right, Doc,” Ron said.

Passing through the den, Laurie walked to the threshold of the kitchen. There she stopped. The kitchen was as messy as the other rooms. The entire refrigerator was emptied, including its shelves. Laurie also noticed some clothing scattered across the floor. The refrigerator’s door was slightly ajar. “Don’t tell me you were looking for identification in here as well?” she asked sarcastically.

“Hell, no!” Ron said. “The victim did this himself.”

“Where’s the body?” Laurie asked.

“In the refrigerator,” Ron said.

Laurie stepped to the refrigerator and opened the door. Ron wasn’t kidding. Stuart Morgan was wedged into the refrigerator compartment. He was almost naked, clothed only in Jockey shorts, a money belt, and socks. His face was bone white. His right arm was raised, his hand balled into a tight fist.

“I can’t understand why he wanted to climb into the refrigerator,” Ron said. “Weirdest thing I’ve seen since I joined the force.”

“It’s called hyperpyrexia,” Laurie said, staring at Stuart Morgan. “Cocaine can make people’s temperature go sky high. The users get a little crazy. They’d do anything to get their temperature down. But this is the first one I’ve seen in a refrigerator.”

“If you’ll release the body we can let the ambulance boys take Stuart away,” Ron said. “We’re pretty much done otherwise.”

“Did you touch the body?” Laurie asked suddenly.

“What are you talking about?” Ron said nervously.

“Just what I said. Did you or Pete touch the body?”

“Well…” Ron said. He didn’t seem inclined to answer.

“It’s a simple question.”

“We had to find out if he were dead,” Ron said. “But that was pretty easy since he was cold as one of those cucumbers on the floor.”