Blindsight

“Enough,” Paul said. “Moderate coronary disease for starters. Also the mitral valve was in pretty bad shape. The heart itself seemed awfully flabby. So there are a lot of candidates for the final culprit.”

Laurie thought Jordan would appreciate the news.

“She’s awfully purple,” Laurie commented.

“True,” Paul said. “Quite a bit of congestion in the head and the lungs. Must have been a lot of terminal, agonal effort. She didn’t want to die, poor lady. She apparently even bit her lip.”

“Really?” Laurie asked. “Do you think she had some kind of seizure?”

“Could have,” Paul said. “But it’s more like an abrasion, like she was chewing her lip.”

“Let’s see.”

Paul reached over and drew back Mary O’Connor’s upper lip.

“You’re right,” Laurie said. “What about the tongue?”

“Normal,” Paul said. “That’s why I doubt there was a seizure. Maybe she had a lot of terminal pain. Well, perhaps the microscopic of the heart will show something pathognomonic, but I bet this case will fall into that category of an unknown coup de grace, at least specifically. In general I know it was cardiovascular.”

Laurie nodded but looked at Mary O’Connor. Something bothered her about the case. It was triggering a memory she couldn’t quite put a finger on.

“What about these petechiae on her face?” Laurie asked.

“It’s consistent with terminal heart disease,” Paul said.

“This much?”

“As I said, there must have been a lot of agonal effort.”

“Would you mind letting me know what you find on microscopic?” she asked. “She was a friend’s patient. I know he’ll be interested in what you find.”

“Will do,” Paul said.

Laurie saw that Calvin had moved from Besserman to Fontworth. Lou had wandered back to Southgate’s table. Laurie headed over to him.

“Sorry,” she said to Lou as she came alongside.

“No problem,” Lou said. “I’m starting to feel right at home here.”

“Hey, Laurie, the phone’s for you,” a voice yelled out over the general background noise of the busy autopsy room. Laurie walked to the phone, cringing that her presence had been so blatantly broadcasted. She didn’t dare look in Calvin’s direction. She picked up the receiver: it was Cheryl.

“I wish all your requests were so easy,” Cheryl said. “I called over to Dr. Scheffield’s office and the secretary couldn’t have been more helpful. Henriette Kaufman and Dwight Sorenson were both patients. Does that help you?”

“I’m not sure,” Laurie said. “But it is interesting indeed. Thanks.”

Laurie went back to Lou and told him what she had learned.

“Wow!” he said. “That takes it out of the realm of coincidence. At least I think it does.”

“Five for five,” Laurie said. “The possibility of that happening by chance is extremely small.”

“But what does it mean?” Lou asked. “It seems like an awfully strange way to get at Cerino, if that’s what it’s about. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I agree,” Laurie said.

“One way or the other,” Lou said, “I’ve got to look into it immediately. I’ll be in touch.” He was gone before Laurie could say so much as goodbye.

Laurie hazarded one last glance at Calvin. He was still talking with George and didn’t seem the least perturbed by her presence.

Back in her office, Laurie called Jordan. As usual he was in surgery. Laurie left a message for him to please call back.

Trying to go back to work, Laurie wasn’t much more successful than she’d been earlier. Her mind was in a turmoil concerning her precarious job situation from having alienated so many people, her overdose series, and the odd coincidence that Jordan was treating a string of five gangland-style murder victims.

Laurie’s thoughts drifted back to Mary O’Connor. She suddenly remembered what she’d been trying to think of earlier. The abrasions on the lip, the florid petechiae, and the face’s deep purple discoloration suggested “burking,” the suffocation by compressing the chest while occluding the mouth.

With that thought in mind, Laurie phoned down to the autopsy room and asked for Paul.

“I’ve had a thought,” Laurie said once he was on the line.

“Shoot,” Paul said.

“What do you think about burking as a possible cause of death in the O’Connor case?”

Her suggestion was met with silence.

“Well?” Laurie questioned.

“The victim was in Manhattan General,” Paul said. “She was in a private room in the Goldblatt wing.”

“Try to forget where she was,” Laurie said. “Just look at the facts.”

“But as forensic pathologists we’re supposed to take the scene into consideration. If we didn’t, we’d misdiagnose tons of cases.”

“I understand that,” Laurie said. “But sometimes the scene can be misleading. What about homicides set up to look like suicides?”

“That’s different,” Paul said.

“Is it?” Laurie questioned. “Anyway I just wanted you to give burking some thought. Think about the lip abrasion, the petechiae, and the amount of congestion of the face and the head.”

As soon as Laurie put down the receiver, the phone rang. It was Jordan.