Blindsight (38 page)

Lou helped himself to another cup of coffee. He was waiting in Manhattan General Hospital's surgical lounge, where he'd surprised Jordan on their last encounter. But that time Lou had had to wait for only twenty minutes. Already he'd been there well over an hour. He was beginning to doubt the wisdom of putting this hoped-for interview with Jordan ahead of returning his superior's calls. Just when Lou was thinking about leaving, Jordan entered the room. He went directly to a small refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice. Lou watched Jordan take a long drink. He waited until Jordan came over to the couch to look through the newspaper lying there. Then Lou spoke up. "Jordan, old boy," Lou said. "Imagine running into you here, of all places." Jordan frowned when he recognized Lou. "Not you again."

"I'm touched you're so friendly," Lou said. "It must be all the surgery you've been doing that's got you
in such an affable mood. You know what they say, make hay while the sun shines." "Nice seeing you again, Lieutenant." Jordan finished the juice and tossed the carton into the wastebasket.
"Just a second," Lou said. He got up and blocked Jordan's exit. Lou had the definite impression Jordan was being even less cooperative than he'd been during their previous meeting. He was also more upset. Beneath the brusque facade the man was definitely nervous. "I have more surgery to perform," Jordan said. "I'm sure you do," Lou said. "Which makes me feel a little better. I mean, it's nice to know that not all your patients scheduled for surgery meet violent deaths at the hands of professional hit men." "What are you talking about?" Jordan demanded. "Oh, Jordan, indignation becomes you. But I'd appreciate it if you'd cut the crap and come clean. You know full well what I'm talking about. Last time I was here I asked you if there was anything these murdered patients of yours had in common. Like maybe they were suffering from the same ailment or something. You were happy to tell me I was wrong. What you failed to tell me was that they were all scheduled to undergo surgery by your capable hands." "It hadn't occurred to me at the time," Jordan said. "Sure!" Lou said sarcastically. He was certain Jordan was lying, yet at the same time Lou was not sure of his objectivity in judging Jordan. As Lou had recently admitted to Laurie, he was jealous of Jordan. He was jealous of the man's tall good looks, of his Ivy League education, his silver-spooned past, his money, and his relationship with Laurie. "It didn't occur to me until I got back to the office," Jordan said. "After I looked at their charts." "But even once you did realize this connecting factor, you failed to let me know. We'll let that go for the moment. My question now is: How do you explain it?" "I can't," Jordan said. "As far as I can tell, it's extraordinary coincidence. Nothing more, nothing less." "You don't have the slightest idea why these murders were committed?" "None," Jordan said. "And I certainly hope and pray there are no more. The last thing I want to happen is see my surgical population decreasing in any form or fashion, particularly in such a savage way." Lou nodded. Knowing what he did about Jordan, he believed this part. "What about Cerino?" Lou asked after a pause. "What about him?"
"He's still waiting for another operation," Lou said. "Is there any way this murder streak could be related to Cerino? Do you think that he's at risk?"

"I suppose anything is possible," Jordan said. "But I've been treating Paul Cerino for months and nothing
has happened to him. I can't imagine he's involved or specifically at risk." "If you have any ideas, get back to me," Lou said. "Absolutely, Lieutenant," Jordan said.
Lou stepped out of the way and Jordan pushed through the swinging doors and disappeared from view.

Laurie decided that even if nothing panned out, if she failed to turn up any useful information, at least she was keeping busy. And keeping busy meant she couldn't dwell on her situation: she was unemployed in a city that was hardly cheap to live in and she might even be out of forensics. She could hardly expect a recommendation from Bingham. But she wouldn't think about that just then. Instead she decided to follow through and get more information for her series. There were three more overdoses to be investigated. How were the bodies discovered and were the deceased seen going into their apartments that fateful evening in the company of two men? Inside an hour, Laurie hit pay dirt at Kendall Fletcher's apartment building, and it all sounded familiar. Fletcher had gone out to jog but had returned very soon after--with two men. The doorman never saw the two men leave the apartment. Several hours after Fletcher had returned, an unnamed tenant called to complain about noise in 25G. The tenant feared that someone inside 25G might be hurt. The superintendent responded to the call; that's when Fletcher's body was discovered. Laurie had less luck at Stephanie Haberlin's. The woman lived in a converted brownstone with no doorman. Laurie decided to leave that case for the time being and head on to the third and final location. Yvonne Andre lived in a building similar to Kendall Fletcher's. Laurie made use of her medical examiner's badge just as she had at Fletcher's. The doorman, who introduced himself as Timothy, was more than happy to help. Just as with Kendall Fletcher, Ms. Andre had entered her building along with two men. Timothy couldn't describe the men, but he distinctly remembered their coming. When Laurie asked who'd found the body, Timothy replied that Jose, the super, had. Laurie asked if she could speak with him. Timothy said of course. He called out to a lean man in a tan uniform who was at that moment repairing a piece of furniture in the foyer. Jose immediately joined them and introductions were made.
"So how was it that you found the body?" Laurie asked. "The night doorman called me asking me to check the Andre apartment." "Let me guess," Laurie said. "The night doorman had been called by a tenant complaining that strange noises were coming from the Andre apartment." Jose and Timothy gazed at Laurie with surprise and respect. "Ah," Jose said with a smile. "You've been talking with the police." "Where in the apartment did you find the body?" Laurie asked.

"In the living room," Jose said.
"What did the apartment look like?" Laurie asked. "Was anything broken? Did it look as if there'd been a struggle?"
"I didn't really look around," Jose said. "Not after I spotted Ms. Andre. The police were here, of course, but no one has touched anything. You want to see it?" "I'd love to," Laurie answered.
They went directly to Yvonne's apartment on the fourth floor. Jose opened the door with his passkey and stepped aside.
Laurie went in first. She hadn't taken more than five steps in the door when she nearly collided with an elegantly dressed, middle-aged woman who had responded to the sound of the key in the lock. The woman was quite stunning although she looked as if she'd been crying. She clutched a tissue in her hand. "Excuse me," Laurie said with embarrassment. She was appalled that the apartment was occupied. The woman started to say something when she recognized Jose. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Andre," Jose said. "I didn't know anyone was here. This is Dr. Montgomery from the medical examiner's office."
"Who is it, dear?" A tall, gray-haired man appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. "It's the superintendent," Mrs. Andre managed. "And this is Dr. Montgomery from the medical examiner's office."
"From the medical examiner's office here in Manhattan?" Mr. Andre questioned. "That's right," Laurie said. "I'm terribly sorry for this intrusion. Jose suggested I come up here. I had no idea you'd be here."
"Nor did I," Jose added quickly.
"It's all right," Mrs. Andre said. She raised the tissue to dab at the corners of her eyes as she wistfully looked around the living room. "We were just going through some of Yvonne's things." "If you'll excuse me," Mr. Andre said. He abruptly turned and disappeared back toward the kitchen. "I can return at a later time," Laurie said, taking a step back toward the door. "I'm terribly sorry about your loss."
"Oh, don't go," Mrs. Andre said, holding out a hand toward Laurie. "Please. Come in. Sit down. It's better for me to talk about it."
Laurie glanced at Jose. She wasn't sure what she should do. "I'll leave you people," Jose said. "If you need anything, please call."

Laurie wanted to leave. The last thing she should be doing was consoling the loved ones of the
deceased. Look where it had gotten her when she'd tried to comfort Sara Wetherbee, Duncan Andrews' girlfriend. But Laurie didn't feel she could simply walk out on the obviously bereaved mother now that she'd burst in on her. With some misgivings Laurie allowed herself to be guided toward the sitting area. Mrs. Andre sat on a love seat. Laurie took a side chair. "You can't imagine what a shock this has been to us," Mrs. Andre said. "Yvonne was such a good, generous daughter, selfless to a fault. She was always devoting herself to one charitable cause or another."
Laurie nodded sympathetically.
"Greenpeace, Amnesty International, NARAL. You name a good liberal cause, chances were she was active in it."
Laurie knew she didn't need to say much. It was enough just to listen. "She had two new ones," Mrs. Andre said with an aggrieved laugh. "At least they were new to us: animal rights and organ donation. It's such an irony that she died of a heart attack. I think she'd really hoped some of her organs would be used to a good purpose someday. Oh, not anytime soon, mind you, but she very much did not want to be buried. She was quite adamant about it; she thought it was a terrible waste of resources and space."
"I wish more people felt as your daughter did," Laurie said. "If they did, doctors could really begin to save more lives." She wanted to be very careful not to contradict the poor woman's notion that her daughter had died of a heart attack, not because of cocaine. "Maybe you'd like to have some of Yvonne's books," Mrs. Andre said. "I don't know what we are going to do with them all." Clearly the woman was desperate to talk to someone. Before Laurie could respond to her generous offer, Mr. Andre stormed back into the room. His face was flushed.
"What's the matter, Walter?" Mrs. Andre asked. Her husband was clearly upset. "Dr. Montgomery!" Mr. Andre sputtered, ignoring his wife. "I happen to be on the Board of Trustees of Manhattan General Hospital. I also happen to know Dr. Harold Bingham personally. Having spoken with him earlier about my daughter, I was rather surprised when you showed up. So I called him back. He is on the phone now and would like a word with you." Laurie swallowed with some difficulty. She got up and walked past Mr. Andre into the kitchen. Hesitantly, she picked up the phone.
"Montgomery!" Bingham thundered after Laurie answered. She had to move the receiver a few inches from her ear. "What in God's name are you doing at Yvonne Andre's apartment? You've been fired! Do you hear me? I'll have you arrested for impersonating a city official if you keep this up! Do you understand me?"
Laurie was about to reply when she caught sight of a business card tacked to a bulletin board on the wall behind the phone. It was a business card for a Mr. Jerome Hoskins at the Manhattan Organ Repository.

"Montgomery!" Bingham shouted again. "Answer me. What the hell do you think you're up to?"
Laurie hung up without saying a word to Bingham. With trembling hand, she took the card off the board. Suddenly the pieces fit together, and what a terrible, hideous picture they formed. Laurie almost couldn't believe it, yet from the moment everything clicked, she knew the awful, inexorable truth could not be refuted. The thing to do, of course, was to call Lou. But before she did that, there was one other place she wanted to visit.
15
4:15 p.m., Monday
Manhattan
Lou Soldano was back in the surgical lounge at Manhattan General for the second time that day. But on this visit he wouldn't have long to wait. This time he'd called the operating room supervisor and asked when Dr. Scheffield would be through with his surgery. Lou had timed his arrival so that he'd catch Jordan just as he was coming out.
After waiting for less than five minutes, Lou was pleased to see the good doctor as he strode confidently through the lounge and into the locker room. Lou followed, hat in hand and trench coat over his arm. He kept his distance until Jordan had tossed his soiled scrub shirt and pants into the laundry bin. It had been Lou's plan to catch the man in his skivvies, when he was psychologically vulnerable. It was Lou's belief that interrogation worked better when the subject was off balance. "Hey, Doc," he called softly. Jordan spun around. The man was obviously tense. "Excuse me," Lou said, scratching his head. "I hate to be a bother, but I thought of something else." "Who the hell do you think you are?" Jordan snapped. "Colombo?" "Very good," Lou said. "I didn't think you'd get it. But now that I have your attention, there is something I wanted to ask you."
"Make it fast, Lieutenant," Jordan said. "I've been stuck over here all day and I got an office full of unhappy patients." He went to the sink and turned on the water. "When I was here earlier, I mentioned that the patients who'd been killed were all waiting for surgery. But I failed to ask what kind of operations they were scheduled to have. I mean, I was told they were going to be corneal operations of some sort. Doc, fill me in. Just what was it you were going to do for these people?"
Jordan stood up from having been bent over the sink. Water dripped from his face. He nudged Lou to the side to get at the towels. He took one and vigorously dried his skin, making it glow. "They were going to have corneal transplants," Jordan said finally, eyeing himself in the mirror. "That's interesting," Lou said. "They all had different diagnoses but they were all going to get the same

treatment."
"That's right, Lieutenant," Jordan said. He walked away from the sink to his locker. He spun the wheel on the combination lock.
Lou followed him like a dog. "I would have thought different diagnoses required different treatments." "It's true these people all had different diagnoses," Jordan explained. He began dressing. "But the physiological infirmity was the same. Their corneas weren't clear." "But isn't that treating the symptom and not the disease?" Lou asked. Jordan stopped buttoning his shirt to stare at Lou. "I think I have underestimated you," he said. "You are actually quite right. But often where the eye is concerned, we do precisely that. Of course, before you perform a transplant you have to treat the cause of the opacity. You do that so you can be reasonably sure the problem will not recur in the transplanted tissue, and with the proper treatment, it generally doesn't."
"Gee," Lou said, "maybe I could have been a doctor if I'd had the chance to go to an Ivy League school like you."
Jordan went back to his buttoning of his shirt. "That comment was much more in character," he said. "One way or the other," Lou said, "isn't it surprising that all your murdered patients were scheduled for the same operation?"
"Not at all," Jordan said as he continued to dress. "I'm a superspecialist. Cornea is my area of expertise. I've just done four today."
"Most of your operations are corneal transplants?" Lou asked. "Maybe ninety percent. Even more, lately." "What about Cerino?" Lou asked.
"Same thing," Jordan said. "But with Cerino I'll be doing two procedures, since both eyes were affected equally."
"Oh," Lou said. Once again he was running out of questions. "Don't get me wrong, Lieutenant. I'm still shocked and distressed to know that these patients of mine were murdered. But knowing that these patients were killed, I'm not at all surprised to know they were all slated for corneal transplants. As my patients, almost by definition that would have to be expected. Now, is there anything else, Lieutenant?" He pulled on his jacket. "Was there anything about the corneal transplants these people were waiting for that set them apart from other recipients?"
"Nope," Jordan said.
"What about Marsha Schulman? Could she have been associated with these patients' deaths?"