even look up. Jack imagined it was her way of demanding respect, which she thought she deserved, since she’d been there guarding Bingham since before the flood. There was no sense trying to fight her.
She wouldn’t even let Bingham know that you were there until she felt like it.
After several minutes, she finally glanced up at Jack and did a fake mild double take.
“I need to see the chief,” Jack said, not fooled in the slightest.
“What about?”
“It’s personal,” Jack said, with a slight smile of satisfaction. He wouldn’t be intimidated by her nosiness. “Is the chief in?”
“He is, but he’s on the phone and has a call waiting,” she said with satisfaction. She tilted her head toward her phone, where a light blinked insistently. “I’ll let him know you are waiting.”
“That’s all I can ask,” Jack said, continuing the game.
Jack took a seat on a bench directly across from Mrs. Sanford’s desk. It reminded him of all the times he had to wait to see the principal in middle school. He’d been labeled an incessant talker.
While he waited, Jack mulled over the unexpected conversation with James and found himself intensely curious about what was in the ossuary, and if there were bones and some sort of manuscript, how the episode would play out. Even though he initially was sure James wouldn’t be able to convince Shawn not to publish his findings, Jack remembered he’d misjudged James in the past. And Shawn had been raised a Catholic by two very devout parents, both of whom served in lay societies and who had even tried to talk Shawn into the priesthood. Though no longer a practicing Catholic; Shawn was very knowledgeable about the Catholic Church, and might be more respectful of the potential problems he might cause by denigrating the concept of papal infallibility and, to a degree, the reputation of the Virgin Mary herself. He certainly knew more than Jack.
So Jack was no longer sure what the final outcome was going to be.
“Dr. Bingham is ready to see you now,” Mrs. Sanford said, interrupting Jack’s thoughts.
“Have you changed your mind about wanting to take a leave of absence?” Bingham asked when Jack entered his office and before Jack had a chance to speak. He peered at Jack over the tops of his wire-rimmed glasses. “If so, the answer is yes. Please take care of that child of yours! I’ve been worried sick since you told us about him.”
“Thank you for your concern. But he is in excellent hands with Laurie in charge, I can assure you. In comparison to her, I’m a basket case.”
“Somehow I find that hard to believe, but I’ll take your word for it.”
Bingham sat back in his chair, gazing at Jack in shock. “You really went to the archbishop’s for lunch?”
“Yeah, why not?” Jack asked. Having known the man for so long, visiting him didn’t seem so special.
“‘Why not?’” Bingham questioned. “He’s one of the most powerful and important people in the city. Why the hell did he invite you to lunch? Was it something to do with your boy?”
“Heavens, no!”
“Then what? If you don’t mind me asking. I suppose it’s none of my business.”
“Not at all,” Jack said. “We are old friends of sorts. We went to college together, and were quite close. We graduated together along with another fellow who also lives here in the city.”
“That’s extraordinary,” Bingham said. He was suddenly self-conscious at his overreaction to celebrity, but as a politically oriented person, he was already thinking about whether there was a way to take advantage of Jack’s friendship with the archbishop. “Do you and His Eminence get together often?” Jack smiled. “If you call every thirty-one years often, then yes, we get together often.”
“Oh, it’s like that,” Bingham said, mildly disappointed. “It’s still surprising to think of the two of you having a shared past. Are you serious about his asking for a favor?
Excuse the pun, but what in heaven’s name is it?”
“He humbly requests the use of lab space in the OCME DNA building.”
“Now, that is an unexpected request from the most powerful prelate in the country.”
“Actually, it’s not for him but rather for our mutual college friend, although he will consider it a favor to him if you grant the request.”
“Well, we do have quite an excess of lab space, and I certainly cannot see it as detrimental extending a hand to the archbishop, but who is this friend, and is he a competent lab scientist? We can’t have just anybody working over there, whether he knows the archbishop or not.”
“I’m not sure if he is a lab scientist or not,” Jack admitted, “but his wife is a DNA expert from Columbia University’s College of Physicians and Surgeons.”
“That constitutes expertise,” Bingham said. “I’d also like to have some idea of what they’ll be doing and how long they’ll need.”
“The archbishop’s guess is around two months.”
“And what is it exactly that they plan to do?”
“The husband, whose name, by the way, is Shawn Daughtry, is a Ph.D. in Near Eastern archaeology and biblical studies. He has found what is called an
“Of course I know what an ossuary is,” Bingham snapped in his signature impatient style.
“I didn’t,” Jack admitted. “It’s rather unique in that it is sealed, and they are hoping to isolate some ancient DNA. The reason they would like to use our lab is to keep the project secret until they finish analyzing all the ossuary’s contents, which will supposedly include a document or two in addition to the bones.”
“I’ve never heard of an ossuary with a document of any kind.”
“Well,” Jack said, “that’s the story I’ve been told.”
“All right,” Bingham said. “Considering we’re doing it as a favor for the archbishop, I’ll allow it, provided Naomi Grossman, the DNA department head, doesn’t have an objection.”
“Fair enough,” Jack responded. “I’ll thank you for my friends.” Jack turned toward the door, but before he could exit, Bingham called out to him, “By the way, how’s that case where the tour doctor forgot to bag the hands?”
“Fine,” Jack said. “There’s no way that bullet was fired by the victim. It was definitely a homicide. The hands could not have had any gunpowder residue on them.”
“Good,” Bingham said. “Have it on my desk ASAP! The family is going to be pleased.” Jack was about to leave for the second time when he stopped himself and again turned back to Bingham. “Chief,” he called out, “can I ask you a personal question?” Without looking up, Bingham said, “Make it quick.”
“Do you use a chiropractor?”
“Yeah, and I don’t want to hear any grief about it. I already know your feelings.”
“Understood,” Jack said. He turned and walked out of the office.
Despite Bingham’s final body blow to his alternative-medicine crusade, meaning Jack could not expect support from the front office, Jack felt content as he headed up to his office to retrieve his jacket. He now had another project to keep his mind busy. With Bingham on board for the Daughtrys, he couldn’t imagine Naomi Grossman turning down the request, especially since she was already permitting three other research groups to use the facilities.
He grabbed his jacket and an umbrella, anxious to connect with Naomi and get the lab space set up. Lost in thought, he literally bumped into Chet coming out of the elevator.
“Hey, what’s the hurry?” Chet asked, nearly dropping the tray of microscope slides he was carrying.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Jack answered.
“I was about to stop by,” Chet said. “I’ve got some more names and accession numbers for those old VAD cases.”
“Hold up on looking for more VAD cases,” Jack said. “My interest has cooled.”
“How come?”
“Let’s just say I’ve run into pretty much the same response as you did back when you looked into the issue. My sense is that the public’s reaction to alternative medicine is almost a religious thing. People have faith in alternative medicine because they want to believe. They can dismiss as irrelevant any proof that it doesn’t work or might be dangerous.”
“Okay,” Chet said. “Suit yourself. If you change your mind, let me know.”
