Jack swore under his breath as he retrieved a partially filled-out death certificate, a completed identification sheet, and a lab slip for the required HIV antibody analysis. “Asshole,” he mumbled when he rejoined Lou and Laurie. Laurie had her hand partially covering a smile. She always told Jack not to provoke Arnold by letting him know how he felt about him.
“So what’s the story?” Jack said as he returned the missing papers to the case folder and withdrew the medical legal investigator’s report. He was glad Janice Jaeger had been the MLI on the case; she was thorough and professional. Typical of Janice, she’d even drawn a map with actual distances and angles.
“The incident involved two off-duty police officers by the name of Don and Gloria Morano,” Lou began. “They are husband and wife after meeting at the police academy. Good kids and good police officers. They’ve been on the beat for a little over two years and are still green, as expected. Last night, somewhere around three a.m., they heard the sound of breaking glass outside their bedroom window in Bayside and correctly surmised it had come from their new car, a Honda. Anyway, they leaped out of bed with Gloria grabbing her service automatic in the process. They ran outside into the driveway just in time to spot a couple of kids climbing into a van parked next to their vehicle. Later they learned the teenagers had stolen a Garmin GPS from their car’s dash. At that point, things went down pretty fast. The driver pulled forward toward the Moranos, who were standing in the driveway, with Don in the middle of the drive directly in the path of the van and Gloria slightly ahead of Don and to his left, closer to the house, and standing in the grass. Do you get the picture?”
“Yeah, I get it,” Jack said.
“Was the driver bent on running into Don?” Laurie asked.
“Nobody knows,” Lou admitted. “Either that or it could have been a mistake on his part, putting the van in drive rather than reverse in the excitement. But that’s something we’ll never know. Anyway, with the van lurching forward toward Don, Gloria pulls off a single round through the windshield, hitting the driver in the chest. He doesn’t die immediately; instead, he stops, then backs out into the street and dies a few yards down the road.”
“So what’s the problem?” Jack asked with a furrowed brow.
“The problem is the two other kids. They both insist the van never pulled forward. They say that the driver was looking back at them as they were climbing into the van via the open sliding door. They even insist he had his arm over the van’s bench front seat.”
“Okay, I got it,” Jack said. “If the dead driver was backing up the whole time, the cops are in deep doo-doo, using unnecessary lethal force, whereas if he drove forward it would be justifiable homicide.”
“Exactly,” Lou said. “And to make it more interesting, the bullet’s core jacket was on the front seat and the victim has a wound on his forearm.”
“That makes things even more interesting,” Jack said happily. “Vinnie, let’s get a move on. We got work to do.” Then, glancing at Laurie, he added, “Get a case and come on down. I’ll save the neighboring table like we talked about.”
“Great,” Laurie responded, as Jack, Lou, and Vinnie disappeared back through the communications room, where operators sat waiting for death call-ins. She went over to Arnold. “Do you have a case for me yet? Perhaps it could be a straightforward case rather than something controversial. I’d like to get my feet wet rather than jumping into the deep end. I’m anxious about avoiding screwing up.”
“No case for you today, Laurie,” Arnold said. “Bingham’s orders. He left word that unless there was an absolute flood today, I was to give you a free day to allow you some time to acclimatize after such a long absence. So you’re free. Welcome back!”
Laurie let out an audible breath through pursed lips. She didn’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed. On the one hand, there was something to be said about getting up to her office and getting things organized since she’d not been there for almost two years, but on the other hand it was putting off the inevitable, and now she’d have to go through the anxiety all over again tomorrow. “You sure he was insistent, or did he say anything about what my preference might be?”
“He was insistent as only Dr. Harold Bingham can be. You know the boss. He is never wishy-washy. He did say for you to come by his office first thing so he could welcome you back.”
“Okay,” Laurie said with resignation. She left Arnold to his charts and headed after Jack and the others. She thought she’d descend to the morgue and tell Jack she was not going to be in the pit for the day. When she got to the back elevator, she changed her mind. Knowing Jack and his strong penchant for interesting cases, which Lou’s GSW certainly was, and how absorbed he’d be, she decided to tell him later. Instead, she turned around and headed for administration to see if Harold Bingham had arrived yet. As she walked she took out her mobile phone to make the first of many checks on JJ.
4
MARCH 25, 2010
THURSDAY, 9:05 a.m.
Ben Corey commuted into the city almost every weekday in his prized 2010 Range Rover Autobiography from his home in Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey. Despite the usual traffic, he enjoyed the drive, especially across the George Washington Bridge. He always made it a point to be in the far-right lane on the upper deck so that he could appreciate the view of the Manhattan skyline and the expanse of the Hudson River. It didn’t even bother him when the rush-hour traffic occasionally stopped dead, since it allowed him to appreciate the view even longer. To enhance the experience, he always loaded his CD player with classical music. It was the one time during the day that he allowed himself to be alone, even turning off his cell phone.
On that particular day, the commute had done its job. By the time he drove into the parking garage just west of 57th Street, he was feeling very rested and happy, as well as wonderfully ignorant of what had occurred the previous evening.
Ben walked less than a block to the office building where iPS USA had rented space on the eighth floor facing Fifth Avenue. The day was warm, in the high fifties, and the sun was out, all in sharp contrast to the misty, chilly, cloudy weather of the previous day. All in all, it promised to be a glorious day in every respect.
Ben pulled off his coat as he passed the receptionist, Clair Bourse, whom his assistant, Jacqueline, had recently hired. He said good morning, and she returned the greeting.
Entering his corner office, Ben hung up his coat and sat himself at his desk. Front and center was a fully signed and notarized copy of Satoshi’s contract with a yellow Post-it note saying “for your files.” There were also wills for Satoshi and his wife, and the trust documents Satoshi had signed concerning his infant son, Shigeru, with another Post-it note saying Satoshi had to get his wife’s signature on both her will and the trust document. There was also a reminder for Ben to ask Satoshi if he wanted to take physical possession of them all or whether he’d like to have them put in iPS USA’s safe-deposit box in the vault at JPMorgan Chase or in the safe there in the office. Finally, there was a current copy of an obscure biomolecular journal titled
Ben put the papers for Satoshi on the corner of his desk, intending to give them to the researcher when he saw him, which he thought would be within the hour. Nine-thirty was Satoshi’s usual time of arrival, and Ben had no reason to believe it wouldn’t be as usual that morning. The only way he thought he might not see the man until afternoon would be if Satoshi had decided to indulge in some serious celebrating the previous night. From Ben’s trip to Japan to rescue the now-famous lab books, Ben knew what sake could do.
“Did you read that article?” Jacqueline questioned. She’d poked her head in from the neighboring office through the connecting door.
“I’m looking at it at the moment.”
“I think you’d better,” Jacqueline encouraged, “and before we sign the deal with Rapid Therapeutics up in Worcester, Massachusetts.”
“Oh?” Ben questioned. He didn’t like the sound of that. He and Carl Harris had been negotiating with Rapid Therapeutics over the course of many months to license their patents on increasing the efficiency of creating
