other hundred cases.”
Laurie hung up the phone without responding to Ron’s last statement. It was clear to her that he intended to do essentially nothing in this initial phase of trying to come up with the identity of her case. Although frustrated, Laurie could understand such rationality. There really wasn’t much to be done at that juncture except hope that someone would come forward.
Rising up from her desk chair, Laurie picked up the collection of specimens for toxicological testing. The main test she was interested in was the BAL, or blood alcohol level test. There was something on the intuitive level that kept telling her it was going to be high. How high or the significance, Laurie didn’t know. As for the screen for all sorts of other drugs, chemicals, or toxins, Laurie felt it was important just to be complete. She felt the same about electrolytes as indirect evidence of possible metabolic disease, such as diabetes, but she wasn’t optimistic with the normal autopsy.
In years past Laurie had had a difficult relationship with the toxicology supervisor, John DeVries. John had been a cantankerous man permanently paranoid that the chief of OCME was forever denying him adequate funding yet demanding a first-rate lab. As it was often with such battles, there was right and wrong on both sides, so the problem was more a clash of personalities than anything else. The problem for Laurie was that, as with Maureen, she’d frequently come to the lab essentially asking that her cases get priority. She always wanted the results immediately, which always reminded John of his budget crisis, since he was always behind. He was so conscientious that on occasion he used his own money to buy needed reagents.
But 9/11 changed things. Not only did OCME budgets for all departments rise significantly with the challenge, but with the new building at 421 East 26th Street creating more space in the old, John’s lab metamorphosed from being totally inadequate to occupying two complete floors of the old building, and from using outdated equipment liable to failure to using the newest and the best. Coinciding with such upgrading, John’s personality went from grouchy and hotheaded to helpful and even genial. He’d also gone from wearing soiled and tattered lab coats reflecting what he thought of the financial state of his lab to new, clean, and pressed ones that he changed every day.
Laurie found him along with his assistant supervisor, Peter Letter-man, in his new corner office facing out south and east over the corner of First Avenue and 30th Street. The sunlight was dazzling even through partially closed miniblinds and hopelessly dirty windows.
As Laurie had yet to see the two men who now lorded over a bevy of lab technicians, she had to suffer through a warm greeting not only from John and Peter but also all the techs, who filed in at John’s request. More than half had been hired during the course of Laurie’s maternity leave, requiring formal introductions. It all took almost a half-hour.
“Well, what can we do for you?” John asked after all the techs departed. Laurie told her story about her John Doe and her plight of being unable to identify the man or provide a cause of death, much less a manner of death. She added that it had her quite upset.
John glanced at Peter, and both men raised their eyebrows questioningly.
“Why are you upset?” John questioned for the two of them.
“Because ...” Laurie began while glancing back and forth between John and Peter. But she didn’t finish. She suddenly felt embarrassed at why she’d made such an unprofessional admission.
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” John said, sensing Laurie’s discomfort. “What can we do for you?”
Laurie felt a wave of inappropriate emotion spread through her, accompanied by the horror that tears were not far behind. Sudden unexpected displays of emotion had been a mild problem since her teen years. She hated the tendency and considered it to be a personality flaw. Over the years it had improved dramatically as she’d gained confidence. Unfortunately, JJ’s diagnosis of neuroblastoma had brought it back with a vengeance. Just as it had been in her teenage years, she had little emotional control these days.
Both John and Peter were confused, watching Laurie struggle. Although they wanted to help, they didn’t know quite what to do.
Finally Laurie was able to get control of herself by taking a deep breath and letting it out forcibly. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
“No problem,” the men echoed.
“It is a problem,” Laurie admitted. “I’m sorry. I was so eager on this first day back to have everything go smoothly that now that it hasn’t, I feel unreasonably emotional.”
“Well, no harm done,” John said, trying to reassure Laurie. “I assume you have some samples for us.” He pointed to the brown specimen bag Laurie was clutching.
Laurie looked at the bag as if she’d forgotten she was holding it. “Oh, yes! I do have samples I’d like you to run. I need a toxicology screen and also a BAL.” She handed the brown bag over to John’s waiting hands.
“I suppose you want a rush on this like usual,” John asked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
“That would be terrific,” Laurie said, wanting to get away. She was still embarrassed.
6
MARCH 25, 2010
THURSDAY, 11:10 a.m.
Ben climbed out of the cab in front of Michael Calabrese’s building. It was a new spire of granite and reflective glass a stone’s throw from Ground Zero. He signed in with security on the first floor, got a nametag that he stuck on the breast pocket of his jacket, and took the elevator up to the fifty-fourth floor.
Michael’s office arrangement was rather unique. He and a group of other individual financial wheeler-dealers shared the entire floor, paying rent only for the proportion of the square footage they occupied as a private office. As for the office help and office equipment, including secretaries, receptionists, copy machines, computer monitors, computer servers, janitorial service, and common areas, such as conference rooms and restrooms, they all paid a common fee based on month-to-month occupancy. The relationship created an opportunity for the individual practitioners to enjoy far better quarters and services than they would have if they were all on their own. They even had a full-time computer wizard in-house.
Ben went directly to Michael’s office. As the communal secretaries and receptionists were not close, Ben went to Michael’s open door and knocked on the jamb. Michael was on the phone, as he always was, tipped back in his chair with his feet up on the corner of his desk. Looking up, he used his free hand to wave Ben inside and motioned for him to take a seat on a black leather couch.
Ben took in the surroundings as he sat. It was immediately evident by the furnishings that Michael’s boutique placement firm was highly successful. The French polished mahogany walls gleamed with a finish that reminded Ben of his brand-new Range Rover. Various bronze knickknacks, including a large telescope on a tripod, shone like gold. On the coffee table was a black walnut humidor with a flush inset humidity gauge.
The office was a corner office with floor-to-ceiling walls of glass, not mere windows, as in Ben’s office, and a stunning view out over the Hudson River. To the left was the elegant Statue of Liberty, standing stolidly on her tiny island.
A loud burst of laugher brought Ben’s attention back to Michael. Although Ben tried not to listen to Michael’s conversation out of courtesy, he now realized Michael was talking to someone about Angels Healthcare, a company that had proven how much money there was to be made in the hospital industry. Angels Healthcare had been an early entry into the boom associated with surgical specialty hospitals in such diverse fields as cardiology, orthopedics, ophthalmology, and plastic surgery. By having no emergency rooms and servicing only the insured or paying patents and ignoring the truly sick, the noninsured, and those on Medicaid, such hospitals were moneymakers, and Angels Healthcare’s market value went through the roof. In fact, it was because of Michael Calabrese’s pivotal role in the initial stages of raising capital for Angels Healthcare that Ben had heard of him and his boutique investment firm, Calabrese and Associates.
Ben’s impression of Michael did not start out very well, as Ben had heard Michael had been indicted for a number of white-collar criminal activities and even one count of violent crime. But subsequently all charges had to be dropped because the evidence obtained by the police and the prosecutors turned out to have been tainted and
