Chapter 4
New York, New York
He braked hard when he reached the turn-in for the OCME vans that brought in the dead bodies and the funeral home hearses that came to pick them up.
After riding between two OCME Sprinter vans, he came to a stop at the loading bay.
Hopping off his relatively new, fire-engine-red Trek road bike and hoisting it up onto his shoulder, he climbed the half dozen steps to enter the building’s basement.
After waving hello to the guard in his security cubical and the night mortuary tech in his office, Jack headed down the interior hall to where he always locked his bike to a convenient standpipe.
This was the same location where the Hart Island coffins that were used to bury the unclaimed dead were stored.
Since Jack was the only OCME employee to commute by bike, there was no official designated location.
The moment he did enter he immediately caught sight of Dr. Nala Washington, one of the recently hired MEs.
A slim, youthful Black woman who wore her hair in stylish cornrows, she made Jack feel ancient in comparison.
When he had originally joined the OCME, most all the MEs were male.
Times had certainly changed. Now half were female, and from Jack’s perspective they all seemed to be getting younger and younger every year.
At that moment Nala was just seating herself at the central ID department desk with the stack of new autopsy folders in front of her.
She would go through them, decide which cases needed to be autopsied, and then assign them to the various MEs.
The second person Jack saw was Vinnie Amendola, one of the more experienced mortuary technicians, who had been chosen way back when to come in early to make the communal coffee.
Vinnie, already dressed in scrubs, was busy at his assigned task in the small kitchenette installed for just that purpose.
He and Jack, always the first two to arrive, had formed a close bond over the years.
Since Jack invariably started his autopsies before anyone else, often even before the other mortuary techs showed up, Vinnie usually assisted, and over time they had clicked personality-wise.
It was obvious to everyone at the OCME that they shared a deprecatory sense of humor, often mercilessly teasing each other.
At the same time, it was with obvious mutual respect and appreciation.
“Good morning, Nala,” Jack said brightly.
He also waved to Vinnie, who had turned when he’d heard his voice.
“What you got? Anything particularly interesting this morning?” Jack began glancing briefly at the autopsy folders as he did every morning.
The whole reason Jack made a decided effort to get to the OCME early every morning was to have this opportunity to cherry-pick through the cases that had come in overnight or the previous afternoon to find the most challenging.
Although he acknowledged this was not particularly fair to the other MEs, he justified it because he always made it a point to do far more autopsies than anyone else, carrying much more than his share of the burden, and everybody knew it.
He recognized and admitted he was in a very real sense a workaholic.
For him it was a way of controlling the mental demons that still plagued him from the tragic death of his first family, a wife and two young daughters, in a commuter plane crash decades earlier.
Despite the passage of time and having an entirely new family, the plight of his first still haunted him, as he still felt responsible.
They’d been flying to see him when he was retraining in forensic pathology.
“I haven’t any idea as of yet,” Nala said.
“I just sat down and haven’t had a chance to go through the cases.
But there’s got to be something interesting, considering the number.
As you can see it was one busy night for our MLIs.
” The medicolegal investigators were members of a relatively new career path open to physician assistants who were willing to undergo significant extra forensic training.
It was the MLIs who responded to every death in the city to determine if an investigation was required, meaning a possible scene visit and an autopsy.
“But before you get caught up in going over the cases, you need to know that your detective friend is here waiting for you.” She gestured over Jack’s shoulder toward one of the two aged overstuffed leather chairs that faced each other on the opposite side of the room.
Mildly surprised, Jack turned and caught sight of Detective Lieutenant Lou Soldano, who was sound asleep with his arms splayed out on the chair’s very worn ones.
He was as usual attired in civilian clothes that looked as if he’d been living in them for days.
His white shirt, which was more gray than white, was unbuttoned at the collar, and the knot of his gravy-stained tie loosened.
The open New York Times on his chest rose and fell with each of his deep breaths.
Always glad to see him, Jack immediately walked over.
Lou Soldano was a particularly close friend of both Laurie’s and Jack’s.
He was known to frequently show up at the OCME.
Early in his homicide career, he’d been impressed with the power of forensics, specifically in regard to solving difficult homicide cases, and accordingly made it a point to observe autopsies where there were questions that the post could answer.
This appreciation of forensics had begun first with Laurie, who had preceded Jack as a medical examiner at the OCME, and which had led to a social connection between the two.
When it quickly became clear that romance was not in the cards—mostly because of Lou’s insecurities and Jack’s arrival on the scene, not only as a medical examiner but also as a potential contender for Laurie’s affections—Lou became Jack’s strong advocate.
Consequently, the three ended up becoming committed friends who saw one another socially on a fairly regular basis.
Now, they still did on occasion, but much less with Jack and Laurie’s growing family demands as the parents of JJ and Emma.
Standing over the sleeping Lou, Jack looked down on him with affection and concern.
The man’s jacket was unbuttoned and the lapels had fallen to the sides such that his holstered service revolver could be seen.
Even in sleep he appeared exhausted and certainly far from healthy.
He was even more of a workaholic than Jack, which took some effort.
In Lou’s case it involved often being out all night on homicide cases after having already put in a full day.
On top of that abuse, he was unable to stop an entrenched habit of chain-smoking even though he supposedly tried just about every other day.
As a consequence, his face appeared pasty with a doughy consistency.
Even more remarkable were the strikingly dark circles under his eyes.
“Hey, my friend,” Jack said softly as he gave Lou’s right shoulder a bit of a shake and a squeeze. “Sorry to wake you, but you need to get yourself home and get some real sleep.”
Lou awakened with a jolt and reached for his gun by reflex.
Quickly recognizing Jack, he immediately relaxed and sank back into the chair.
“Out of the question,” he managed. “I need to have some answers on a potentially volatile case before I turn in. I’m afraid there’s been another police shooting, and I’d like to head off a potential clamor if at all possible. ”
“All right, what’s the story in a nutshell?” Jack asked as he backed up a couple of steps and sat down on the arm of the other overstuffed chair, keeping his eyes glued to Lou.
“Any of you guys want coffee?” Vinnie called out from where he was standing by the kitchenette.
Both Jack and Lou raised their hands.
“Coming up!” Vinnie said.
Lou cleared his throat. “The Emergency Service Unit was tasked to go out last night and apprehend a particular bad guy who was a convicted felon and now wanted for murder. It was around midnight.”
Vinnie came by with two mugs of fresh coffee and handed one to Jack and one to Lou. Vinnie knew Lou well from assisting in just about all of Jack’s autopsies that Lou had observed over the years.
“When ESU arrived in multiple vehicles, the target just happened to be getting into his girlfriend’s car as the passenger.
The moment they saw all the police cars, they took off, instigating a wild chase.
Apparently by accident, or so we believe, the girlfriend ended up making a wrong turn into a dead-end street.
When the police pulled up behind blocking them, the perp opened fire resulting in an exchange that quickly terminated with the perp dead from a mortal shot through the front of the chest.”
“What about the girlfriend?”
“She was miraculously spared.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“The ESU lieutenant thinks the perp shot himself, which would be a gift if it can be proved so that the Post and the Daily News can’t add to their claim the NYPD always uses excessive force. You get the story.”
“Fair enough,” Jack said. “Okay, but I have to warn you: It might be a long case if multiple bullets are involved because each one will have to be dealt with. I don’t mind doing the autopsy but are you sure you want to hang around?
Each bullet will have to be individually traced, not just the fatal one. ”
“I assumed as much,” Lou said. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“What’s the name?”
“Anderson Stevens.”
Jack stepped back over in front of Nala while sipping his coffee and asked to see Stevens’s folder.
After she handed it to him, he slipped out the contents to find the medicolegal investigator’s report, which he quickly scanned.
He was pleased to see it was done by Bruce Berman, whom he considered one of the night shift’s particularly thorough MLIs.
When he was finished, he glanced up at Nala.
“Is it all right that I take this case?”
“Of course,” Nala said. “You got it.” None of the junior MEs on call ever denied Jack when he offered to do an autopsy, especially one like this that was undoubtedly going to be lengthy and might prove to be politically problematic.
“Front and center, Vinnie!” Jack called out to the mortuary tech who had just settled into the empty easy chair with the New York Daily News open to the sports section. “Let’s get this Stevens case underway and done before our detective friend collapses from sheer exhaustion.”
“Oh, come on!” Vinnie loudly complained without lowering his paper. “Be reasonable. It’s not even seven thirty yet. We’re officially not supposed to start autopsies until eight. I want to have my coffee.”
Jack glanced at Lou, who silently mouthed, It’s okay, while he motioned as if toasting with his coffee mug, suggesting he was content enjoying it.
Recognizing that Vinnie had a point, Jack redirected his attention back to Nala while taking a sip from his own mug. “While I’m being stymied, what else do you have for me?”
“Unfortunately another chiropractic-neck-adjustment death came in yesterday late afternoon. I know that is one of your particular interests. Do you want it as well? As you say, the Stevens case might drag on for some time.”
“I want it,” Jack said without hesitation.
He’d had several such cases in the past where so-called high-velocity, low-amplitude neck manipulations had resulted in death, even of an infant.
The cause was usually damage to the vertebral arteries supplying the back part of the brain, particularly the brain stem and cerebellum.
He felt strongly that it was an issue the OCME had an obligation to make sure the public was aware of so people knew the risks.
As he took the folder from Nala, the phone on the corner of her desk rang.
Since it was a rare occurrence, she answered after the first ring.
Jack was about to pull out the MLI report from this new autopsy folder and get the details of the chiropractic case when Nala surprised him by extending the phone over the desk, saying it was the OCME operator looking for him.
Surprised at getting a personal call when he wasn’t yet supposed to be on duty, Jack took the phone. After identifying himself, the OCME operator asked him if he was willing to take a call from a doctor in Essex Falls, New York.
“Where in God’s name is Essex Falls?” Jack questioned. He’d never heard of the place.
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” the operator confessed. “But the caller insists he is a friend of yours.”
“Do you have a name?”
“Yes, of course. It’s Dr. Robert Nielson. He said he was in your medical school graduation class. He said you’d remember him from playing basketball in Bard Hall because he had a better jump shot. Whatever that means.”
“Oh for goodness’ sake,” Jack said with a laugh. “Of course. Put him on!”