Chapter 5
New York, New York
“That’s a bald-faced lie,” Jack said without preamble but with a definite mirthful chuckle. “You never had a better jump shot than I did, Bob. No freaking way!”
“That’s a matter of opinion,” Bob said, laughing in return.
“But I was hoping the ruse might get you on the line. Knowing you from years ago, I thought there was a good chance you would be at work on the early side and maybe have a few minutes for a conversation if I was able to get ahold of you. Do you have time for a quick talk or do we need to schedule something? I can only imagine what your day is like at such a busy place.”
“Actually this might be a perfect time,” Jack said. “I’m forcibly becalmed for the moment by a fractious assistant who insists on following the rules. But let me ask: Is this a personal or professional call?”
“It’s about half and half,” Bob admitted.
“It’s the professional aspect that forced me to finally do it, but I’ve been meaning to call to say hello and welcome you back to the East Coast ever since I found out from our alumni office you were back in New York City as a forensic pathologist. The embarrassing part is that it has taken me so long since you’ve been here now for years. ”
“Time flies,” Jack said. “Listen! I do have a few free moments but let me give you my mobile number so you can call me right back. I’m standing in the middle of the OCME’s Identification Section, not in my office.
For a bit of privacy, I’d like to at least duck into one of the ID cubicles while we chat. Is that okay with you?”
“Of course,” Bob responded. “I’m at my office desk with pen and paper. Give me the number!”
A moment later Jack handed the phone receiver back to Nala, gave Lou a quick explanation of where he’d be, and then ducked into one of the empty side rooms. He knew Vinnie was totally absorbed in committing to memory all the day’s sports minutiae and wouldn’t miss him.
The moment Jack got himself comfortable with his feet up on the cubicle’s ancient, scarred desk, his phone rang. It was Bob.
“This is much better,” Jack said. “So how the hell are you?”
Jack and Bob Nielson had been in the same medical school, Columbia’s College of Physicians & Surgeons, and had graduated together.
They had gotten to know each other reasonably well mainly because they had played their share of pickup basketball in the medical school’s residence hall gym for all four years.
But after medical school they had gone their separate ways, which was the usual situation unless fellow graduates ended up in the same residency program.
After the usual pleasantries of two old acquaintances catching up on more than twenty years, with each commending the other for being healthy enough to still play pickup basketball, Bob became suddenly serious and said: “Before I go any further, let me say how sorry I was to hear about the tragedy of your family’s passing.
I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything, as lame as that excuse sounds. ”
“I can understand,” Jack said. “Your intuition was well-founded. I was a basket case when I first got to the city. And it is still a very sensitive subject that I even avoid talking about, to be honest.”
“I can certainly understand that,” Bob said. “I’ve heard you’ve been making a name for yourself in your second specialty, forensic pathology. As I recall when you left medical school you were intent on ophthalmology.”
“You’ve a good memory! Yes, I headed out to Chicago for an eye residency and ended up practicing ophthalmology in Champaign, Illinois.
But I quickly learned the hard way that business in the form of private equity was taking over clinical medicine, and as far as I was concerned, it was ruining it for both patient and doctor.
That was the reason I went back and did another residency in a specialty that wasn’t dependent on health insurance companies. ”
“I can certainly attest to business interests ruining medicine. You’re unfortunately one hundred percent correct.
And you certainly haven’t allowed any grass to grow under your feet in your new specialty.
I saw an article in the alumni news about how you thwarted a number of potential infectious disease outbreaks in the city, particularly one involving anthrax, and how you also exposed a transgenic xenotransplant conspiracy among other revelations. Bravo!”
“I try to stay busy,” Jack said with mild embarrassment.
“How about the social arena, if I might ask with some trepidation?”
“Actually, that’s worked out far better than I could have hoped,” Jack said. “I have a loving wife and two kids, one eight and the other fourteen.”
“Bravo again!”
“How about yourself, Bob?”
“Family wise I have a wife and three kids: two out of college and one still an undergraduate.”
“What about professionally?” Jack asked. “I’m sorry but I don’t remember your specialty interest.”
“Probably because I didn’t know when we graduated, but I’ve ended up being in country-style general practice.
I did an internal medicine residency at St. Vincent’s Hospital, which unfortunately closed its doors in 2010 to the chagrin of all of us who trained there.
As soon as I finished, I fled back here to the small town in the Adirondacks where I grew up.
It’s called Essex Falls, and it is in Hamilton County, the least populated county in New York State.
I truly missed the lifestyle the entire time I was in New York City as it is a magical place to live and raise a family if you like the outdoors, which I do.
When I returned, I joined what was then a reasonably good-sized general medical practice set up by the town’s major employer, the Bennet Shoe Company. ”
“And you are still in the same practice?”
“Yes and no. Strangely enough, the same year that St. Vincent’s Hospital closed, the Bennet Shoe Company went out of business. The effect on the town was catastrophic as three-quarters of its inhabitants were laid off with little other employment opportunities available.”
“Good grief!” Jack exclaimed. “What happened to the company’s medical practice?”
“It went out of business with the rest of it.”
“But you were able to continue practicing?” Jack asked with obvious admiration. He couldn’t imagine what that could have been like, caring for an unemployed population on top of the difficulties of dealing with health insurance companies and the government via Medicaid.
“I continued practicing, but obviously the practice changed dramatically. In fact, I am the only one still here holding down the fort, so to speak. All the other docs abandoned ship for greener pastures. And the town’s population is less than half what it had been, and those who stayed are not nearly as well-off financially.
But as challenging as all that has been and continues to be, it’s certainly not why I wanted to talk to you this morning.
In addition to being the town’s sole doc, I’m also the Hamilton County coroner, and it is in that capacity that I was hoping to get in touch with you. ”
“What?” Jack spurted with a questioning laugh and a wrinkled brow, wondering if Bob Nielson was teasing him. “Are you being serious or pulling my leg? Let me get this straight: You’re saying you are the county coroner as well as the town’s only primary care doctor?”
“I am. I’m being serious, truly,” Bob said.
“I know it sounds a bit bizarre but let me tell you how it happened. The previous county coroner passed away, and the member of the Hamilton County Board of Supervisors who represents Essex Falls called and asked me if I would run for the office. It’s an elected position.
She also informed me that a general practitioner over in Warren County was serving as their county coroner, and it has been working out well.
Anyway, I looked into it and even called the doc over in Warren County to get his take.
And after all was said and done, it did seem to me there were distinct benefits of having someone with at least a medical background on the job even if there hadn’t been any formal forensic training.
I also thought I could do a bit of reading to familiarize myself with the specialty, which I have been doing after I ended up being elected five years ago.
Anyway, it’s been going reasonably well until recently and particularly today when I recognized I’m in over my head. ”
“I’m impressed,” Jack said with another more mirthful laugh. “With that story, I’m finding myself questioning if I really had to spend the five years I did in forensic training.”
“I know it all sounds a bit crazy, but up here in the wilds you have to make do.”
“Okay, I’m guessing you are leading up to asking me a few professional questions, perhaps even run a few tests for you, or maybe give you a couple of references. Shoot! I’m at your service.”
“To be honest,” Bob admitted, “I’m afraid I have something a bit more demanding in mind.
The problem is that over the last couple of weeks as the county coroner, I’ve had two cases that have been troubling me with bizarre forensic circumstances and another completely different one yesterday.
I tried to reach out to the coroner in Saratoga Springs, who’s had some forensic training, and then the medical examiner in Albany with the first two, but all they did was repeat a test that I had already done and not much else.
So, rather than to try to give you the specifics over the phone or by email, particularly on yesterday’s case, I’m hoping that I might talk you into leaving the big, hot, sweaty city to come up here to paradise for a few days and help me do this autopsy and then consult with me about the two previous confusing cases.
You can count on being offered incredible accommodations for your entire family for as long as you might want to stay.