by Robin Cook
“That’s correct,” Harvey said, regaining his composure. “It’s the best-equipped hospital in the area. And the hospital did all the tests for alcohol and drugs, all of which were negative. It was one of those situations where an autopsy would not have added anything whatsoever and the family seriously objected to it. They were very vocal about it.”
“Interesting,” Jack said, falling back on his new favorite expression.
“I hope I have been of some service, but I do have to get back to work. If you’ll excuse me . . .” Harvey stood and walked over to the flimsy door. He opened it and held it ajar as an unmistakable indication the meeting was over.
“Certainly,” Jack said, getting to his feet and heading to the outer office. “I can imagine how swamped you are.” As soon as the comment left his mouth, he regretted it. There was no reason to aggravate the man.
Harvey immediately shut his office door with demonstrative finality as soon as Jack had passed through. For a moment Jack stood where he was and looked back at the door questioningly, wondering why he’d gotten the bum’s rush. He shrugged. Turning around, he gazed at the secretary. The room was small. She was only about four feet away, looking up at him expectantly.
“I was just chatting with Dr. Lauder about a case of his by the name of James Bannon,” Jack said. “It was a Morris County Medical Examiner case that wasn’t autopsied. Would you have the individual’s home address?”
“I believe we do,” the secretary said. Making use of the wheels on her desk chair, she scooted the few feet over to an upright file cabinet and pulled open the lowest file drawer. Jack wondered why she didn’t use the monitor on her desk. As she searched, Jack could hear Harvey making a phone call through the paper-thin door of the inner office behind him. The sounds were muffled, but Jack plainly heard two names: his own and Dr. Wei Zhao’s. He strained to hear what Harvey was saying but couldn’t. The only other thing he managed to hear was a third name: James Bannon. Then he heard the phone being dropped into its cradle.
“Yes, here’s the Bannon folder,” the secretary said, pulling it out from the drawer. She opened it and then added: “The address is Five-ninety-one Spring Lane, Rockaway. Do you want me to write that down?”
“I think I can remember it,” Jack said, tapping his head with his index finger. He thanked her and walked out of the office into the now sunny day.
After climbing into the car, Jack thought for several minutes what it could mean that the moment he’d left Harvey’s inner office the man had called Wei Zhao, of all people. It was yet another curious fact that he added to the mountain of other facts he was amassing about the weirdness of the Carol Stewart case. He couldn’t help but feel it suggested collusion, but collusion about what, he had no idea.
Although Jack was concerned about getting back to the OCME now that it was two, especially with Laurie’s less-than-happy voicemail, he thought it would be a shame not to make one more house call while he was in New Jersey—especially since Google Maps informed him that Rockaway was only four miles away. He had hoped to get a copy of the autopsy report on the motorcycle victim who’d been the source of the heart for Carol Stewart. But now that he’d learned there had been no autopsy, he thought a visit with the family might be in order. There was something about this case, too, that nagged him, even though he didn’t know quite what it was. At the same time, he wasn’t looking forward to visiting the bereaved family. If they had not heard the news about Carol Stewart, Jack feared they’d be heartbroken anew to learn that their son’s heart was no longer beating in the chest of the young woman. Jack understood that donating the heart certainly didn’t bring their son back, but it must have been a source of some comfort.
Jack was about to put the Escalade in gear when his phone rang. Within the confines of the SUV the sound shocked him, and he answered in a mild panic without checking to see who was calling. That was a mistake. It was Laurie.
“Where in God’s name are you?” she snapped. “No one has seen you all morning. And I didn’t appreciate your sneaking out of our apartment this morning for the second day in a row. My father was clearly disappointed not to see you.”
“I was heartsick not to see him, too, but duty called,” Jack said, being intentionally provocative.
“I’m not going to respond to that,” Laurie said.
“How has your day been?” Jack asked, to change the subject.
“To be honest, it’s been a terrible day. I’m fed up with the City Council and all the politics involved. I’m getting nowhere on this budget problem.”
“But you knew about the politics when you accepted the job,” Jack said.
“To some degree, but I never thought it would be this frustrating. That aside, where the devil are you? Are you out in the field potentially causing trouble when I asked you not to?”
“It’s so nice to be appreciated,” Jack said. “Yes, I’m in the Garden State, smelling the roses.”
“Don’t tell me you went out and visited that Dover hospital you mentioned last night.”
“I did indeed,” Jack confessed. “But you’d be proud of me. I don’t think I’ve made any enemies. In fact, I’ve managed to be so charming I’ve gotten multiple employment offers, so you better be nice to me.”
“Are you joking?”
“I’m not,” Jack said. “I’ve been treated like a hero. And strangely enough, during a rather formal luncheon that I was invited to, I was the one who got really bummed out and not my lunch companion. And even stranger still, I kept myself reasonably under control.”
“Will wonders never cease,” Laurie remarked. “I hope you haven’t been using your medical examiner badge while in another state.”
“Just a little,” Jack admitted. “But I’ve flashed it so quickly there wasn’t any chance of the people noticing it was for New York, not New Jersey.”
“God help us!” Laurie said. “You realize, I hope, that you are taking a big risk. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if showing your badge in another state is breaking the law. Think about it! It means you’re posing as an official authority when you are clearly not. I don’t know how to be more clear about this: Don’t use it!”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jack said.
“And I must tell you that your field work isn’t as benign as you seem to feel. I already heard from the mayor, who heard from Charles Kelley, the CEO of Manhattan General Hospital, that you were over there yesterday ruffling feathers.”
“Guilty as charged,” Jack said. “But it was only Kelley’s feathers. And that is understandable. It’s not possible to talk with that man without ruffling his feathers. But everyone else thought I was peaches and cream.”
“All right, all right!” Laurie said, clearly losing patience. “This is my second call, wondering where the hell you are. The reason is that I have gotten two calls from the police commissioner, asking about the status of the police custody case. They want answers. Where are you on that case?”
“I need to get the toxicology report,” Jack said.
“Well, get back here and do that!” Laurie snapped.
“Yes, dear,” Jack said. He disconnected and turned the ringer off on his phone. It irked him to be clearly bossed around, even if it was her job to do so. The trouble was, he knew she was right. With the subway death case holding him in its thrall, he was letting everything else slide.
23
WEDNESDAY, 1:40 P.M.
The Bannon homestead gave a totally different impression than the Stewarts’. Whereas the Stewart house was on the shabby side and in need of paint and attention to its gutters and downspouts, the Bannon dwelling appeared as if it had just undergone a major renovation, including a new roof. As Jack parked directly in front and looked at it, he wondered if the Bannons had recently won the lottery. There was even a new red Ford F-150 in the driveway, which made him optimistic that someone would be home.
Climbing out of the Escalade, Jack started for the house. Its architectural style was also different. It had an attractive gambrel roof with dormers. The Stewarts’ had been the more typical and unimaginative ranch style. After just talking with Laurie and being reminded that using his ME badge in New Jersey was probably illegal, Jack reluctantly decided not to use it. Actually, he didn’t really care. It just meant a bit more talking.
He pressed the doorbell and could hear it ring within. As he waited, he glanced around at the neighborhood. The Bannons’ house was clearly the most well tended. On the house directly across the street, several of the shutters were hanging off precariously.
“Hi! Can I help you?”
Jack found himself facing a full-figured woman in yoga pants and a tank top. Her hair was piled on top of her head. In the background Jack could hear music that reminded him of the distant disco era. A bit of perspiration dotted her forehead. She appeared genuinely friendly, in contrast to the Stewarts.
“Hello,” Jack said. “My name is Dr. Jack Stapleton. I’m a medical examiner from New York.” He then pulled out his badge and held it up so the woman could plainly see it. At the last second, he’d changed his mind about using it, with the idea that by adding the New York part he was avoiding any illegality. He thought he needed the aura of authority, coming out of the blue and bringing up the sensitive issue of the lost son.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I was hoping to talk with you and your husband for a brief moment about your late son, James.”
“James?” she questioned. Her face clouded over. “Just a moment. Let me turn down the music.”
A moment later the music stopped, and then the lady of the house reappeared. Also, in contrast to the Stewarts, she opened the screen door and motioned for Jack to come inside. With the Stewarts, Jack had been forced to have the entire conversation through the screen door.
“My husband, Clarence, is not here,” she said. “He’s at work at the Dover Valley Hospital. I’m Gertrude Bannon. Can I get you anything to drink? Water or a soda?”
“No, thank you,” Jack said. Again, he was surprised. Somewhat similar to what had happened at the Dover Valley Hospital, he had not expected to be so well received. He’d even thought there was a chance the Bannons would refuse to talk with him at all.
“Would you like to sit?” Gertrude asked. She gestured to the living room.
“I’m not going to be here that long,” Jack said, “but if you would be more comfortable, I don’t mind.”
“I think we will be more comfortable,” Gertrude said. She led the way through an archway.
The room was modest in size and pleasant. But what caught Jack’s eye was that all the furniture and the rug appeared to be new. Gertrude gestured for Jack to take the striped gingham couch. She sat in a faux leather La-Z-Boy recliner.
“First of all, I want to express my sincerest sympathies,” Jack said. He was being truly sincere. He knew all too well what it was like to lose a child.
“Thank you,” Gertrude said. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink. Maybe a coffee?”
“No, I’m fine,” Jack said. He looked at his host. She fidgeted. He was confused. She seemed to be nervous instead of saddened.
“You mentioned New York,” Gertrude said. “Why are you here in New Jersey?”
“That’s a good question,” Jack said. “I’m here because of a death that happened in Manhattan. I don’t know if you know this, but Carol Stewart, the young woman who benefited from your generosity by receiving your son’s heart, has passed away.”
“Oh.” Gertrude drew in a breath. “I’m so sorry to hear that. What did she die of?”
“That is still to be determined,” Jack said. “But it wasn’t because of your son’s heart. That was in perfect shape.”
“I’m glad to hear,” Gertrude said.
Jack studied the woman. She returned his stare and then modestly looked away. At first he was impressed by her stoicism, that she could deal with such information with such equanimity. But a second later he found himself feeling that her response was somehow inappropriate. She was still more nervous than distressed.
“Allowing your son’s organs to save others was a very magnanimous gesture on your part and your husband’s,” Jack said. “I’m sure your generosity saved many lives, which must have been a source of some comfort. Nowadays almost everything can be used—lungs, liver, pancreas, even intestines. Have you had any contact with any of the people who were recipients of James’s organs? I’m hoping that they can be a consolation to you, just as Carol Stewart was.”
“No, we haven’t,” Gertrude said.
“Oh,” Jack said simply. He was surprised but unwilling to make any kind of value judgment. It must have been the Bannons’ wish to remain anonymous.
“What I have learned is that your son’s heart was a perfect match for Carol Stewart,” Jack said. “Are you and the Stewarts related somehow?”
“Not that I know of,” Gertrude said. “We’ve never met the Stewarts.”
“I see,” Jack said. He scratched his head and then smoothed his hair. Every time he thought he had a grasp on the Carol Stewart story, he was proved wrong. Suddenly he had another idea. “Was James a biological child or was he adopted?”
“A biological child,” Gertrude said without hesitation.
“Okay,” Jack said, trying to maintain his own equanimity. “Out of curiosity, how long has your husband been working at the Dover Valley Hospital?”
“It’s going on three months now,” Gertrude said.
“Does he like it?”
“Very much,” Gertrude said. “He thinks it is the best job he’s ever had.”
“Well, that’s it,” Jack said. “I don’t have any more questions. Well . . . maybe I have one more. Were you and your husband paid to donate your son’s organs?”
For a moment the question hung in the air like a ball of static electricity. Jack could hear the ticking of a clock somewhere in another room. Gertrude stared back at him with unblinking eyes, like a deer caught in headlights. Then, as if waking from a brief psychomotor seizure, she said, “No, we weren’t paid.”
“Then I have another question,” Jack said. “Do you know what your son’s blood type was?”
“I don’t,” Gertrude said.
“How about yours and your husband’s?” Jack asked.
“Mine is O-negative, but I don’t know what Clarence’s is.”
“Well, I want to thank you for your time,” Jack said. He stood and headed for the front door, where he thanked her again and went out and got into his car. He was relatively sure the Bannons had been paid and Clarence had been given a job at the Dover Valley Hospital. The only problem was that he didn’t know by whom and for what. Of course, the leading suspect was the boss, Wei Zhao.
For a few minutes Jack sat in the car, massaging his temples with his head down, staring into his lap. There were so many questions and so few answers. In some respects, his trip to New Jersey had been a success, and in some ways, it had been a disappointment. He now knew a bit more than he had that morning, and yet in other ways he knew less. Certainly, with the biggest conundrum, why the CODIS profiles matched, he had no clue, provided they did match. He felt like he wasn’t sure of anything.
Sitting up straight, he looked back at the Bannon house, with its new paint job and new roof tiles, plus the new Ford F-150 in the driveway. It was obvious the Bannons had had a payday, and Jack could guess the source. With his suspicion that money had changed hands, he wondered if it was time to turn the whole caboodle over to law enforcement, such as the FBI. But as soon as the idea occurred to him he saw the negative side. The biggest negative was selfish. He needed the distraction and had nothing to take its place. With sudden resolve, he decided he’d hold off on letting the authorities in on what he suspected until he knew more.
With that thought in mind, Jack again consulted Google Maps. He knew he needed to get back to the OCME after having spoken to Laurie, but there was one more stop he wanted to make.
Jack started the SUV, put it in gear, and drove off. He wanted to make a quick stop at Carol Stewart’s apartment in Sunset Park, Brooklyn, and try to figure out why no one had missed her when she died. Since there had been no subsequent sudden pulmonary deaths, he thought the exposure risk was small.
24
WEDNESDAY, 3:05 P.M.
Visiting Brooklyn provided an additional layer of surprises in a day that had been full of them. First of all, Jack had had no idea Sunset Park was home to one of the largest Chinese American communities in the country. Most of the commercial signage was in Chinese.
The hardest part of the trip, which required going over the impressive Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge, was finding a parking place once he had arrived outside of Carol Stewart’s building. With no other choice, he had to settle for a commercial spot and risk getting a parking ticket. It was another stimulus to make the visit as short as possible.
Carol’s building was a relatively modern five-story brick structure. He was glad to see it was large enough for a live-in superintendent. His given name was Ho and his family name was Chang, but on the buzzer it was written CHANG HO in the Chinese order. Jack rang the buzzer while nervously looking over his shoulder at the SUV, half expecting a metermaid to appear spontaneously. Jack knew that Warren would not take kindly to getting a parking ticket. Warren felt strongly that the more you got, the more problems you had with the city.
Ho was a man of indeterminate age and slight habitus, in sharp contrast to Wei Zhao’s muscular bulk. He also acted nervous and wary, which was equally as variant from Zhao’s commanding assertiveness. Without saying anything, Jack held up his ME badge in front of the man’s face and kept it there long enough for Ho to see it was a New York badge. It was immediately apparent that the badge had an unsettling effect on the super.
