by Robin Cook
“So, you are willing to help in this most unfortunate episode?” James asked, as he snapped up his skullcap that he’d put on the chair to his left and returned it to his head.
“Of course,” Jack said, “but can I have permission to tell my wife? She’s the soul of discretion.”
James stopped abruptly. “Absolutely not,” he said, staring into Jack’s eyes. “I don’t know your wife, although I do hope to meet her. But I’m sure she has a friend whom she trusts as much as you trust your wife. I must insist you not breathe a word of this to her or anyone. Can you promise me that?”
“You have my word,” Jack responded quickly. He felt impaled by James’s glare.
“Good,” James responded simply. He turned and continued out of the room.
As if by magic, Father Maloney appeared near the foyer and handed His Eminence his coat and a stack of phone messages. While James struggled into his coat, Jack mentioned that his bomber jacket was in the study. Without a word, the priest quickly disappeared.
“I’ll hear from you soon?” James asked Jack.
“I’ll talk to the chief as soon as I get back to the OCME,” Jack assured him.
“Excellent! Here are the numbers for my cell and my private line here at the residence,” James said, handing Jack his personal business card. “Either call or e-mail as soon as you have Dr. Bingham’s response. I’ll be happy to talk with him directly, as need be.” He gripped Jack’s forearm and gave what Jack felt was a pathetic squeeze.
Father Maloney returned with Jack’s coat, bowing as Jack thanked him.
The next moment they were out the door. A shiny black limousine idled on the street, the liveried driver holding open the rear door. The archbishop climbed in, and the door was shut behind him. The car pulled away into the uptown traffic.
The next thing Jack heard over the sound of traffic was the slamming of the formidable residence’s door and the metallic and final click of its brass hardware. Jack looked back. Father Maloney was gone. Jack returned the glance at the quickly disappearing limo and wondered what life would be like being the archbishop and having a bevy of assistants to fulfill his every need. At first it sounded tempting, as it would certainly make life more efficient, but then he quickly realized he wouldn’t want to feel responsible for the emotional and spiritual well-being of millions of people, as he had a difficult enough time with one.
17
1:36 P.M., FRIDAY, DECEMBER 5, 2008
NEW YORK CITY
Jack unlocked his bike and tried to beat the rain as he headed downtown. He almost did, but just before he was about to pull into one of the OCME loading bays, the heavens opened and drenched him.
Jack hung his damp jacket in his office and descended to the first floor to stand like a penitent in front of Mrs. Sanford’s desk. When employees showed up uninvited, she usually ignored them, as if she was so busy she couldn’t even look up. Jack imagined it was her way of demanding respect, which she thought she deserved, since she’d been there guarding Bingham since before the flood. There was no sense trying to fight her. She wouldn’t even let Bingham know that you were there until she felt like it.
After several minutes, she finally glanced up at Jack and did a fake mild double take.
“I need to see the chief,” Jack said, not fooled in the slightest.
“What about?”
“It’s personal,” Jack said, with a slight smile of satisfaction. He wouldn’t be intimidated by her nosiness. “Is the chief in?”
“He is, but he’s on the phone and has a call waiting,” she said with satisfaction. She tilted her head toward her phone, where a light blinked insistently. “I’ll let him know you are waiting.”
“That’s all I can ask,” Jack said, continuing the game.
Jack took a seat on a bench directly across from Mrs. Sanford’s desk. It reminded him of all the times he had to wait to see the principal in middle school. He’d been labeled an incessant talker.
While he waited, Jack mulled over the unexpected conversation with James and found himself intensely curious about what was in the ossuary, and if there were bones and some sort of manuscript, how the episode would play out. Even though he initially was sure James wouldn’t be able to convince Shawn not to publish his findings, Jack remembered he’d misjudged James in the past. And Shawn had been raised a Catholic by two very devout parents, both of whom served in lay societies and who had even tried to talk Shawn into the priesthood. Though no longer a practicing Catholic; Shawn was very knowledgeable about the Catholic Church, and might be more respectful of the potential problems he might cause by denigrating the concept of papal infallibility and, to a degree, the reputation of the Virgin Mary herself. He certainly knew more than Jack. So Jack was no longer sure what the final outcome was going to be.
“Dr. Bingham is ready to see you now,” Mrs. Sanford said, interrupting Jack’s thoughts.
“Have you changed your mind about wanting to take a leave of absence?” Bingham asked when Jack entered his office and before Jack had a chance to speak. He peered at Jack over the tops of his wire-rimmed glasses. “If so, the answer is yes. Please take care of that child of yours! I’ve been worried sick since you told us about him.”
“Thank you for your concern. But he is in excellent hands with Laurie in charge, I can assure you. In comparison to her, I’m a basket case.”
“Somehow I find that hard to believe, but I’ll take your word for it.”
How wrong you are, Jack thought to himself. Out loud he said, “I know you are busy, but the archbishop requests a favor.”
Bingham sat back in his chair, gazing at Jack in shock. “You really went to the archbishop’s for lunch?”
“Yeah, why not?” Jack asked. Having known the man for so long, visiting him didn’t seem so special.
“‘Why not?’” Bingham questioned. “He’s one of the most powerful and important people in the city. Why the hell did he invite you to lunch? Was it something to do with your boy?”
“Heavens, no!”
“Then what? If you don’t mind me asking. I suppose it’s none of my business.”
“Not at all,” Jack said. “We are old friends of sorts. We went to college together, and were quite close. We graduated together along with another fellow who also lives here in the city.”
“That’s extraordinary,” Bingham said. He was suddenly self-conscious at his overreaction to celebrity, but as a politically oriented person, he was already thinking about whether there was a way to take advantage of Jack’s friendship with the archbishop. “Do you and His Eminence get together often?”
Jack smiled. “If you call every thirty-one years often, then yes, we get together often.”
“Oh, it’s like that,” Bingham said, mildly disappointed. “It’s still surprising to think of the two of you having a shared past. Are you serious about his asking for a favor? Excuse the pun, but what in heaven’s name is it?”
“He humbly requests the use of lab space in the OCME DNA building.”
“Now, that is an unexpected request from the most powerful prelate in the country.”
“Actually, it’s not for him but rather for our mutual college friend, although he will consider it a favor to him if you grant the request.”
“Well, we do have quite an excess of lab space, and I certainly cannot see it as detrimental extending a hand to the archbishop, but who is this friend, and is he a competent lab scientist? We can’t have just anybody working over there, whether he knows the archbishop or not.”
“I’m not sure if he is a lab scientist or not,” Jack admitted, “but his wife is a DNA expert from Columbia University’s College of Physicians and Surgeons.”
“That constitutes expertise,” Bingham said. “I’d also like to have some idea of what they’ll be doing and how long they’ll need.”
“The archbishop’s guess is around two months.”
“And what is it exactly that they plan to do?”
“The
husband, whose name, by the way, is Shawn Daughtry, is a Ph.D. in Near Eastern archaeology and biblical studies. He has found what is called an ossuary. Do you know what that is?”
“Of course I know what an ossuary is,” Bingham snapped in his signature impatient style.
“I didn’t,” Jack admitted. “It’s rather unique in that it is sealed, and they are hoping to isolate some ancient DNA. The reason they would like to use our lab is to keep the project secret until they finish analyzing all the ossuary’s contents, which will supposedly include a document or two in addition to the bones.”
“I’ve never heard of an ossuary with a document of any kind.”
“Well,” Jack said, “that’s the story I’ve been told.”
“All right,” Bingham said. “Considering we’re doing it as a favor for the archbishop, I’ll allow it, provided Naomi Grossman, the DNA department head, doesn’t have an objection.”
“Fair enough,” Jack responded. “I’ll thank you for my friends.” Jack turned toward the door, but before he could exit, Bingham called out to him, “By the way, how’s that case where the tour doctor forgot to bag the hands?”
“Fine,” Jack said. “There’s no way that bullet was fired by the victim. It was definitely a homicide. The hands could not have had any gunpowder residue on them.”
“Good,” Bingham said. “Have it on my desk ASAP! The family is going to be pleased.”
Jack was about to leave for the second time when he stopped himself and again turned back to Bingham. “Chief,” he called out, “can I ask you a personal question?”
Without looking up, Bingham said, “Make it quick.”
“Do you use a chiropractor?”
“Yeah, and I don’t want to hear any grief about it. I already know your feelings.”
“Understood,” Jack said. He turned and walked out of the office.
Despite Bingham’s final body blow to his alternative-medicine crusade, meaning Jack could not expect support from the front office, Jack felt content as he headed up to his office to retrieve his jacket. He now had another project to keep his mind busy. With Bingham on board for the Daughtrys, he couldn’t imagine Naomi Grossman turning down the request, especially since she was already permitting three other research groups to use the facilities.
He grabbed his jacket and an umbrella, anxious to connect with Naomi and get the lab space set up. Lost in thought, he literally bumped into Chet coming out of the elevator.
“Hey, what’s the hurry?” Chet asked, nearly dropping the tray of microscope slides he was carrying.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Jack answered.
“I was about to stop by,” Chet said. “I’ve got some more names and accession numbers for those old VAD cases.”
“Hold up on looking for more VAD cases,” Jack said. “My interest has cooled.”
“How come?”
“Let’s just say I’ve run into pretty much the same response as you did back when you looked into the issue. My sense is that the public’s reaction to alternative medicine is almost a religious thing. People have faith in alternative medicine because they want to believe. They can dismiss as irrelevant any proof that it doesn’t work or might be dangerous.”
“Okay,” Chet said. “Suit yourself. If you change your mind, let me know.”
“Thanks, buddy,” Jack said, getting on the elevator.
Jack emerged outside back into the downpour he’d almost missed coming back from his meeting with James. With only a travel umbrella, by the time he reached the DNA building he was soaked from mid-thigh down.
Naomi Grossman’s office was on a high floor. As Jack approached Naomi’s secretary, he worried he should have called first. Naomi was the director of the largest single department at the OCME. DNA science had come into its own, thanks to the enormous contributions it made to law enforcement and identification.
“Is Dr. Grossman available?” Jack asked.
“She is,” the secretary said. “And you are?”
“Dr. Jack Stapleton,” Jack said, relieved at Naomi’s availability.
“Nice to meet you,” the secretary said, extending her hand. “I’m Melanie Stack.” She was young and friendly, especially compared to those ancient secretaries in Bingham’s office. Instead of being confrontational, she was open and eager to help. She was dressed in an attractive, youthful style, with her radiant long hair pulled back from her healthy, smiling face with a barrette.
To Jack, Melanie was a typical representative of the OCME DNA building. Most of the people working there were young and energetic, and seemed to be generally happy and appreciative of their jobs. DNA was a new science with immense potential, and it was appropriate that it was centered in a bright, brand-new building. In many ways, Jack regretted that he didn’t work there, too.
“Let me check with Dr. Grossman,” Melanie said, pushing back from her desk.
As Melanie disappeared for a moment, Jack made eye contact with the other secretaries. Each one returned his smile with one of her own. For Jack the office was a breath of fresh air and optimism despite the rain pattering against the glass.
“Dr. Grossman can see you,” Melanie said, reappearing in the blink of an eye.
Jack stepped into the inner corner office with a stunning view over the East River. Naomi was seated behind a large mahogany desk with an in basket that reminded Jack of his own. Like most everyone else in the building, Naomi was relatively young, perhaps mid-thirties. She had an oval face framed by a nimbus of remarkably curly hair. Her dark eyes were bright, and her expression was cheerful but questioning, as if her obviously sharp mind was always a bit dubious about what she was hearing.
“What a nice surprise!” Naomi said as Jack approached her desk. “To what do we owe this honor?”
“ ‘Honor’?” Jack questioned with a chuckle. “I wish I had your facility to make people feel good.”
“But it is an honor. We’re here to help you medical examiners. We’re just an adjunct to the process.”
Jack chuckled anew. “Let’s not carry it too far. With the rapid advances in DNA science, I think we’ll soon be working for you. This time, though, I’m here to ask you a favor.”
“Ask away.”
Jack quickly went through the same spiel he’d given Bingham, mentioning the archbishop, the ossuary, and its expected contents but nothing about the Virgin Mary.
“That’s utterly fascinating,” Naomi said when Jack finished. “Tell me the wife’s name?”
“Sana Daughtry.”
“I’ve heard of her,” Naomi said. “She’s really making a name for herself in the mitochondrial DNA field. I certainly wouldn’t mind having her work here for a time, and the project itself sounds intriguing, especially if it turns out that there are documents which might prove the body’s identity. But why don’t they do their work up at Columbia? Their facility might not be as new as ours, but I’m confident it is just as good.”
“For privacy purposes. They want time, I presume, to complete their studies before anyone knows about the find. And you know how it is in the academic world: Everybody knows everyone else’s business.”
“Truer words have never ever been spoken. They won’t have to worry about any leaks here. Have you spoken with Dr. Bingham?”
“I just came from his office, and he’s on board, provided you have no objections. And though he didn’t say so directly, I’m sure he likes the idea of having the archdiocese beholden to the OCME.”
Naomi laughed in a way that was infectious enough to bring a smile to Jack’s face. “I wouldn’t put it past him, given he’s such a political animal. But I shouldn’t cast aspersions. If not for him, I wouldn’t be sitting in this grand building.”
“So, you’re okay with this?” Jack asked.
“Absolutely.”
“When can they start?” Jack asked. “I have to confess from the moment I first heard about this, I’ve been dying of curiosity about the contents of the ossuary mysel
f.”
“It’s tantalizing,” Naomi agreed. “Whenever the Daughtrys want to start is fine with me. We still have plenty of lab space lying fallow.”
“How about tomorrow? Is the lab open on weekends?”
“Absolutely, although at a skeleton-staff level. But we have numerous projects that need to be looked after on a daily basis, so we’re open twenty-four-seven.”
“I’ll let them know. I don’t even know if they want to start so quickly, and perhaps I’m guilty of projecting my impatience onto them. But if they do want to start tomorrow, how would we get the ossuary into the building?”
“They could bring it through the front door if they so desire. How big is it, do you know?”
“I’m not sure, but I’d estimate roughly two feet long and one foot wide and deep.”
“It could fit through the front door without a problem, but there’s also a loading dock on the Twenty-sixth Street side, where most normal deliveries are made. Since tomorrow’s a Saturday, we’d have to make arrangements in advance.”
“The front door will be fine,” Jack said. “It all depends on them. In the meantime, would you mind showing me the lab area they will be using? I can help them get set up.”
A few moments later they were on the eighth floor, which was one of the floors devoted to laboratory space.
“How does the building function?” Jack asked. Though he’d toured the building before, he was curious about how the department handled the number of specimens they processed.
“Specimens are received on the fifth floor,” Naomi explained. “Then they work their way upstairs maintaining a chain of custody. First the samples are cleaned as a preparation for DNA extraction. The isolated DNA then heads up to the sixth floor for preampli fication. When that’s completed, it’s on to the seventh floor for postamplification and sequencing.”
“It’s a type of assembly-line approach.”
“Very definitely,” Naomi said. “Otherwise, we’d never be able to process the number of specimens we get.”
“We’re now on the eighth floor,” Jack said, peering into the lab space through closed but glazed doors as they walked east from the bank of elevators. Through floor-to-ceiling windows on his left he could see Bellevue Hospital. “What happens here?”
