Laurie filled Jordan in on the latest additions to her overdose series. To her relief he sounded genuinely upset.
“Now I have a question for you,” Laurie said. “And a favor to ask. The medical examiner is not willing to make a public statement about my series. I want it made because I’m convinced it will save lives. Do you know any other way to get this information to the public and might you be willing to put the word out?”
“Wait a second,” Jordan said. “I’m an ophthalmologist. This isn’t exactly my area of expertise. You want me to make some kind of statement about a series of drug deaths? No way, it’s inappropriate.”
Laurie sighed. “Would you think about it?”
“I don’t need to think about it,” Jordan said. “This is the type of thing I have to stay clear of, pure and simple. Remember, you and I are coming at medicine from the opposite ends of the spectrum. I’m in the clinical end. I’ve got a very high profile clientele. I’m sure they wouldn’t want to hear I’m mixed up in any drug affair no matter which side of the law I’m on. They’d start to wonder about me, and before I knew what was happening, they’d be going to someone else. Ophthalmology is extremely competitive these days.”
Laurie didn’t even try to argue. She understood more clearly than ever: Jordan Scheffield was not about to help her. She merely thanked him for his time and hung up.
There was only one other person to whom Laurie could turn. Although she was far from optimistic about the reception she’d meet there, she swallowed her pride and called Lou. Since she didn’t have his home number, she called police headquarters to leave word for him. To her surprise, he returned her call almost immediately.
“Hey, how are you?” He sounded pleased to have heard from her. “I knew I should have given you my home number. Here, let me give it to you now.” Laurie got a pen and paper and jotted the number down.
“I’m glad you called,” Lou continued. “I got my kids here. You want to come down to SoHo for some brunch?”
“Another time,” Laurie said. “I’ve got a problem.”
“Uh-oh,” Lou said. “What is it?”
Laurie told him about the double overdose and her conversations with Bingham and Jordan.
“Nice to know I’m at the bottom of your list,” Lou commented.
“Please, Lou,” Laurie said. “Don’t play wounded. I’m desperate.”
“Laurie, why are you doing this to me?” Lou complained. “I’d love to help you, but this is not a police matter. I told you that the last time you brought it up. I can understand your problem, but I don’t have any suggestions. And if you want my opinion, it’s not really your problem. You’ve done what you could and you’ve informed your superiors. That’s all you can expect from yourself.”
“My conscience won’t let me leave it at that,” Laurie said. “Not while people are dying.”
“What did big bucks Jordan say?” Lou asked.
“He was afraid his patients wouldn’t understand,” Laurie said. “He said he couldn’t help me.”
“That’s a pretty flimsy excuse,” Lou said. “I’m surprised he’s not falling all over himself trying to prove what a man he is by helping his damsel in distress.”
“I’m not his damsel,” Laurie said. Even as the words came out of her mouth, she knew she shouldn’t be rising to his bait.
“Not always charming, that prince of yours, eh?”
Laurie hung up on Lou. The man could be so infuriatingly rude. She got her things together, including the address of the double-overdose scene, and was ready to go when the phone started to ring. Figuring it was Lou, she avoided answering. The phone rang about twenty times before it stopped just as she reached the elevator.
Laurie hailed a cab and headed for the address on Sutton Place South. When she arrived, she flashed her medical examiner’s badge at the doorman on duty and asked to see the superintendent. The doorman readily obliged her. “Carl will be down in a minute. He lives right here in the building so he’s almost always available.”