Turning back to Laurie, Juan added, “It’s apartment 7C. I’ll take you up there.”
Laurie hesitated. She’d not expected anyone to be in the apartment. She really didn’t want to talk with any of the family members, much less Andrews’ girlfriend. But Juan was already in the elevator pressing the floor button and holding the door for her. Having presented herself in her official capacity, she felt she couldn’t leave.
Juan pounded on the door to 7C. When it didn’t open immediately, he pulled out a ring of keys the size of a baseball and began flipping through them. The door opened just as he was about to insert a key.
Standing in the doorway was a woman about Laurie’s height with blond, curly hair. She was wearing a sweatshirt over acid-washed jeans. Fresh tears stained her cheeks.
Juan introduced Laurie as being from the hospital, then excused himself.
“I don’t remember seeing you at the hospital,” Sara said.
“I’m not from the hospital,” Laurie said. “I’m from the medical examiner’s office.”
“Are you going to do an autopsy on Duncan’s body?” Sara asked.
“I already have,” Laurie said. “I just wanted to see the scene where he died.”
“Of course,” Sara said. She stepped back from the door. “Come in.”
Laurie stepped into the apartment. She felt extremely uncomfortable knowing she was intruding on this poor woman’s grief. She waited while Sara locked the door. The apartment was spacious. Even from the foyer Laurie could see out over the leafless expanse of Central Park. Unconsciously she shook her head at the senselessness of Duncan Andrews’ taking drugs. At least on the surface his life seemed perfect.
“Duncan actually collapsed right here in the doorway,” Sara said. She pointed at the floor by the door. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “Just before I knocked he pulled it open. It was as if he’d gone crazy. He was heading outside practically naked.”
“I’m terribly sorry,” Laurie said. “Drugs can do that to people. Cocaine can make them feel like they’re burning up.”
“I didn’t even know he took drugs,” Sara sobbed. “Maybe if I’d gotten over here faster after he called, it wouldn’t have happened. Maybe if I’d stayed Sunday evening…”
“Drugs are such a curse,” Laurie said. “No one is going to know the reason Duncan took them. But it was his choice. You can’t blame yourself.” Laurie paused. “I know how you feel,” she said at last. “I found my big brother after he’d overdosed.”
“Really?” Sara said through her tears.
Laurie nodded. For the second time that day Laurie had admitted a secret that she’d not shared with anyone for seventeen years. This job was getting to her, all right, but in a way she had never expected. The case of Duncan Andrews had touched her in a fashion no other case had ever done.
4
* * *
6:51 p.m., Tuesday
Manhattan
“Christ!” Tony exclaimed. “Here we are waiting again. Every night we wait. I thought last night when we finally caught that prick DePasquale, things would move along. But oh no, we’re back here waiting like nothing happened.”
Angelo leaned forward and tapped the ash from his cigarette into the ashtray, then leaned back. He didn’t say anything. He’d promised himself earlier that afternoon to ignore Tony. Angelo regarded the busy street scene. People were heading home after work, walking their dogs, or coming back from the grocery store. He and Tony were parked in a loading zone on Park Avenue between Eighty-first and Eighty-second, headed north. Both sides of the street were filled with high-rise apartment buildings whose first floors were filled with professional office suites.
“I’m going to get out and do some push-ups,” Tony said.
“Shut the hell up!” Angelo snapped, despite his vow to disregard his partner. “We went over this last night. You don’t get out and do push-ups when we’re waiting for action. What’s the matter with you? You want a neon sign or something to let the cops know we’re sitting here? We’re not supposed to call attention to ourselves. Can’t you understand that?”
“All right,” Tony said. “Don’t get pissed. I won’t get out!”
In utter frustration, Angelo blew through pursed lips and beat a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel with the first two fingers of his right hand. Tony was wearing even for Angelo’s practiced calm.