Laurie remained in her seat for a moment, sipping her coffee. She knew that she’d hurt Lou’s feelings, and that made her feel uncomfortable. At the same time she thought he was being immature. Some of that “blue collar” charm she’d noted the day before was wearing thin.
After finishing her coffee, Laurie returned to the autopsy room and her fourth case of the day: Marion Overstreet, aged twenty-eight, editor for a major New York publishing house.
“You want anything special for this case?” Vinnie asked. He was eager to get under way.
Laurie shook her head no. She looked at the young woman on the table. Such a waste. She wondered if this woman would have gambled with drugs if she could have anticipated such a terrible price.
The autopsy went quickly. Laurie and Vinnie worked well together as a team. Conversation was kept to a minimum. The case was remarkably similar to both Duncan Andrews’ and Robert Evans’, down to the fact that Overstreet had injected the cocaine, not snorted it. There were only a few minor surprises that Laurie would have Cheryl Myers or one of the other forensic investigators check out. By twelve forty-five Laurie walked out of the main autopsy room.
After changing to her street clothes, Laurie took it upon herself to carry the specimens from each of the day’s cases to Toxicology. She hoped to have another chat with the resident toxicologist. She found John DeVries in his office eating his lunch. An old-fashioned lunch box with a Thermos built into its vaulted cover was open on his desk.
“I finished the two overdoses,” Laurie said. “I’ve brought up their toxicology samples.”
“Leave the samples on the receiving desk in the lab,” he told her. He held an uncut sandwich in both hands.
“Any luck finding a contaminant in the Andrews case?” she asked hopefully.
“It’s only been a few hours since you were here last. I’ll call you if I find anything.”
“As soon as possible,” Laurie encouraged. “I don’t mean to be a bother. It’s just that I’m more convinced than ever that a contaminant of some sort is involved. If there is, I want to find it.”
“If it’s there, we’ll find it. Just give us a chance, for Chrissake.”
“Thanks,” Laurie said. “I’ll try to be patient. It’s just that—”
“I know, I know,” John interrupted. “I get the picture already. Please!”
“I’m out of here,” Laurie said. She put her hands in the air to signify her surrender.
Back in her office, Laurie ate some of the lunch, dictated the morning’s autopsies, and tried to tackle some of her paperwork. She found she couldn’t take her mind off the drug overdose cases.
What worried her was the specter of more cases. If there was some source of contaminated cocaine in the city, it meant there would be more deaths. At this point the ball was in John’s court. There was nothing more she could do.
Or was there? How could she prevent more deaths? The key lay in warning the public. Hadn’t Bingham just lectured her on the fact that they had social and political responsibilities?
With that thought in mind, Laurie picked up the phone and called the chief’s office. She asked Mrs. Sanford if Dr. Bingham might have a moment to see her.
“I believe I could squeeze you in,” Mrs. Sanford said, “but you have to come immediately. Dr. Bingham is due at a luncheon at City Hall.”
When she entered Bingham’s office, she could tell the chief medical examiner was not prepared to give her more than a minute of his time. When he asked her what it was she wanted, Laurie outlined the facts surrounding the three cocaine overdose cases as succinctly as possible. She emphasized the upscale demographics, the fact that none of the victims appeared to have been in the depths of addiction, and that all three had mainlined the drug.
“I get the picture,” Bingham said. “What’s your point?”
“I’m afraid that we are seeing the beginning of a series,” Laurie said. “I’m concerned about a toxic contaminant in some cocaine supply.”
“With only three cases, don’t you think that’s a rather fanciful leap?”