The only problem that intruded during the early afternoon was a call from Cheryl Myers. She told Laurie that she’d been unable to find any medical conditions in Duncan Andrews’ past. His only brush with a hospital had occurred nearly fifteen years ago when he broke his arm during a high school football game. “You want me to keep looking?” Cheryl asked after a pause.
“Yes,” Laurie said. “It can’t hurt. Try to go back to his childhood.” Laurie knew that she was hoping for nothing less than a miracle, yet she wanted to be complete. Then she could turn the whole problem over to Calvin Washington. She decided Lou had been right: if the powers-that-be wanted to distort the record for political expediency, they should do it themselves.
By late afternoon Laurie’s thoughts drifted back to the drug cases. On a whim she decided to check out where Evans and Overstreet lived. She caught a cab on First Avenue and asked to go to Central Park South. Evans’ address was near Columbus Circle.
When the cab arrived at the destination, Laurie asked him to wait. She hopped out of the cab to get a good look at the building. She tried to remember who else lived around there. It was some movie star, she was sure. Probably dozens of stars lived nearby. With a view of the park and its proximity to Fifth Avenue, Central Park South was prime real estate. In Manhattan it didn’t get much better than that.
Standing there, Laurie tried to picture Robert Evans striding confidently down the street and turning into his building, briefcase in hand, excited about the prospects of a social evening in New York. It was hard to jibe such an image with so untimely and profligate a demise.
Getting back in the cab, Laurie directed the driver to Marion Overstreet’s: a cozy brownstone on West Sixty-seventh Street a block from Central Park. This time she didn’t even get out of the car. She merely gazed at the handsome residence and again tried to imagine the young editor in life. Satisfied, she asked the confused driver to take her back to the medical examiner’s office.
After the confrontation with Bingham that morning over her visit to Duncan Andrews’ apartment, Laurie had not intended going inside either victim’s building. She’d merely wanted to see them from the outside. She didn’t know why she’d had the compulsion to do so, and when she got back to the medical examiner’s, she wondered if it had been a bad idea. The excursion had saddened her since it made the victims and their tragedies more real.
Back in her office, Laurie ran into her office-mate, Riva. Riva complimented Laurie on the beauty of her roses. Laurie thanked her and stared at the flowers. In her current state of mind, they had changed their ambience. Although they had suggested celebration that morning, now they seemed more the symbol of grief, almost funereal in their appearance.
Lou Soldano was still irritated as he drove over the Queensboro Bridge from Manhattan to Queens. He felt like such a fool having set himself up so conveniently for rejection. What had he been thinking, anyway? She was a doctor, for Chrissake, who’d grown up on the East Side of Manhattan. What would they have talked about? The Mets? The Giants? Hardly. Lou was the first to admit that he wasn’t the most educated guy in the city, and except for law enforcement and sports, he didn’t know much about most other things.
“Do you ever see your kids?” Lou said out loud, doing a mockingly crude imitation of Laurie’s much higher voice. With a short little yell, Lou pounded the steering wheel and mistakenly honked the horn of his Chevrolet Caprice. The driver in front of him turned around and threw him a finger.
“Yeah, to you too,” Lou said. He felt like reaching down and putting his emergency light on the dashboard and pulling the guy over. But he didn’t. Lou didn’t do things like that. He didn’t abuse his authority, although he did it in his fantasy on a regular basis.
“I should have taken the Triborough Bridge,” he mumbled as the traffic bogged down on the Queensboro. From the last third of the bridge all the way to the juncture with Northern Boulevard it was stop and go, and mostly stop. It gave Lou time to think about the last time he had seen Paul Cerino.