Somewhat frustrated, Laurie did her dictation, then headed back to the autopsy room for her third and final case of the day. As she waited for the elevator she wondered if Bingham might be willing to change his mind about making some kind of public statement now that there were six cases.
When the elevator doors opened, Laurie literally bumped into Lou. For a moment they looked at each other with embarrassment.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“It was my fault,” Lou told her. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“I was the one who wasn’t looking,” Laurie said.
Then they both laughed at their self-conscious behavior.
“Were you coming to see me?” Laurie asked.
“No,” Lou said. “I was looking for the Pope. Someone said he was up here on the fifth floor.”
“Very funny,” Laurie said, leading him back to her office. “Actually I just this minute tried to call you.”
“Oh, sure!” Lou teased.
“Honest,” Laurie said. She sat down at her desk. Lou took the chair he’d been in the day before. “I made an ID on the headless floater that was found with Marchese. The name is Marsha Schulman. She is Jordan Scheffield’s secretary.”
“You mean Dr. Roses? She was his secretary?” Lou pointed at the flowers, which had not lost any of their freshness.
“One and the same,” Laurie said. “Just last night he told me that she’d not shown up for work. But he also told me that her husband, who’s no Boy Scout, has ties to organized crime.”
“What’s the husband’s name?” Lou asked.
“Danny Schulman,” Laurie said.
“Could that be the Danny Schulman who owns a restaurant in Bayside?” he asked.
“That’s the one,” Laurie said. “Apparently he’s had several brushes with the law.”
“Damn right he has. He’s associated with the Lucia crime family. At least they used his place to run some of their operations like fencing stolen goods, gambling, that sort of thing. We picked up old Danny-boy hoping he’d finger some of the higher-ups, but the guy took the fall without talking.”
“You think his wife might have gotten killed because of his business?” Laurie asked.
“Who knows?” Lou admitted. “Threats could have been made, warnings not heeded. I’ll certainly look into that angle.”
“What a nasty business,” Laurie said.
“That’s an understatement,” Lou said. “And speaking of nasty business, have you gotten any results on Frankie DePasquale’s eyes? Could they document acid?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t heard back yet. Dr. DeVries has not been terribly accommodating. I don’t think he’s looked at the specimen yet. But there is some good news: a young assistant of his is going to help me on the q.t. I think I’ll finally start getting some results.”
“I hope so,” Lou said. “Something big is about to happen in the Queens crime world. There were four gangland-style slayings there last night. People shot in their own homes. And on top of that a friend of Frankie’s and Bruno’s was killed in a funeral home in Ozone Park. Whatever tensions were brewing are bubbling big time.”
“I’d heard there were a number of homicides in Queens,” Laurie said.
“One couple was shot right in their bed while they were sleeping. The other two, one man and one woman, were sleeping as well. As far as we can tell, none of these people had any previous association with organized crime.”
“Sounds like you’re not convinced.”
“I’m not. The manner in which they were killed is almost an indictment. Anyway, I’ve got three separate detective teams working on the three cases, and this is in addition to the organized crime unit who is doing the same. We have so many people out there they are running into each other.”
“Sounds like the Vaccarro and Lucia families are moving toward a showdown,” Laurie said. “But you know something? Somehow mobsters offing mobsters doesn’t bother me so much. At least not as much as the deaths of the accomplished people I’m seeing with this rash of cocaine overdoses. I’ve got three more today. That makes six.”
“I guess we view things from a different perspective,” Lou said. “I feel just the opposite. As far as I’m concerned, I can’t get too overly sympathetic about rich, privileged people doing themselves in trying to get high. In fact I couldn’t care less about druggies of any sort ODing, because they are the ones that create the demand for drugs. If it weren’t for the demand there wouldn’t be a drug problem. They’re more to blame for this current national disaster than the starving peasant down in Peru or Colombia growing coca leaves. If the druggies knock themselves off, all the better. With each death there is that much less demand.”