Blindsight (30 page)

with him every night. I'm obviously not going out tonight."
"Well, three out of four ain't bad," Lou said. "But look, down to business: I wanted to let you know that I talked with Jordan about his patients being professionally bumped off." "What did he have to say?" Laurie asked. "Not a lot," Lou said. "He refused to talk about any of his patients specifically." "Good for him."
"But more important than what he said was how he acted. He was really nervous the whole time I was there. I don't know what to make of that." "You don't think he was involved with these murders in any way, do you?" "No," Lou said. "Robbing his patients blind--no pun intended--yes, shooting them, no. He'd be killing the golden goose. But he was definitely nervous. Something's on his mind. I think he knows something." "I think he has plenty of reason to be nervous," Laurie said. "Did he tell you that Cerino threatened him?"
"No, he didn't," Lou said. "How did he threaten him?" "Jordan wouldn't say," Laurie said. "But if Cerino is the kind of person you say he is, then you can just imagine."
Lou nodded. "I wonder why Jordan didn't tell me." "Probably he doesn't think you could protect him. Could you?" "Probably not," Lou said. "Certainly not forever. Not someone as high profile as Jordan Scheffield." "Did you learn anything helpful talking with him?" Laurie asked. "I did learn that the murder victims did not have the same diagnosis," Lou said. "At least according to him. That was one harebrained idea I had. And I learned that they are not related in any other obvious way vis-a-vis Jordan Scheffield other than being his patients. I asked about every way I could imagine. So, unfortunately, I didn't learn much." "What are you going to do now?" Laurie asked. "Hope!" Lou said. "Plus I'll have my investigative teams find out the individual diagnoses. Maybe that will tell us something. There has to be some aspect I'm missing in all this." "That's the way I feel about my overdose cases," Laurie said. "By the way," Lou said. "What are you doing here so late?" "I was hoping to get some work done. But with my pulse still racing thanks to you, I'll probably take the paperwork home and tackle it there."

"What about dinner?" Lou asked. "How about coming with me down to Little Italy. You like pasta?"
"I love pasta."
"How about it then?" Lou asked. "You already told me you aren't going out with the good doctor, and that's your favorite excuse."
"You are persistent."
"Hey, I'm Italian."
Fifteen minutes later Laurie found herself in Lou's Caprice heading downtown. She did not know if it was a good idea to have dinner with the man, but she really hadn't been able to think of a reason not to go. And although he'd been somewhat rude on previous occasions, now he seemed nothing but charming as he regaled her with stories of growing up in Queens. Although Laurie had grown up in Manhattan, she'd never been to Little Italy. As they drove up Mulberry Street she was delighted by the ambience. There was a multitude of restaurants and throngs of people strolling the streets. Just like Italy itself, the place seemed to be throbbing with life. "It's definitely Italian," Laurie said. "It looks it, doesn't it?" Lou said. "But I'll tell you a little secret. Most of the real estate here is owned by Chinese."
"That's strange," Laurie said, a bit disappointed although she didn't know why. "Used to be an Italian neighborhood," Lou said, "but the Italians for the most part moved out to the suburbs, like Queens. And the Chinese with a nose for business came in and bought up the properties." They pulled into a restricted parking zone. Laurie pointed to the sign. "Please!" Lou said. He positioned a little card on the dash by the steering wheel. "Once in a while I'm entitled to take advantage of being one of New York's finest." Lou led her down a narrow street to one of the less obvious restaurants. "It doesn't have a name," Laurie said as they entered. "It doesn't need one."
The interior was a kitschy blend of red and white checked tablecloths and trellis interlaced with artificial ivy and plastic grapes. A candle stuck in a jug with wax drippings coating the sides served as each table's light fixture. A few black velvet paintings of Venice hung on the walls. There were about thirty tables packed tightly in the narrow room; all seemed to be occupied. Harried waiters dashed about attending to the customers. Everyone seemed to know each other by their first names. Over the whole scene hung a babble of voices and a rich, savory, herbed aroma of spicy food. Laurie suddenly realized how hungry she was. "Looks like we should have made a reservation," she said.

Lou motioned for her to be patient. In a few minutes a very large and very Italian woman appeared and
gave Lou an enveloping hug. She was introduced to Laurie. Her name was Marie. As if by magic, an available table materialized and Marie seated Laurie and Lou. "I have a feeling you're pretty well known here," Laurie said. "With as many times as I've eaten here I'd better be. I've put one of their kids through college." To Laurie's chagrin there were no menus. She had to listen to the choices as they were recited by a waiter with a heavy Italian accent. But no sooner had he finished his impressive litany than Lou leaned over and encouraged her to choose the ravioli or the manicotti. Laurie quickly settled on the ravioli. With dinner ordered and a bottle of white wine on the table, Lou disappointed Laurie by lighting a cigarette.
"Maybe we could compromise," Laurie said. "How about you having only one." "Fine by me."
After a glass of wine, Laurie began to revel in the chaotic atmosphere. When their entrees arrived, Giuseppe, the owner-chef, appeared to pay his respects. Laurie thought the dinner was wonderful. After the last few nights in such formal settings, this lively spot was a welcome relief. Everyone seemed to know--and love--Lou. He received much good-natured kidding for having brought Laurie along. Apparently he usually dined solo. For dessert Lou insisted they take a walk up the street to an Italian-style coffee bar that served decaf espresso and gelato.
With their espressos and ice creams before them, Laurie looked up at Lou. "Lou," she said, "there's something I want to ask you."
"Uh-oh," Lou said. "I was hoping we could avoid any potentially troublesome subjects. Please don't ask me to go to the narc boys again."
"I only want your opinion," Laurie said. "OK," Lou said. "That's not so scary. Shoot." "I don't want you to laugh at me, OK," Laurie said. "This is starting to sound interesting," Lou said. "I have no definitive reason why I've been thinking this," Laurie said. "Just some little facts that bother me."
"It's going to take you all night to get this out at this rate," Lou said. "It's about my overdose series," Laurie said. "I want to know what your opinion would be if I suggested

that they were homicides, not accidental overdoses."
"Keep talking," Lou said. Absently he took out a cigarette and lit it. "A case came in where a woman died suddenly in the hospital," Laurie said. "She has lots of cardiac disease. But when you looked at her and you examined her carefully, you couldn't help but think that she could have been smothered. The case is being signed out as "natural' mainly because of the other details--where she was, the fact that she was overweight, and had a history of heart disease. But if the lady had been found someplace else, it might have been considered a homicide." "How does this relate to your overdoses?" Lou asked. He leaned forward, the cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth. His eyes were squinting from the smoke. "I started thinking about my overdoses in the same light. Take away the fact that these people were found alone in their apartments with syringes by their sides. It's hard not to view murders in context. But what if the cocaine wasn't self-administered?" "Wow--that would be a twist," Lou said. He sat back and took the cigarette from his mouth. "It's true; homicides have been committed with drugs. There's no doubt about that. But the motive is usually more apparent: robbery, sex, retribution, inheritance. A lot of small-time pushers get killed by their disgruntled clients that way. The cases in your series don't fit that mold. I thought the whole reason these cases are so striking is the fact that in each case the deceased was apparently such a solid citizen with no history of drug abuse or run-ins with the law."
"That's true," Laurie admitted.
"Do you mean to say you think these yuppies were forcibly administered the cocaine? Laurie, get real. With users willing to pay big bucks for the stuff, why would anyone go on a personal crusade to rid the city of some of its best and brightest? What would they have to gain? Isn't it likelier that these people were really into drugs on the sly, maybe even dealing?" "I don't think so," Laurie said.
"Besides," Lou said, "didn't you say that these people were shooting the coke rather than sniffing it?" "That's right," Laurie said.
"Well, how is someone going to stick a needle in someone who isn't cooperating? I mean, don't nurses in hospitals have a hard enough time sticking patients? Now you're telling me some struggling victim who's trying to just say no can get shot up against his will? Give me a break." Laurie closed her eyes. Lou had stumbled upon the weakest point of her homicide theory. "If these people were being injected against their will, there would be signs of struggle. Have there been any?"
"No," Laurie admitted. "At least I don't think so." She suddenly recalled the shattered statue in Julia's apartment.
"The only other way I could conceive of this happening is if the victims had been drugged to beat the band with some kind of knockout cocktail beforehand. Correct me if I'm wrong, but you people at the

M.E. office would have found a drug like that if there'd been one. Am I right?"
"You're right," Laurie conceded.
"Well, there you go," Lou said. "I'm not going to fault you for considering homicide, but I think it's a mighty remote possibility."
"There are a few other facts I've discovered that have made me suspicious," Laurie persisted. "I visited the apartment of one of the more recent overdose cases today, and the doorman said that on the evening the woman died, she'd come home with two men he'd never seen before." "Laurie, you can't mean to tell me that the fact a woman comes home with two men the doorman doesn't recognize has spawned this huge conspiracy theory. Is that it?" "OK! OK!" Laurie said. "Go easy on me. Do you mind that I bring this stuff up? The problem is that these things are bothering me. It's like a mental toothache." "What else?" Lou said patiently. "Out with it." "On two of the cases the respective girlfriend or boyfriend was called by the victim an hour or so before and asked to come over."
"And?" said Lou.
"And nothing," said Laurie. "That's it. I just thought it was curious that these people who were allegedly hiding their drug abuse invited their non-druggie significant others over if they were planning a night of coked-out debauchery."
"These two could have called for a million different reasons. I don't think either had any idea this trip was going to turn out the way it did. If anything, it's more support for self-administration. They probably believed in the popular myth of cocaine's aphrodisiac powers and wanted their playmates to be available at the height of their turn-on."
"You must think I'm nuts," Laurie said. "Not at all," Lou insisted. "It's good to be suspicious, particularly in your line of work." "Thank you for the consult. I appreciate your patience." "My pleasure," Lou said. "Any time you want to run something by me, don't hesitate." "I enjoyed dinner very much," Laurie said. "But I think I'd better be thinking of getting home. I still have to make good on my plans to get some work done." "If you liked this restaurant," Lou said, "I'd love to take you to one in Queens. It's out in the middle of a real Italian neighborhood. Authentic Northern Italian cuisine. How about tomorrow night?" "Thank you for asking," Laurie said, "but I do have plans." "Of course," Lou said sarcastically. "How could I forget Dr. Limo."

"Lou, please!" Laurie said.
"Come on," Lou said, pushing back his chair. "I'll take you home. If you can stand my humble, stripped-down Caprice."
Laurie rolled her eyes.

Franco Ponti pulled his black Cadillac up in front of the Neapolitan Restaurant on Corona Avenue up the street from the Vesuvio and got out. The valet recognized him and rushed over to assure him that good care would be taken of his car. Franco gave the valet a ten-dollar bill and walked through the door. At that hour on a Friday night, the restaurant was in full swing. An accordion player went from table to table serenading the customers. Between the laughter and din, an air of conviviality marked the evening. Franco paused for a moment, just inside the red velvet curtain separating the foyer from the dining area. He easily spotted Vinnie Dominick, Freddie Capuso, and Richie Herns at one of the upholstered booths along with a pair of buxom, miniskirted bimbos. Franco walked directly to the table. When Vinnie saw him, he patted the girls and told them to go powder their noses. As soon as they left, Ponti sat down. "You want something to drink?" Vinnie asked. "A glass of wine would be fine," Franco said. Vinnie snapped his fingers. A waiter instantly appeared for instructions. Just as quickly, he reappeared with the requested glass. Vinnie poured Franco some wine from the bottle standing on the table. "You got something for me?" Vinnie asked. Franco took a drink and twisted the bottle around to look at the label. "Angelo Facciolo and Tony Ruggerio are with Cerino tonight. So they're idle. But last night they were out hustling. I don't know what they did early in the evening because I'd lost them. But after some midnight pizza I picked them up again, and they were busy. You read about those murders in Manhattan last night?"
"You mean that big-shot banker and the auction house guy?" Vinnie asked. "Those are the ones," Franco said. "Angelo and Tony did both those jobs. And they were messy. They almost got nabbed both times. In fact, I had to be careful not to get picked up for questioning, especially on the banker job. I was parked out front when the cops came." "What the hell did they whack them for?" Vinnie said. His face had gotten quite red and his eyes started to bulge.
"I still don't know," Franco said.
"Every day the cops are more agitated!" Vinnie bellowed. "And the more of an uproar they're in, the worse it gets for business. We've had to shut most of our gambling clubs down temporarily." He glared