9
12:55 P.M., MONDAY, DECEMBER 1, 2008
NEW YORK CITY
(7:55 P.M., CAIRO, EGYPT)
By the time Jack braked to a stop in front of Ronald Newhouse’s Fifth Avenue office, he felt better than he had in months. He was motivated, thanks to Keara Abelard, by having stumbled on the perfect diversion: a crusade of exposing the dangers of alternative medicine. He couldn’t wait to come face-to-face with the man.
Jack hopped off his bike and went about applying the collection of locks he used to secure his Trek. As he was applying the last one, someone tapped him on the shoulder.
Jack looked up into the face of a uniformed doorman, looking like he stepped off a movie set in his old-fashioned greatcoat with two rows of shiny brass buttons. “Sorry,” he said in a tone that suggested he wasn’t sorry at all. “You can’t leave your bike here. It’s against the rules.”
Redirecting his attention to the final lock, Jack finished the task of securing the bike.
“Hey, buddy!” the doorman said. “Did you hear me? You can’t leave the freaking bike here. It’s private property.”
Standing up without saying a word, Jack fished in his pants pocket, pulled out his wallet, and flashed his official New York City medical examiner’s badge. It looked to all the world like a policeman’s badge, unless you looked closely.
“Sorry, sir!” the doorman said hastily.
“It’s quite all right,” Jack said. “The bike won’t be here long.”
“No problem, sir. I’ll keep my eye on it. Can I help you in any way?”
“I’m here to see Ronald Newhouse,” Jack said. He couldn’t bring himself to use the title “doctor.” Nor did he say whether he was there in an official capacity or as a patient.
“This way, sir,” the doorman said obsequiously, gesturing toward the front door and leading Jack into the foyer. He opened the inner door with a key and pointed. “Dr. Newhouse’s office is down the hall, first door on the left.”
“Thank you,” Jack said, wondering if the man would have been equally gracious if he knew Jack was a medical examiner.
DR. RONALD NEWHOUSE AND ASSOCIATES was stenciled in gold leaf on the door. When he walked in, it was immediately apparent that Newhouse ran a successful practice. Not only could he afford the Fifth Avenue rent, which Jack assumed was significant, he’d had the waiting room decked out in style. There were original oil paintings on the walls, plush furniture, and a large Oriental rug. What made it appear different from any successful medical doctor’s office he’d seen were three stools with contour seats connected to their bases by a movable ball joint. A woman in her twenties occupied one of the stools. With her hands on her knees and her legs spread apart such that her dress drooped between her knees, she was in constant motion in a manner that reminded Jack of his daughters using their hula hoops. While he watched her, the woman caught his eye and smiled. She appeared completely unself-conscious, leading Jack to believe the unique activity was normal in the environment.