Jack rolled his eyes and headed for the door. He knew what Calvin was implying, namely that the police commissioner had impressed Bingham that the involved officers needed some justification for the deadly restraining force they’d used. Jack knew prisoners could be violent. Dealing with them was a job he did not envy. At the same time there had been episodes of abuse on the part of the police. Making judgments beyond the forensic facts was a slippery slope Jack refused to descend.
“Hold up!” Calvin called out before Jack was beyond earshot.
Jack leaned back in the deputy chief’s office.
“There’s someone else I want you to call about the anthrax case,” Calvin said. “Stan Thornton. Do you know him?”
“Sure,” Jack said.
Stan Thornton was the director of the Mayor’s Office of Emergency Management. He’d been the featured speaker at one of the Thursday afternoon medical examiners’conferences organized in the spirit of interagency cooperation. The topic had been mortuary challenges in the event of a disaster associated with a weapon of mass destruction.
Jack had found the talk disturbing. Prior to the lecture he’d never seriously contemplated the logistics of dealing with a massive number of casualties. Just the problem of identification of thousands upon thousands of dead people was mind-numbing. On top of that was the dilemma of what to do with them.
“What would you like me to tell him?” Jack questioned.
“Tell him exactly what you told me,” Calvin said. “Considering the case is a limited occupational exposure, it’s more a courtesy call than anything else. But since anthrax came up in his discussion of bioterrorism, I’m sure he’d at least like to know about the incident.”
“Why me?” Jack complained. “I’m not good at this professional courtesy stuff.”
“You’ve got to learn,” Calvin said. “Besides, it’s your case. Now get out of here so I can get some work done.”
Jack left the administration area, stopped on the second floor to get a sandwich out of a vending machine, then headed up to the fifth floor. Although he intended to return directly to his office, he couldn’t resist sticking his head into Laurie’s. His idea was to press her once more about the nature of the “big secret.” Unfortunately she wasn’t there. Dr. Riva Mehta, her officemate, told Jack that Laurie was closeted with the law enforcement officers in Bingham’s office.
Grumbling under his breath about how his day was going, Jack plopped himself down in his desk chair.
“You look as bad as when you left,” Chet said. “I hope you didn’t provoke the deputy chief into some sort of argument.”
Jack and Calvin were frequently at odds. Calvin believed in strict rules and set protocols. Jack viewed all regulations as guidelines. He believed that intelligence and native instincts were far more practical than bureaucratic edicts.
“It’s a bad hair day,” Jack said evasively. He scratched the top of his head and then cracked his knuckles while deciding which one of the unpleasant tasks he’d been assigned he should attack first. As he opened up his phone directory to look for Clint Abelard’s number, an unpleasant idea occurred to him. Maybe Laurie had gotten a job offer someplace like Detroit, or worse yet, someplace on the West Coast. It made sense; if she were relocating, she’d certainly want to tell him and Lou, and since such a move would undoubtedly represent a promotion, she’d probably be excited about it. For a moment Jack stared into space while he tried to imagine what life in the Big Apple would be like without Laurie. It was difficult to contemplate; it was also depressing.