Intervention by Robin Cook

her directly during the evening?”
    “For a few minutes, but not any more than I talked to everyone else. I mean, like, she was a looker, so all the guys talked to her.”
    “Did she mention anything at all about being in an auto accident in the last week or so?”
    “No, nothing like that.”
    “How about any falls she might have experienced: maybe even earlier last evening, like in the ladies’ room.” Jack didn’t think a fall was a likely culprit with no external evidence of injury, but he didn’t want to rule anything out.
    “She didn’t mention it, no.”
    Jack finally got the man to agree to make up a list of the other revelers from the previous night, along with their phone numbers. Farrell even promised to have it available by late afternoon.
    Jack hung up, then sat at his desk, drumming his fingers on the blotter. Despite his initial suspicions, it now seemed to Jack there wasn’t a criminal angle. But he was sure there was some piece of Keara’s story that still eluded him. With no other excuse to postpone the call to Keara’s mother, Jack dialed the number. He knew too well the woman’s plight.
    She picked up on the very first ring, her voice strong and expectant. Jack immediately assumed she was in the denial phase and there was still a part of her that hoped it might be a call from someone saying it was all a horrible mistake and that her daughter was just fine.
    “This is Dr. Jack Stapleton. I’m calling from the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner.”
    “Hello, Dr. Stapleton,” Mrs. Abelard said in a lilting but questioning tone, as if there was no reason for someone to be calling from the New York City morgue. “Can I help you?”
    “You can,” Jack said, debating how to begin. “But first I want to express my deepest sympathies.”
    Mrs. Abelard was quiet. Jack worried she might explode into a tirade with tears, heralding the second stage of grief, the anger stage. But there was only silence, interspersed by the woman’s intermittent breathing. Jack was afraid to say anything, lest he make a bad situation worse.
    “I hope I’m not bothering you too much,” Jack said at length, but only after it had become obvious Mrs. Abelard was not about to respond. “I’m sorry to have to call.
    “I know you were here at the morgue last night,” Jack continued. “And I’m sure it was difficult. I don’t mean to disturb you in this time of grief, but I wanted to let you know that I have carefully examined your daughter, Keara, this morning, and I can assure you she is resting peacefully.”
    Jack grimaced at what sounded to him like a mawkish attempt at empathy. He wished he could hang up, collect himself, and call back. The idea that an eviscerated corpse was resting peacefully was so absurdly sappy that he was embarrassed it had come out of his mouth. It made him feel guilty that he’d stooped so low in his manipulating.
    Nonetheless, he forged on as he’d done with the reluctant Robert Farrell. “What I’m trying to do is speak for your daughter, Mrs. Abelard. I’m certain she has something to say to help others, but I need more information. Can you help me?”
    “You say she is resting comfortably?” Mrs. Abelard asked, breaking her silence. It was as if she believed her daughter had had some minor mishap.
    “She’s at peace. But I’m wondering, did she experience any kind of neck injury recently?”
    “Neck injury? Like what?”
    “Any kind of injury at all,” Jack said. He felt like a trial lawyer trying to avoid leading the witness.
    “Not a specific neck injury that I can recall, although she did fall from a swing when she was eleven and was bruised all over, including her neck.”
    “I’m talking about an injury that might have occurred over the last few days,” Jack said,
    “maybe in the last week.”
    “Heavens, no.”
    “Is she a yoga enthusiast?” Jack was trying to cover all the bases.
    “No, I don’t think so.”
    “What about an automobile accident?