BLINDSIGHT By Robin Cook


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank the Dade County Medical Exam"
iner's Office for putting up with me for a week, and
particularly Dr. Charles Wetlie, whose patience talking
with someone trained in Ophthalmology and Surgery
instead of Forensic Pathology was extraordinary. I
would also like to thank Dr. Charles Hirsh, Chief Medi-
cal Examiner for the City of New York, for his hospital
ity, and Dr. Jackie Lee for her willingness to share a
glimpse into the more personal side of Forensic Pathol

Last, but not least, I would like to thank Jean Reeds.,
whose intuitive sense of psychology makes her support,
advice, and criticism inordinately valuable.







The cocaine shot into Duncan Andreust antecubital vein in a
concentrated bolus ad ter having been propelled by the plunger
of a syringe. Chemical alarms sounded immediately. A num-
ber of' the blood cells and plasma enzymes recognized the
cocaine molecules as being part of' u family of compounds
called alkaloids, which are manufactured by plants and in-
clude such physiologically active substances as caffeine, mor-
phine, strychnine, and nicotine.

In a desperate but vain attempt to protect the body from
this sudden invasion, plasma enzymes called cholestera.ses
attacked the cocaine, splitting some of the foreign molecules
into physiologically inert fragments. But the cocaine dose vvas
overwhelming. Within seconds the cocaine was streaking
through the right side of the heart, spreading through the
lungs, and then heading out into Duncan's body.

The pharmacologic effects of the drug began almost in-
stantly. Some of' the cocaine molecule.s~ tumbled into the c oro-
nary arteries and began constricting them and reducing blood




flow to the heart. At the same time the cocaine began to
diffuse out of the coronary vessels into the extracellularfluid,
bathing the hardworking heart muscle fibers. There the for-
eign compound began to interrupt the movement of sodium
ions through the heart ceils ' membranes, a critical part of the
heart muscle contractilefunction. The result was that cardiac
conductivity and contractility began to fall.

Simultaneously the cocaine molecules fanned out through-
out the brain, having coursed up into the skull through the
carotid arteries. Like knives through butter, the cocaine pene-
trated the blood brain barrier. Once inside the brain, the
cocaine bathed the defenseless brain cells, pooling in spaces
called synapses across which the nerve cells communicated.

Within the synapses the cocaine began to exert its most
perverse effects. It became an impersonator. By an ironic
twist of chemical fate, an outer portion of the cocaine mole-
cule was erroneously recognized by the nerve cells as a neuro-
transmitter, either epinephrine, norepinephrine, or dopamine.
Like skeleton keys, the cocaine molecules insinuated them-
selves into the molecular pumps responsible for absorbing
these neurotransmitters, locking them, and bringing the
pumps to a sudden halt.

The result was predictable. Since the reabsorption of the
neurotransmitters was blocked, the neurotransmitters'stimu-
lative effect was preserved. And the stimulation caused the
release of more neurotransmitters in an upward spiral of
self-fulfilling excitation. Nerve cells that would have normally
reverted to quiescence and serenity began to fire frantically.

The brain progressively brimmed with activity, particularly
the pleasure centers deeply embedded below the cerebral cor-
tex. Here dopamine was the principal neurotransmitter. With
a perverse predilection the cocaine blocked the dopamine
pumps, and the dopamine concentration soared. Circuits of
nerve cells divinely wired to ensure the survival of the species
rang with excitement andfilled adherent pathways running up
to the cortex with ecstatic messages.

   14

But the pleasure centers were not the only areas of l~un-
can's brain to he affected, just some of the first. Soon the
darker side of the cocaine invasion began to exert its effect.
Phylogenetically older, more caudal centers of the brain in-
volving functions like muscle coordination and the regulation
of breathing began to be affected. Even the thermoregulatory
area began to be stimulated, as well as the part of the brain
responsible for vomiting.

Thus all was not well. In the middle of the rush of pleusur-
able impulses, an ominous condition was in the making. A
dark cloud was Jorming on the horizon, auguring a horrible
neurological storm. The cocaine was about to reveal its true
deceitful self: a minion of death disguised in an aura of besguil-
ing pleasure.

   15

Prologue

Duncan Andrevvs'mind was racing like a runaway train.
Only a moment ago he'd been in a groggy, drugged stupor.
Within seconds his dizziness and lethargy had evaporated
like a drip of water falling onto a sizzling skillet. A rush of
exhilaration and energy consumed him, making him feel
suddenly powerful. It was as if he could do anything. In a
glow of new clarity, he understood he was infinitely
stronger and smarter than he'd ever realized. But just as he
was beginning to savor this cascade of euphoric thoughts
and this enlightened view of his abilities, he began to feel
overwhelmed by intense waves of pleasure he could c Fine
only as pure ecstasy. He would have shouted for joy it only
his mouth could form the proper words. But he couldn t
speak. Thoughts and feelings were reverberating in his mind
too rapidly to vocalize. Any fear or misgivings he had been
feeling only Opiates ago melted in this newfound rapture
and delight.

But like his torpor, the pleasure was short-lived. The

17

blissful smile that had formed on Duncan's face twisted into
a grimace of terror and panic. A voice called out that the
people he feared were returning. His eyes darted around the
room. He saw no one, yet the voice continued its message.
Quickly he looked over his shoulder into the kitchen. It was
empty. Turning his head, he looked down the hallway to-
ward the bedroom. No one was there, but the voice re-
mained. Now it was whispering a more dire prediction: he
was going to die.

"Who are you?" Duncan screamed. He put his hands
over his ears as if to block the sound out. "Where are you?
How did you get in here?" His eyes again raced searchingly
about the room.

The voice didn't answer. Duncan didn't know it was
coming from inside his head.

Duncan struggled to his feet. He was surprised to realize
he'd been on his living room floor. As he rose, his shoulder
bumped against the coffee table. The syringe that had so
recently been in his arm clattered to the floor. Duncan
stared at it with hatred and regret, then reached for it to
crush it between his fingers.

Duncan's hand stopped just short of the syringe. His eyes
opened wide with confusion mixed with a new fear. All at
once he could feel the unmistakable itch of hundreds of
insects crawling on the skin of his arms. Forgetting the
syringe, Duncan held out his hands with his palms up. He
could feel the bugs squirming all over his forearms, but no
matter how hard he searched he couldn't see them. His skin
appeared perfectly clear. Then the itch spread to his legs.

"Ahhhhhh!" Duncan screamed. He tried to wipe his
arms, guessing the insects were too small to be seen, but the
itching only got worse. With a shiver of profound fear it
dawned on him that the organisms had to be under his skin.
Somehow they had invaded his body. Perhaps they had
been in the syringe.

18

Using his fingernails, Duncan began to scratch his arms
in a frantic attempt to allow the insects to escape. They were
eating him from within. Desperately he scratched harder,
digging his nails into his skin until he drew blood. The pain
was intense, but the itching of the insects was worse.

Despite the terror of the insects, Duncan stopped his
scratching as he became aware of a new symptom. Holding
up his bloodied hand, he noticed that he was shaking.
Looking down at himself he saw that his whole body was
shaking, and the tremors were getting worse. For a brief
instant he thought about calling 911 for help. But as the
thought crossed his mind, he noticed something else. He
was warm. No, he was hot!

"My God!" Duncan managed when he realized that
sweat was pouring from his face. With a trembling hand he
felt his forehead: he was burning up! He tried to unbutton
his shirt but his tremulous hands were incapable. Impatient
and desperate, he ripped the shirt open and off. Buttons
flew in all directions. He did the same with his pants, throw-
ing them to the floor. But it was to no avail; clad only in his
undershorts, he still felt suffocatingly hot. Then, without a
moment's warning, he coughed, choked, and vomited in a
forceful stream, spattering the wall below his signed Dali
lithograph.

Duncan staggered into his bathroom. Through sheer
force of will he got his shaking body into the shower and
turned on the cold tap full force. Gasping for breath, he
stood beneath the cascade of frigid water.

Duncan's relief was brief. Involuntarily a pitiful cry es,-
caped from his lips, and his breathing became labored as a
white-hot pain stabbed into his left chest and ripped down
the inside of his left arm. Intuitively Duncan knew he was
having a heart attack.

Duncan clutched his chest with his right hand. Blood
from his abraded arms mixed with water from the shower

   19

and swirled down the drain. Half falling and half stagger-
ing, Duncan stumbled from the bathroom and headed for
the door of his apartment. Never mind that he was near
naked, he needed air. His broiling brain was about to ex-
plode. Using his final reserve of strength, he gripped the
knob to his front door and yanked it open.

"Duncan!" Sara Wetherbee cried. She couldn't have been
more startled. Her hand was poised inches from Duncan's
door. She had been about to knock when Duncan yanked
it open and confronted her. He was clad in nothing but
soggy Jockey shorts. "My God!" cried Sara. "What's hap-
pened to you?"

Duncan did not recognize his lover of two and a half
years. What he needed was air. The crushing pain in his
chest had spread throughout his lungs. It felt as if he were
being stabbed over and over again. Blindly he lurched for-
ward, reaching out to sweep Sara from his path.

"Duncan!" Sara cried again as she took in his near
nakedness, the bleeding scratches on his arms, his wild,
dilated eyes, and the grimace of pain on his face. Refusing
to be thrust aside, she grabbed his shoulders and restrained
him. "What's the matter? Where are you going?"

Duncan hesitated. For a brief moment Sara's voice pene-
trated his dementia. His mouth opened as if he were about
to speak. But no words came. Instead he uttered a pitiful
whine that ended in a gasp as his tremors coalesced into
spasmodic jerks and his eyes disappeared up inside his head.
Mercifully unconscious, Duncan collapsed into Sara's
arms.

At first Sara struggled vainly to hold Duncan upright.
But she was unable to support him, especially since Dun-
can's jerks became progressively more violent. As gently as
possible Sara let Duncan's writhing body fall across the
threshold, half into the hall. Almost the moment he touched
the floor, Duncan's back arched up and his jerks rapidly

   20

  coalesced into the rhythmical throes of a grand mal seizure.
"Help!?' Sara screamed as she glanced up and down the
hall. As she might have expected, no one appeared. Aside
from the noise Duncan was making, all she could hear was
the percussive thump of a nearby stereo.

Desperate for help, Sara managed to step over Duncan's
convulsing and incontinent body. A glimpse of his bloody
and foaming mouth appalled and frightened her. She des-
perately wanted to help, but she didn't know what to do
save for calling an ambulance. With a trembling finger she
punched 911 on Duncan's living room phone. As she impa-
tiently waited for the connection to go through, she could
hear Duncan's head repeatedly thump against the hard-
wood floor. All she could do was wince with each sickening
sound and pray that help would be there soon.

Pulling her hands away from her face, Sara checked her
watch. It was almost three o'clock in the morning. She'd
been sitting on the same vinyl seat in the waiting room of
the Manhattan General Hospital for over three hours.

For the umpteenth time she scanned the crowded room
that smelled of cigarette smoke, sweat, alcohol, and wet
wool. There was a large sign directly opposite her that read:
NO SMOKING, but the notice was roundly ignored.

The injured mixed with those who'd accompanied them.
There were wailing infants and toddlers, battered drunks'
others clutching a towel to a cut finger or slashed chin. Most
stared blankly ahead, inured to the endless wait. Some were
obviously sick, others even in pain. One rather well-dressed
man had his arm around his equally well-dressed female
companion. Only minutes before he'd been arguing heat-
edly with a rather intimidatingly large triage nurse who
hadn't been ruffled by his threats to call his lawyer ii his
companion were not seen immediately. Resigned at last, he
too stared vacantly into the middle distance.

   21

Closing her eyes again, Sara could still feel her pulse
hammering at her temples. The vivid image of Duncan
convulsing on the threshold of his apartment haunted her.
Whatever happened tonight, she knew she would never
banish the vision from her mind.

After having called the ambulance and given Duncan's
address, Sara had returned to Duncan's side. Somewhere in
the back of her mind she'd remembered that something
should be put in a convulsing person's mouth to keep him
from biting his tongue. But try as she might, she'd not been
able to pry apart Duncan's clenched teeth.

Just before the EMTs arrived, Duncan finally stopped
convulsing. At first Sara had been relieved, but then she
noticed with renewed alarm that he was not breathing.
Wiping the foam and a bit of blood from his mouth, she
tried to give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but she
found herself fighting nausea. By then some of Duncan's
hallway neighbors had appeared. To Sara's relief, one man
said he'd been a corpsman in the navy, and he and a com-
panion graciously took over the CPR until the EMTs ar-
rived.

Sara could not imagine what had happened to Duncan.
Only an hour earlier he'd called her and had asked her to
come over. She thought he'd sounded a little tense and
strange, but even so she'd been totally unprepared for his
state once she got there. She shuddered again as she saw
him standing before her in the doorway with his bloodied
hands and arms and his dilated, wild eyes. It was as if he'd
gone insane.

Sara's last glimpse of Duncan came after they'd arrived
at the Manhattan General. The EMTs had allowed her to
ride in the ambulance. Throughout the whole hair-raising
trip, they'd maintained the CPR. The last she'd seen of
Duncan was when he'd been rolled through a pair of white
swinging doors, disappearing into the inner recesses of the

   22

emergency unit. Sara could still see the EMT kneeling on
top of the gurney and continuing the chest compressions as
the doors swung closed.

"Sara Wetherbee?" a voice asked, rousing Sara from her
reverie.

"Yes?" Sara said as she looked up.

A young doctor sporting a heavy five o'clock shadow and
a white coat slightly splattered with blood had materialized
in front of her.

"I'm Dr. Murray," he said. "Would you mind coming
with me. I'd like to talk with you for a moment."

"Of course," Sara said nervously. She got to her feet and
pulled her purse high on her shoulder. She hurried after Dr.
Murray, who'd turned on his heels almost before she'd had
a chance to respond. The same white doors that had swal-
lowed Duncan three hours before closed behind her. Dr.
Murray had stopped just inside and turned to face her. She
anxiously looked into the man's eyes. He was exhausted.
She wanted to see some glimmer of hope, but there wasn't
any.

"I understand you are Mr. Andrews' girlfriend," Dr.
Murray said. Even his voice sounded tired.

Sara nodded.

"Normally we talk to the family first," Dr. Murray said.
"But I know you came in with the patient and have been
waiting. I'm sorry it has taken so long to get back to you,
but several gunshot victims came in right after Mr. An-
drews."
"I understand," Sara said. "How is Duncan?" She had to
ask, even though she wasn't sure she wanted to know.
"Not so good," Dr. Murray said. "You can be sure our
EMTs tried everything. But I'm afraid Duncan passed away
anyway. Unfortunately, he was DOA. Dead on arrival. I'm
sorry."

Sara stared into Dr. Murray's eyes. She wanted to see a

   23

glint of the same sorrow that was welling up inside of her.
But all she saw was fatigue. His apparent lack of feeling
helped her maintain her own composure.

"What happened?" she asked almost in a whisper.

"We're ninety percent sure that the immediate cause was
a massive myocardial infarction, or heart attack," Dr. Mur-
ray said, obviously more comfortable with his medical jar-
gon. "But the proximate cause appears to be drug toxicity
or overdose. We don't know yet what his blood level was.
That takes a bit more time."

"Drugs?" Sara said with disbelief. "What kind of drug?"

"Cocaine," said Dr. Murray. "The EMTs even brought
in the needle he'd used."

"I never knew Duncan used cocaine," Sara said. "He said
he didn't use drugs."

"People always lie about sex and drugs," Dr. Murray
said. "And with cocaine sometimes it only takes once. Peo-
ple don't realize how deadly the stuff can be. Its popularity
has lulled people into a false sense of security. Be that as it
may, we do have to get in touch with the family. Would you
know the telephone number?"

Stunned by Duncan's death and the revelation about his
apparent cocaine use, Sara recited the Andrews' phone
number in a dazed monotone. Thinking about drugs al-
lowed her to avoid thinking about death. She wondered
how long Duncan had been on cocaine. It was all so hard
to understand. She'd thought she'd known him so well.

   24

1

NOVEMBER, 6:45 A.M MONDAY
   NEW YORK CITY

The alarm of the old Westclox windup never failed to yank
Laurie Montgomery from the depths of blessed sleep. Even
though she'd had the clock since the first year of college,
she'd never become accustomed to its fearful clatter. It
always woke her up with a start, and she'd invariably lunge
for the cursed contraption as if her life depended on her
getting the alarm shut off as soon as humanly possible.

This rainy November morning proved no exception. As
she replaced the clock on the windowsill, she could feel her
heart thumping. It was the squirt of adrenaline which made
the daily episode so effective. Even if she could have gone
back to bed, she'd never have gotten back to sleep. And it
was the same for Tom, her one-and-a-half-year-old half
wild tawny tabby who, at the sound of the alarm, had fled
into the depths of her closet.

   25

Resigned to the start of another day, Laurie stood up,
wiggled her toes into her sheepskin slippers, and turned on
the TV to the local morning news.

Her apartment was a small, one-bedroom affair on Nine-
teenth Street between First and Second avenues in a six-
story tenement. Her rooms were on the fifth floor in the
rear. Her two windows faced out onto a warren of over-
grown backyards.

In her tiny kitchen she turned on her coffee machine. The
night before, she'd prepared it with a packet of coffee and
the right amount of water. With the coffee started she pad-
ded into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror.

"Ugh!" she said as she turned her face from side to side,
viewing the damage of another night with not enough sleep.
Her eyes were puffy and red. Laurie was not a morning
person. She was a confirmed night owl and frequently read
until all hours. She loved to read, whether the book was a
ponderous pathology text or a popular bestseller. When it
came to fiction, her interests were catholic. Her shelves were
crammed with everything from thrillers to romantic sagas,
to history, general science, and even psychology. The night
before it had been a murder mystery, and she'd read until
she'd finished the book. When she'd turned out the light,
she'd not had the courage to look at the time. As usual, in
the morning she vowed never to stay up so late again.

In the shower Laurie's mind began to clear enough to
start going over the problems that she would have to ad-
dress that day. She was currently in her fifth month as an
associate medical examiner at the Office of the Chief Medi-
cal Examiner for the City of New York. The preceding
weekend, Laurie had been on call, which meant that she
worked both Saturday and Sunday. She'd performed six
autopsies: three one day and three the next. A number of
these cases required additional follow-up before they could
be signed out, and she began making a mental list of what
she had to do.

   26

Stepping out of the shower, Laurie dried herself briskly.
One thing she was thankful about was that today would be
a "paper day" for her, meaning that she would not be
assigned any additional autopsies. Instead she would have
the time to do the necessary paperwork on the autopsies
that she'd already clone. She was currently waiting for rnate-
rial on about twenty cases from either the lab, the medical
examiner investigators, local hospitals or local doctors, or
the police. It was this avalanche of paperwork that con-
stantly threatened to overwhelm her.

Back in the kitchen Laurie prepared her coffee. Then,
carrying her mug, she retreated to the bathroom to put on
makeup and blow-dry her hair. Her hair always took the
longest. It was thick and long and of an auburn color with
red highlights she liked to burnish with henna once a
month. Laurie was proud of her hair. She thought it was her
best feature. Her mother was always encouraging her to cut
it, but Laurie liked to keep it beyond shoulder length and
wear it in a braid or piled on top of her head. As for
makeup, Laurie always subscribed to the theory that "less
is more." A bit of eyeliner t o line her blue-green eyes, it few
strokes with an eyebrow pencil to define her light, reddish
blond eyebrows, and a brief application of mascara and she
was nearly done. A dab of coral blush and lipstick com-
pleted the routine. Satisfied, she took her mug and retreated
to the bedroom.

By then, Good Morning America was on. She listened
with half an ear as she put on the clothes she had laid out
the night before. Forensic Pathology was still largely a
man's world, but that only made Laurie want to emphasize
her femininity with her dress. She slipped into a green skirt
and matching turtleneck. Dyeing herself in the mirror, she
was pleased. She'd not worn this particular outfit before.
Somehow it made her look taller than her actual height of
five foot five, and even slimmer than her hundred and fif-
teen pounds.

   27

With her coffee drunk, a yogurt eaten, and dried cat food
poured into Tom's bowl, Laurie struggled into her trench
coat. She then grabbed her purse, her lunch, which she had
also prepared the night before, and her briefcase, and
stepped out of her apartment. It took her a moment to
secure the collection of locks on her door, a legacy of the
apartment's previous tenant. Turning to the elevator, Lau-
rie pushed the down button.

As if on cue, the moment the aged elevator began its
whining ascent, Laurie heard the click of Debra Engler's
locks. Turning her head, Laurie watched as the door to the
front apartment opened a crack and its safety chain was
pulled taut. Debra's bloodshot eye peered out at her. Above
the eye was a tousle of gray frizzy hair.

Laurie aggressively stared back at the intruding eye. It
was as if Debra hovered behind her door for any sound in
the hallway. The repetitive intrusion grated on Laurie's
nerves. It seemed like a violation of her privacy despite the
fact that the hallway was a common area.

"Better take an umbrella," Debra said in her throaty,
smoker's voice.

The fact that Debra was right only fanned Laurie's irrita-
tion. She had indeed forgotten her umbrella. Without giv-
ing Debra any sense of acknowledgment lest her irritating
watchfulness be encouraged, Laurie turned back to her
door and went through the complicated sequence of undo-
ing the locks. Five minutes later as she stepped into the
elevator, she saw that Debra's bloodshot eye was still
watching intently.

As the elevator slowly descended, Laurie's irritation
faded. Her thoughts turned to the case that had bothered
her the most over the weekend: the twelve-year-old boy hit
in the chest with a softball.

"Life's not fair," Laurie muttered under her breath as she
thought about the boy's untimely death. Children's deaths

28

were so hard to comprehend. Somehow she'd thought med-
ical school would inure her to such senselessness, but it
hadn't. Neither had a pathology residency. And now that
she was in forensics, these deaths were even harder to take.
And there were so many of them! Up until the accident, the
softball victim had been a healthy child, brimming with
health and vitality. She could still see his little body on the
autopsy table; a picture of health, ostensibly asleep. Yet
Laurie had had to pick up the scalpel and gut him like a fish.

Laurie swallowed hard as the elevator came to a bumping
stop. Cases like this little boy made her question her career
choice. She wondered if she shouldn't have gone into pedi-
atrics, where she could have dealt with living children. The
field of medicine she'd chosen could be grim.

In spite of herself, Laurie was grateful for Debra's admo-
nition once she saw what kind of day it was. The wind was
blowing in strong gusts and the promised rain had already
started. The view of her street that particular day made her
question her choice of location as well as her career. The
garbage-strewn street was not a pretty sight. Maybe she
should have gone to a newer, cleaner city like Atlanta, or a
city of perpetual summer like Miami. Laurie opened her
umbrella and leaned into the wind as she trudged toward
First Avenue.

As she walked she thought of one of the ironies of her
career choice. She'd chosen pathology for a number of
reasons. For one thing she thought that predictable hours
would make it easier to combine medicine with having a
family. But the problem was, she didn't have a family,
unless she considered her parents, but they didn't really
count. In fact she didn't even have a meaningful relation-
ship. Laurie had never thought that by age thirty-two she
wouldn't have children of her own, much less that she'd still
be single.
A short cab ride with a driver whose nationality she could

29

not even guess brought her to the corner of First and Thirti-
eth. She'd been shocked to get the cab. Under normal cir-
cumstances a combination of rain and rush hour meant no
taxis. This morning, however, someone had been getting
out of a cab just as she reached First Avenue. Yet even if
she'd not been able to get one, it wouldn't have been a
disaster. That was one of the benefits of living just eleven
blocks away from work. Many a day she walked in both
directions.

After paying her fare, Laurie started up the front steps of
the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner for the City of
New York. The six-story building was overshadowed by the
rest of the New York University Medical Center and the
Bellevue Hospital complex. Its facade constructed of
blue-glazed brick with aluminum windows and door case-
ments of an unattractive modern design.

Normally Laurie paid no attention to the building, but
on this particular rainy November Monday it wasn't spared
her critical review any more than her career or her street.
The place was depressing. She had to admit that. She was
shaking her head, wondering if an architect could have been
genuinely pleased by his handiwork, when she noticed that
the foyer was packed. The front door was propped open
despite the morning chill, and cigarette smoke could be seen
languidly issuing forth.

Curious, Laurie pushed into the crowd, making her way
with some difficulty toward the ID room. Marlene Wilson,
the usual receptionist, was obviously overwhelmed as at
least a dozen people pressed against her desk as they plied
her with questions. The media had invaded, complete with
cameras, tape recorders, TV camcorders, and flashing
lights. Clearly something out of the ordinary had happened.

After a brief pantomime to get Marlene's attention, Lau-
rie managed to get herself buzzed into the inner area. She
experienced a mild sense of relief when the closing door

 30

extinguished the babble of voices and the acrid cigarette
smoke.

Pausing to glance into the drab room where family mem-
bers were taken to identify the deceased, Laurie was mildly
surprised to find it empty. With all the commotion in the
outer area, she thought she'd see people in the ID room.
Shrugging her shoulders, she proceeded into the ID office.

The first person Laurie confronted was Vinnie Amen-
dola, one of the mortuary techs. Oblivious to the pan-
demonium in the reception area, Vinnie was drinking coffee
from a Styrofoam cup and studying the sports pages of the
New York Post. His feet were propped up on the edge ol one
of the gray metal desks. As usual before eight in the morn-
ing, Vinnie was the only person in the room. It was his job
to make the coffee for the coffee pool. A large, commercial-
style coffeemaker was in the ID office, a room which served
a number of functions, including an informal morning con-
gregation area.

"What on earth is going on?" Laurie asked as she picked
up the day's autopsy schedule. Even though she wasn t
scheduled for any autopsies, she was always curious to see
what cases had come in.

Vinnie lowered his paper. "Trouble," he said.

"What kind of trouble?" Laurie asked. Through the
doorway leading to the communications room, she could
see that the two day-shift secretaries were busy on their
phones. The panels in front of them were blinking with
waiting calls. Laurie poured herself a cup of coffee.

"Another ipreppy murders case," Vinnie said. "A teenage
girl apparently strangled by her boyfriend. Sex and drugs.
You know, rich kids. Happened over near the Tavern On
The Green. With all the excitement that first case caused a

couple of years ago, the media has been here from the
moment the body was brought in."

Laurie clucked her tongue. "How awful for everyone.

 31


life lost and a life ruined.'? She added sugar and a touch of
cream to her coffee. "Who's handling it?"

"Dr. Plodgett," Vinnie said. "He was called by the tour
doctor and he had to go out to the scene. It was around
three in the morning."

Laurie sighed. "Oh boy," she muttered. She felt sorry for
Paul. Handling such a case would most likely be stressful
for him because he was relatively inexperienced like herself.
He'd been an associate medical examiner for just over a
year. Laurie had been there for only four and a half months.
"Where's Paul now? Up in his office?"

"Nope," Vinnie said. "He's in doing the autopsy."

"Already?" Laurie questioned. "Why the rush?"

"Beats me," Vinnie said. "But the guys going off the
graveyard shift told me that gingham came in around six.
Paul must have called him."

"This case gets more intriguing by the minute," Laurie
said. Dr. Harold gingham, age fifty-eight, was the Chief
Medical Examiner of New York City, a position that made
him a powerful figure in the forensic world. "I think I'll
duck into the pit and see what's happening."

"I'd be careful if I were you," Vinnie said, struggling to
fold his paper. "I was thinking of going in there myself, but
the word is that gingham is in a foul mood. Not that that's
so out of the ordinary."

Laurie nodded to Vinnie as she left the room. To avoid
the mass of reporters in the reception area, she took the
long route to the elevators, walking through Communica-
tions. The secretaries were too busy to say hello. Laurie
waved to one of the two police detectives assigned to the
medical examiner's office who was sitting in his cubbyhole
office off the communications room. He, too, was on the
phone.

After going through another doorway, Laurie glanced
into each of the forensic medical investigators' offices to say

 32

good morning, but no one was in yet. Reaching the main
elevators, she pushed the up button and as usual had to wait
while the aged machine slowly responded. Looking down
the hall to her right, she could see the mass of reporters
seething in the reception area. Laurie felt sorry for poor
Marlene Wilson.

As she rode up to her office on the fifth floor, Laurie
thought about the meaning of gingham's early presence not
only at the office but also in the autopsy room. Both occur-
rences were rare and they fanned her curiosity.

Since her office-mate, Dr. Riva Mehta, was not yet in,
Laurie spent only minutes in her office. She locked her
briefcase, purse, and lunch in her file cabinet, then changed
into green scrub clothes. Since she wasn't going to do an
autopsy herself; she didn't bother putting on her usual sec-
ond layer of protective, impervious clothing.

Back in the elevator Laurie descended to the basement
level, where the morgue was located. This was not a base-
ment in the true sense because it was actually the street level
from the building's Thirtieth Street side. A loading dock
from Thirtieth Street was the route bodies arrived and left
the morgue.

In the locker room, which she rarely used as such, prefer-
ring to change in her office, Laurie got shoe covers, apron,
mask, and hood. Thus dressed as if she were about to
perform surgery, she pushed through the door into the
autopsy room.

The "pit," as it was lovingly called, was a medium-sized

room about fifty feet long and thirty feet wide. At one time
it had been considered state of the art, but no longer. Like
so many other city agencies, its much-needed upkeep and
modernization had suffered from lack of funds. The eight
stainless steel tables were old and stained from countless
postmortems. Old-fashioned spring-loaded scales hung
over each table. A series of sinks, countertops, X-ray view

   33

boxes, ancient glass-fronted cabinets, and exposed piping
lined the walls. There were no windows.

Only one table was in use: the second from the end, to
Laurie's right. As the door closed behind Laurie all three
gowned, masked, and hooded doctors grouped around the
table raised their heads to stare at her for a moment before
returning to their grisly task. Stretched out on the table was
the ivory-colored, nude body of a teenage girl. She was
illuminated by a single bank of blue-white fluorescent bulbs
directly overhead. The lurid scene was made worse by the
sucking noise of water swirling down a drain at the foot of
the table.

Laurie felt a strong intuition she should turn around and
leave, but she fought the feeling. Instead she advanced on
the group. Knowing the people as well as she did, she
recognized each despite their coverings, which included
goggles as well as masks. gingham was on the opposite side
of the table, facing Laurie. He was a stocky man of short
stature with thick features and a bulbous nose.

"Goddamn it, Paul!" gingham snapped. "Is this the first
time you've done a neck dissection? I've got a news confer-
ence scheduled and you're mucking around like a first-year
medical student. Give me that scalpel!" gingham snatched
the instrument from Paul's hand, then bent over the body.
A ray of light glinted off the stainless steel cutting edge.

Laurie stepped up to the table. She was to Paul's right.
Sensing her presence, he turned his head, and for an instant
their eyes met. Laurie could tell he was already distraught.
She tried to project some support with her gaze, but Paul
averted his head. Laurie glanced at the morgue tech who
avoided looking her way. The atmosphere was explosive.

Lowering her eyes, Laurie watched what gingham was
doing. The patient's neck had been opened with a some-
what outdated incision that ran from the point of the chin
to the top of the breastbone. The skin had been flayed and

   34

spread to the side like opening a high-necked blouse. Bing-
ham was in the process of freeing the muscles from around
the thyroid cartilage and the hyoid bone. Laurie could see
evidence of premortal trauma with hemorrhage into the
tissues.

"What I still don't understand," gingham snapped with-
out looking up from his labors, "is why you didn't bag the
hands at the scene? Could you please tell me that?"

Laurie's eyes again met Paul's. She knew instantly that he
had no excuse. She wished she could have helped him, but
she didn't see how she could. Sharing her colleague's dis-
comfort, Laurie stepped away from the table. Despite hav-
ing made the effort to get dressed to observe, Laurie left the
autopsy room. There was just too much tension to make it
worth staying. She didn't want to make the situation any
worse for Paul by giving gingham more of an audience.

Returning back upstairs after peeling off her outer layer
of protective clothing, Laurie sat down at her desk and got
to work. The first order of business was to complete what
she could on the three autopsies that she'd done on Sunday.
The first of the cases had been the twelve-year-old boy. The
second case was clearly a heroin overdose, but she reviewed
the facts. Drug paraphernalia had been found with the
victim. The victim had been a known heroin addict. At
autopsy his arms had showed multiple sites of intravenous
injection, old and new. On his right upper arm he'd had a
tattoo: "Born to Lose." Internally he'd shown the usual
signs of asphyxial death with a frothy pulmonary edema.
Despite the fact that laboratory and microscopic studies
were still pending, Laurie felt comfortable with her conclu-
sion that the cause of death was drug overdose and the
manner of death was accidental.

The third case was far from clear. A twenty-four-year-old

woman flight attendant had been discovered at home in a
bathrobe, having apparently collapsed in the hallway out-

   35

side her bathroom. She'd been found by her roommate.
She'd been healthy and had returned home from a trip to
Los Angeles the previous day. She was not known to be a
drug user.

Laurie had done the autopsy but had found nothing. All
her findings were completely normal. Concerned about the
case, Laurie had one of the medical investigators locate the
woman's gynecologist. Laurie had spoken with the man
and had been assured the woman had been entirely healthy.
He'd seen her last only months before.

Having had a similar case recently, Laurie had instructed
the medical investigator to go to the woman's apartment
and bring back any personal electrical appliances found in
the woman's bathroom. Sitting on Laurie's desk was a card-
board box with a note from the medical investigator, saying
that the enclosed was all she could find.

Using her thumbnail, Laurie broke through the tape seal-
ing the box, lifted the flaps, and peered inside. The box
contained a blow dryer and an old metal curling iron. Lau-
rie lifted both devices from the box and laid them on her
desk. From the lower right-hand drawer of the desk, Laurie
lifted out an electrical testing device called a voltohmmeter.

Examining the blow dryer first, Laurie tested the electri-
cal resistance between the prongs of the plug and the dryer
itself. In both instances, the reading was infinite ohms or no
current flow. Thinking that perhaps she was again on the
wrong track, she tested the hair curler. To her surprise, the
result was positive. Between one of the prongs and the
casing of the curler, the voltohmmeter registered zero ohms,
meaning free current flow.

Taking some basic tools from her desk, including a
screwdriver and a pair of pliers, Laurie opened the hair
curler and immediately found the frayed wire that was mak-
ing contact with the device's metal casing. It was now clear
to Laurie that the poor flight attendant was the victim of

   36

low voltage electrocution. As was often the case, the victim
had been shocked but had had time to put the offending
device away and walk from the room before succumbing to
a fatal cardiac arrhythmia. The cause of death was electro-
cution and the manner of death accidental.

With the hair curler "autopsied" on her desk, Laurie got
out her camera and arranged the pieces to show the aber-
rant connection. Then she stood up to shoot directly down.
As she peered through the viewfinder, Laurie felt pleased
about the case. She couldn't suppress a modest smile,
knowing how different her work was from what people
surmised. She'd not only solved the mystery of the poor
woman's untimely death, but had potentially saved some-
one else from the same fate as well.

Before Laurie could take the photo of the curler, her
phone rang. Because of the degree of her concentration, the
ringing startled her. With thinly veiled irritation, she an-
swered. It was the operator asking Laurie if she would mind
taking a call from a doctor phoning from the Manhattan
General Hospital. She added that he'd requested to talk
with the chief.

"Then why put him through to me?" Laurie demanded.

"The chief is tied up in the autopsy room, and I can't find
Dr. Washington. Someone said he's out talking with the
reporters. So I just started ringing the other doctors' num-
bers. You were the first to answer."

"Put him on," Laurie said with resignation. She sank
back into her desk chair. She was quite confident it would
be a short conversation. If someone wanted to talk with the
chief, they certainly would not be satisfied talking to the
lowest person in the hierarchy.

After the call had been put through, Laurie introduced
herself. She emphasized that she was one of the associate
medical examiners and not the chief.

"I'm Dr. Murray," the caller said. "I'm a senior medical

   37

side her bathroom. She'd been found by her roommate. She'd
been healthy and had returned home from a trip to Los
Angeles the previous day. She was not known to be a drug
user.

Laurie had done the autopsy but had found nothing. All her
findings were completely normal. Concerned about the case,
Laurie had one of the medical investigators locate the woman's
gynecologist. Laurie had spoken with the man and had been
assured the woman had been entirely healthy. He'd seen her
last only months before.

Having had a similar case recently, Laurie had instructed
the medical investigator to go to the woman's apartment and
bring back any personal electrical appliances found in the
woman's bathroom. Sitting on Laurie's desk was a cardboard
box with a note from the medical investigator, saying that the
enclosed was all she could find.

Using her thumbnail, Laurie broke through the tape sealing
the box, lifted the flaps, and peered inside. The box contained
a blow dryer and an old metal curling iron. Laurie lifted both
devices from the box and laid them on her desk. From the
lower right-hand drawer of the desk, Laurie lifted out an
electrical testing device called a voltohmmeter.

Examining the blow dryer first, Laurie tested the electrical
resistance between the prongs of the plug and the dryer itself.
In both instances, the reading was infinite ohms or no current
flow. Thinking that perhaps she was again on the wrong track,
she tested the hair curler. To her surprise, the result was
positive. Between one of the prongs and the casing of the
curler, the voltohmmeter registered zero ohms, meaning free
current flow.

Taking some basic tools from her desk, including a
screwdriver and a pair of pliers, Laurie opened the hair curler
and immediately found the frayed wire that was making
contact with the device's metal casing. It was now clear to
Laurie that the poor flight attendant was the victim of

   36

low voltage electrocution. As was often the case, the victim
had been shocked but had had time to put the offending device
away and walk from the room before succumbing to a fatal
cardiac arrhythmia. The cause of death was electrocution and
the mannerof death accidental.
7
With the hair curler "autopsied" on her desk, Laurie got out
her camera and arranged the pieces to show the aberrant
connection. Then she stood up to shoot directly down. As she
peered through the viewfinder, Laurie felt pleased about the
case. She couldn't suppress a modest smile, knowing how
different her work was from what people surmised. She'd not
only solved the mystery of the poor woman's untimely death,
but had potentially saved someone else from the same fate as
well.

Before Laurie could take the photo of the curler, her phone
rang. Because of the degree of her concentration, the ringing
startled her. With thinly veiled irritation, she answered. It was
the operator asking Laurie if she would mind taking a call from
a doctor phoning from the Manhattan General Hospital. She
added that he'd requested to talk with the chief.

"Then why put him through to me?" Laurie demanded.

"The chief is tied up in the autopsy room, and I can't find
Dr. Washington. Someone said he's out talking with the
reporters. So I just started ringing the other doctors' numbers.
You were the first to answer."

"Put him on," Laurie said with resignation. She sank back
into her desk chair. She was quite confident it would be a short
conversation. If someone wanted to talk with the chief, they
certainly would not be satisfied talking to the lowest person in
the hierarchy.

After the call had been put through, Laurie introduced

herself. She emphasized that she was one of the associate
medical examiners and not the chief.

"I'm Dr. Murray," the caller said. "I'm a senior medical

   37

resident. I need to talk to someone about a drug overdose/
toxicity DOA that came in this morning."

"What is it that you'd like to know?" Laurie asked. Drug
deaths were a daily phenomenon at the M.E. office. Her
attention partially switched back to the hair curler. She had
a better idea for the photograph.

"The patient's name was Duncan Andrews," Dr. Murray
said. "He was a thirty-five-year-old Caucasian male. He
arrived with no cardiac activity, no spontaneous respira-
tion, and with a core body temperature that we recorded at
one hundred eight degrees."

"Uh huh," Laurie said equably. Holding the phone in the
crook of her neck, she rearranged the pieces of the hair
curler.

"There was massive evidence of seizure activity," Dr.
Murray said. "So we ran an EEG. It was flat. The lab
reported a serum cocaine level of 20 micrograms per millili-
ter."

"Wow!" Laurie said with a short laugh of amazement.
Dr. Murray had caught her attention. "That's one hell of a
high level. What was the route of administration, oral? Was
he one of those 'mules' who try to smuggle the stuff by
swallowing condoms filled with cocaine?"

"Hardly," Dr. Murray said with a short laugh of his own.
"This guy was some kind of Wall Street whiz kid. No, it
wasn't oral. It was IV."

Laurie swallowed as she struggled to keep old, unwanted
memories submerged. Her throat had suddenly gone dry.
"Was heroin involved as well?" she asked. In the sixties a
mixture of heroin and cocaine called "speedball" had been
popular.

"No heroin," Dr. Murray said. "Only cocaine, but obvi-
ously a walloping dose. If his temperature was one hundred
eight when we took it, God only knows how high it had
been."

   38

"Well, it sounds pretty straightforward," Laurie said.
"What's the question? If you're wondering if it's a medical
examiner case, I can tell you that it is."

"No, we know it is an M.E. case," Dr. Murray said.
"That's not the problem. It's more complicated than that.
The fellow was found by his girlfriend who came in with
him. But then his family came in as well. And I have to tell
you, his family is connected, if you know what I mean.
Anyway, the nurses found that Mr. Duncan Andrews had
an organ-donor card in his wallet, and they called the
organ-donor coordinator. Without knowing that the case
was an M.E. case, the organ-donor coordinator asked the
family if they would permit harvesting the eyes since that
was the only tissue besides bone that might still be usable.
You understand that we don't pay much attention to
organ-donor cards unless the family agrees. But this family
agreed. They told us that they definitely wanted to respect
the decedent's wishes. Personally, I think it has something
to do with their wanting to believe their son died of natural
causes. But, be that as it may, we wanted to check with you
people as a matter of policy before we did anything."

"The family truly agreed?" Laurie asked.

"I'm telling you, they were emphatic," Dr. Murray said.
"According to the girlfriend, she and the decedent had
talked about the problem of the lack of transplant organs
on several occasions and had gone together to the Manhat-
tan Organ Repository to sign up in response to the Reposi-
tory's TV appeal last year."

"Mr. Duncan Andrews must have given himself some
dose of cocaine," Laurie said. "Was there any suicide

note?"

"No suicide note," Dr. Murray said. "Nor was the man
depressed, at least according to the girlfriend."

"This sounds like a rather unique circumstance," Laurie
said. "I personally don't think honoring the family's re-

   39

quest would affect the autopsy. But I'm not authorized to
make such a policy decision. What I can do is find out for
you from the powers-that-be and call you back immedi-
ately."

"I'd appreciate it," Dr. Murray said. "If we're going to
do something, we have to do it sooner rather than later."

Laurie hung up the phone, and with a degree of reluc-
tance, left her disassembled hair curler, and returned to the
morgue. Without donning the usual layers, she stuck her
head through the door. Immediately she could see that
gingham had departed.

"The chief left you to carry on by yourself?" Laurie called
out to Paul.

Paul turned to face her. "Thank God for small favors,"
Paul said, his voice slightly muffled by his mask. "Luckily
he had to get upstairs to the news conference he's scheduled.
I suppose he thinks I'm capable of sewing up the body."

"Come on, Paul," Laurie said by way of encouragement.
"Remember gingham treats everyone like an incompetent
at the autopsy table."

"I'll try to keep that in mind," Paul said without convic-
tion.

Laurie let the door close. She used the stairs at the far end
of the morgue to go up to the first floor. There was no sense
waiting for the elevator for a single flight.

The first-floor corridor was crowded with media people,
and it was all Laurie could do to get to the double doors
leading into the conference room. Over the heads of the
reporters she could see gingham's shiny bald pate reflecting
the harsh lighting set up for the TV cameras. He was taking
questions from the floor and perspiring copiously. Laurie
knew instantly that there was no way she'd be able to dis-
cuss Manhattan General's problem with him.

Standing on her toes, Laurie scanned the crowded room
for Dr. Calvin Washington, the Deputy Chief Medical Ex-

   40

aminer.As a six-foot-seven, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound
black man, he was usually easy to pick out of a crowd.
Laurie finally spotted him standing near the door that led
from the conference room into the chief's office.

By going out into the main reception area, then cutting
through the chief's office, Laurie was able to approach Cal-
vin from behind. When she reached him, she hesitated. Dr.
Washington had a stormy temperament. Between his phy-
sique and his moods, he intimidated most people, including
Laurie.

Marshaling her courage, Laurie tapped him on the arm.
Immediately he spun around. His dark eyes swept over
Laurie. He was not happy, that much was apparent.

"What is it?" he asked in a forced whisper.

"Could I speak to you for a moment?" Laurie asked.
"There's a question of policy regarding a case over at Man-
hattan General."

After a glance back at his perspiring boss, Calvin nodded.
He stepped beyond Laurie and closed the door to the con-
ference room. He shook his head. "This 'preppy murder II'
is going sour already. God, I hate the media. They're not
after the 'truth,' whatever that is. They're nothing but a
bunch of gossip hounds, and poor Harold is trying to justify
why the hands weren't bagged at the murder site. What a
circus!"

"Why weren't the hands bagged?" Laurie asked.

"Because the tour doctor didn't think about it," Calvin
said disgusted. "And by the time Plodgett got there the
body was already in the van."

"How come the tour doctor allowed the body to be
moved before Paul got there?" Laurie asked.

"How should I know!" Calvin exploded. "The whole
case is a mess. One screw-up after another."

Laurie cringed. "I hate to bring this up, but I noticed
another potential problem downstairs."

41

"Oh, and what was that?" Calvin demanded.

"What I imagine were the victim's clothes were in a plas-
tic bag on one of the countertops."

"Damn!" Calvin snapped. He stepped over to gingham's
phone and punched the extension in the "pit." As soon as
the phone was answered he shouted that someone would be
on the autopsy table himself if the preppy murder II victim's
clothes were in a plastic bag.

Without waiting for an answer, Calvin slammed the re-
ceiver down onto the cradle. Then he glared at Laurie as if
the messenger were responsible for the bad news.

"I can't imagine a fungus would have destroyed any evi-
dence so quickly," Laurie offered.

"That's not entirely the point," Calvin snapped. "We're
not out in the boondocks someplace. Screw-ups like this are
not to be tolerated, especially not under this glare of public-
ity. It seems as if this whole case is jinxed. Anyway, what's
the problem at Manhattan General?"

Laurie told Calvin about Duncan Andrews as succinctly
as possible and about the attending physician's request. She
emphasized that it was the family's wishes to respect the
deceased's desire to be a donor.

"If we had a decent medical examiner law in this state this
wouldn't even come up," Calvin growled. "I think we
should honor the family's request. Tell the doctor that in
this kind of circumstances he should take the eyes but pho-
tograph them prior to doing so. Also he should take vitre-
ous samples from inside the eyes for Toxicology."

"I'll let him know immediately," Laurie said. "Thanks."

Calvin waved absently. He was already reopening the
door to the conference room.

Laurie cut back through the chief's secretarial area and
got Marlene to buzz her through the door into the main
hall. She had to weave her way among the media people,
stepping over cables powering the TV lights. gingham's

   42

news conference was still in progress. Laurie pressed the up
button on the elevator.

"Ahhhh!" Laurie squealed in response to a deliberate jab
in the ribs. Laurie swung around to chastise whoever had
poked her. She expected to see a colleague, but it wasn't.
Before her stood a stranger in his early thirties. He had on
a trench coat that was open down the front; his tie was
loosened at his collar. On his face was a childlike grin.

"Laurie?" he said.

Laurie suddenly recognized him. It was Bob Talbot, a
reporter for the Daily News whom Laurie had known since
college. She'd not seen him for some time, and out of con-
text it had taken a moment to recognize him. Despite her
irritation, she smiled.

"Where have you been?" Bob demanded. "I haven't seen
you for ages."

"I guess I've been a bit asocial of late," Laurie admitted.
"Lots of work, plus I've started studying for my forensic
boards."

"You know the expression about all work and no play,"
Bob said.

Laurie nodded and tried to smile. The elevator arrived.
Laurie stepped in and held the door open with her hand.

"What do you think of this new 'preppy murder'?" Bob

asked. "It sure is causing a fuss."

"It's bound to," Laurie said. "It's made-to-order tabloid
material. Besides, it seems that we've already messed up. I
suppose it's reminiscent of what happened with the first
case. A little too reminiscent for my colleagues."

"What are you talking about?" Bob asked.

"For one thing, the victim's hands weren't bagged," Lau-
rie said. "Didn't you hear what Dr. gingham was saying""

"Yeah, but he said it didn't matter."

"It matters," Laurie said. "Besides that, the victim's
clothes ended up in a plastic bag. That's a no-no. Moisture

   43

encourages the growth of microorganisms that can affect
evidence. That's another screw-up. Unfortunately the medi-
cal examiner on the case is one of us junior people. By rights
it should be someone with more experience."

"Apparently the boyfriend already confessed," Bob said.
"Isn't this all academic?"

Laurie shrugged. "By the time the trial rolls around, he
might have a change of heart. Certainly his lawyer will.
Then it's up to the evidence unless there was a witness, and
in this type of case, there's seldom a witness."

"Maybe you're right," Bob said with a nod. "We'll have
to see. Meanwhile, I'd better get back to the news confer-
ence. How about dinner sometime this week?"

"Maybe," Laurie said. "I don't mean to be coy, but I do
have to study if I want to pass those boards. Why don't you
call and we'll talk about it?"

Bob nodded as Laurie let the elevator door close. She
pressed five. Back in her office, she called Dr. Murray at
Manhattan General and told him what Dr. Washington
had said.

"Thank you for your trouble," Dr. Murray said when
Laurie was finished. "It's good to have some guidelines to
follow in this kind of circumstance."

"Be sure to get good photos," Laurie advised. "If you
don't, the policy could change."

"No need to worry," Dr. Murray said. "We have our
own photography department. It will be done profession-
ally."

Hanging up the phone, Laurie went back to the hair
curler. She took a half dozen photos from varying angles
and with varying lighting conditions. With the curler out of
the way, she turned her attention to the only Sunday case
remaining, and the most disturbing for her: the twelve-year-
old boy.

Getting up from her desk, Laurie returned to the first

   44

floor and visited Cheryl Myers, one of the medical inves-
tigators. She explained that she needed more eyewitnesses
of the episode when the boy was hit with the softball. With-
out any positive finding on the autopsy, she would need
personal accounts to substantiate her diagnosis of commo-
tio cordis, or death from a blow to the chest. Cheryl prom-
ised to get right on it.

Returning to the fifth floor, Laurie went to Histology to
see if the boy's slides could be speeded up. Knowing how
distraught the family was, she was eager to put her end of
the tragedy to rest. She found that families seemed to come
to some sort of acceptance once they knew the truth. The
aura of uncertainty about a death of unknown cause made
grieving more difficult.

While she was in Histology, Laurie picked up slides that
were ready from cases she'd autopsied the previous week.
With those in hand she went down several flights ol stairs
and picked up reports from Toxicology and Serology. Car-
rying everything back to her office, she dumped all the
material on her desk. Then she went to work. Except for a
short break for lunch, Laurie spent the rest of the day going
over the slides from Histology, collating the laboratory
reports, making calls, and completing as many files as possi-
ble.

What fueled Laurie's anxiety was the knowledge that the
following day she'd be assigned at least two and maybe as
many as four new cases to autopsy. If she didn't stay
abreast of the paperwork, she'd be swamped. There was
never a dull moment at the Office of the Chief Medical

Examiner for the City of New York, since it handled be-
tween fifteen and twenty thousand assigned cases each year.
That translated to approximately eight thousand autopsies.
Each day the office averaged two homicides and two drug
overdoses.

By four o'clock in the afternoon, Laurie was beginning to

   45

slow down. The volume of her work and its intensity had
taken its toll. When her phone rang for the hundredth time,
she answered with a tired voice. When she realized it was
Mrs. Sanford, Dr. gingham's secretary, she straightened up
in her chair by reflex. It wasn't every day that she got a call
from the chief.

"Dr. gingham would like to see you in his office if it is
convenient," Mrs. Sanford said.

"I'll be right down," Laurie answered. She smiled at Mrs.
Sanford's phrase, "If it is convenient." Knowing Dr. Bing-
ham, it was probably Mrs. Sanford's translation of: Get Dr.
Montgomery down here ASAP. En route she vainly tried to
imagine what Dr. gingham wanted to see her about, but she
had no idea.

"Go right in," Mrs. Sanford said. She looked at Laurie
over the tops of her reading glasses and smiled.

"Close the door!" gingham commanded as soon as Lau-
rie was in his office. He was sitting behind his massive desk.
"Sit down!"

Laurie did as she was told. gingham's angry tone was the
first warning of what was to come. Laurie immediately
knew that she wasn't there for a commendation. She
watched as gingham removed his wire-rimmed spectacles
and placed them on his blotter. His thick fingers handled
the glasses with surprising agility.

Laurie studied gingham's face. His steel blue eyes ap-
peared cold. She could just make out the web of fine capil-
laries spread across the tip of his nose.

"You do know that we have a public relations office?"
Dr. gingham began. His tone was sarcastic, angry.

"Yes, of course," Laurie replied when gingham paused.

"Then you must also know that Mrs. Donnatello is re-
sponsible for any information being given to the media and
the public."

Laurie nodded.

   46

"And you must also be aware that except for myself; all
personnel of this office should keep their personal opinions
concerning medical examiner business to themselves."

Laurie didn't respond. She still didn't know where this
conversation was headed.

Suddenly, gingham bounded out of his chair and began
pacing the area behind his desk. ''What I'm not sure you
appreciate," he continued, "is the fact that being a rmeclical
examiner carries significant sociaHand political responsibili-
ties." He stopped pacing and looked across at Laurie. "Do
you understand what I'm saying? '

"I believe so," Laurie said, but there was still some sig-
nificant part of the conversation that eluded her. She had no
idea what had precipitated this diatribe.

"'Believing so' is not adequate," gingham snorted He
stopped his pacing and leaned over his desk, glaring at
Laurie.

More than anything, Laurie wanted to remain composed.
She didn't want to appear emotional. She despised situa-
tions like this. Confrontation was not one of her strong
points.

"Furthermore," gingham snapped, "breaches in the
rules pertaining to privileged information will not be t`:'ler-
ated. Is that clear!"

"Yes," Laurie said, fighting back unwanted tears. She

wasn't sad or mad, just upset. With the amount of work
that she'd been doing of late, she hardly thought she de-
served such a tirade. "Can I ask what this is all about'?"

"Most certainly," gingham said. ''Toward the end of my
news conference about the Central Park murder, one of the
reporters got up and began asking a question with the
comment that you had specifically stated that the case was
being mishandled by this department. Did you or did you
not say that to a reporter?"

Laurie cowered in her seat. She ~ riled to return gingham's

   47

glare, but she had to look away. She felt a rush of embar-
rassment, guilt, anger, and resentment. She was shocked
that Bob would have had such little sense much less respect
for her confidentiality. Finding her voice she said: "I men-
tioned something to that effect."

"I thought so," gingham said smugly. "I knew the re-
porter wouldn't have had the nerve to make something like
that up. Well, consider yourself warned, Dr. Montgomery.
That will be all."

Laurie stumbled out of the chief's office. Humiliated, she
didn't even dare exchange glances with Mrs. Sanford lest
she lose control of the tears she'd been suppressing. Hoping
she wouldn't run into anyone, Laurie sprinted up the stairs,
not bothering to wait for the elevator.

She was particularly thankful that her office-mate was
still apparently in the autopsy room. Locking her door
behind her, Laurie sat down at her desk. She felt crushed,
as if all her months of hard work had been for naught
because of one foolish indiscretion.

With sudden resolve, Laurie picked up the phone. She
wanted to call Bob Talbot and tell him what she thought of
him. But she hesitated, then let go of the receiver. At the
moment she didn't have the strength for another confronta-
tion. Instead she took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

She tried to go back to work, but she couldn't concen-
trate. Instead she opened her briefcase and threw in some of
the uncompleted files. After collecting her other belongings,
Laurie took the elevator to the basement level and exited
through the morgue loading dock onto Thirtieth Street. She
didn't want to take the risk of running into anyone in the
reception area.

Befitting her mood, it was still raining as she walked
south on First Avenue. If anything, the city looked worse
than it had that morning, with a pall of acrid exhaust fumes
suspended between the buildings lining the street. Laurie

   48

kept her head down to avoid the oily puddles, the litter, and
the stares of the homeless.

Even her apartment building seemed dirtier than usual,
and as she waited for the elevator, she was aware clef the
smell of a century of fried onions and fatty meat. Getting Off
on the fifth floor, she glared at Debra Engler's bloodshot
eye, daring her to say anything. Once inside her apartments
she slammed the door with enough force to tilt a framed
Klimt print she'd gotten from the Metropolitan.

Even feisty Tom couldn't elevate her spirits as he rubbed
back and forth across her shins as she hung up her coat and
stashed her umbrella in her narrow hall closet. Going into
her living room, she collapsed into her armchair.

Refusing to be ignored, Tom leaped to the back of the
chair and purred directly into Laurie's right ear. When that
didn't work, he began to paw Laurie's shoulder repeatedly.
Finally Laurie responded by reaching up and lifting the cat
into her lap where she began absently to stroke him.

As the rain tapped against her window like grain, of
sand, Laurie lamented her life. For the second time that. day
she thought about not being married. Her mother's criti-
cism seemed more deserved than usual. She wondered anew
if she'd made the right career choices. What about ten years
from now? Could she see herself caught in the same quag-
mire ol lonely daily life, struggling to stay ahead of the
paperwork associated with the autopsies, or would she as-
sume more administrative duties like gingham?

With a sense of shock, Laurie realized for the first time
that she had no desire to be chief. Up until that moment,
she'd always tried to excel whether it was college or medical
school, and aspiring to be the chief would have fit into that

mold. E xcelling for Laurie had been a kind of rebellions, an
attempt to make her father, the great cardiac surgeon. fi-
nally acknowledge her. But it had never worked. She knew
that as far as her father was concerned she'd never be able

   49

to replace her older brother who'd died at the tender age of
nineteen.

Laurie sighed. It wasn't like her to be depressed, and the
fact that she was depressed depressed her. She never would
have guessed that she'd be quite so sensitive to criticism.
Maybe she'd been unhappy and hadn't even realized it with
her workload.

Laurie noticed that the red light on her answering ma-
chine was blinking. At first she ignored it, but the darker the
room got, the more insistent the blinking became. After
watching the light for another ten minutes, curiosity got the
best of her, and she listened to the tape. The call was from
her mother, Dorothy Montgomery, asking her to call the
moment she got home.

"Oh, great!" Laurie said out loud. She debated about
calling, knowing her mother's capacity to grate on her
nerves in the best of circumstances. She wasn't feeling up to
another dose of her mother's negativity and unsolicited
advice just then.

Laurie listened to the message a second time and, after
convincing herself that her mother sounded genuinely con-
cerned, she made the call. Dorothy answered on the first
ring.

"Thank God you called," she said breathlessly. "I don't
know what I would have done if you hadn't. I was thinking
of sending a telegram. We're having a dinner party tomor-
row night, and I want you to come. We're having someone
here I want you to meet."

"Mother!" Laurie said with exasperation. "I'm not sure
I'm up for a dinner party. I've had a bad day."

"Nonsense," Dorothy exclaimed. "All the more reason
to get out of that dreadful apartment of yours. You'll have
a wonderful time. It will be good for you. The person I want
you to meet is Dr. Jordan Scheffield. He's a marvelous
ophthalmologist, known all over the world. Your father's

   50

told me. And best of all he was recently divorced from a
dreadful woman."

"I'm not into rested in a blind date," Laurie said with
irritation. She couldn't believe that not only was her mother
oblivious to her mental state, but she wanted to fix her up
with some divorced eyeball doctor.

"It's about time you met someone appropriate," D`.~ro-
thy said. "I never understood what you saw in that Sean
Mackenzie. That boy is a shiftless hoodlum and a bad
influence on you. I'm glad you finally broke up with him lor
good."

Laurie rolled her eyes. Her mother was in rare form
today. Even if there was a certain truth in what she was
saying, she didn't feel like hearing it just then. Laurie had
been dating Sean on and off since college. From the start,
their relationship was a rocky one. And though he wasn't
exactly a hoodlum, he did hold a sort of outlaw's appeal for
her between his motorcycle and bad attitude. There was a
time when his "artistic" personality excited Laurie. flack
then she'd even been rebellious enough to try drugs with
him on several occasions. But she hoped this last breakup
would be their last.

"Be here at seven-thirty," Dorothy said. "And I want
you to wear something attractive, like that wool suit I gave
you for your birthday in October. And your hair: wear it
up. I'd love to talk longer, but I've got so much to do. See
you tomorrow, dear. 'Bye."

Laurie took the phone from her ear and looked at it in the
darkened room with disbelief. Her mother had hung up on
her. She didn't know whether to swear, laugh, or cry. She

replaced the receiver on its cradle. Finally she laughed. I ler
mother was certainly a character. As she played the conver-
sation back in her mind, she couldn't believe it had taken
place. It was as if she and her mother talked on different
wavelengths.

   51

Walking around her apartment, Laurie turned on the
lights, then closed the curtains. Shielded from the world, she
took her hair down and stepped out of her clothes. For
some reason, she felt better. The crazy conversation with
her mother had shocked her out of her depressive thoughts.

Climbing into the shower, Laurie admitted to herself that
she tended to be more emotional in business situations than
she would like. The realization irritated her. She didn't
mind dressing femininely, but she didn't want to lend cre-
dence to the stereotype of a fragile, fickle female. In the
future, she would try to be more professional. She also
realized what a mistake she had made in confiding in Bob.
She would have to be sure to keep her opinions to herself,
particularly where the press was concerned. She was lucky
gingham hadn't fired her.

Standing under the jet of water, Laurie thought about
making herself a salad and then doing some studying for
her forensic boards. Then she thought about dinner the
following night at her parents'. Although her initial reac-
tion had been overwhelmingly negative, she began to have
second thoughts. Maybe it would be an interesting break in
her routine. Then she wondered how insufferable the newly
divorced ophthalmologist would be. She also wondered
how old he'd be.

   52

   2

 9:40 P.M., MONDAY
QUEENS, NEW YORK CITY

"I gotta do something," Tony Ruggerio said. He was antsy
and he shifted in the passenger side of the front seat of
Angelo Facciolo's black Lincoln Town Car. "We've been
sitting here in front of D'Agostino's grocery store for four
nights. I can't stand this doing nothing, you know what I
mean? I've got to have action, something, anything." His
eyes nervously darted around the rain-glossed street scene
in front of him. The car was parked next to a hydrant on
Roosevelt Avenue.

Angelo's head swung slowly around. His ridded eyes re-
garded this youthful-appearing twenty-four-year-old "kid"
who'd been foisted on him. Tony's nervousness and impul-
siveness were enough to try the patience of Angelo. He
thought the "kid," whose nickname was "the animal," was
a liability in Angelo's line of work, and he'd said as much

   53


53

to Cerino. But it didn't matter. Angelo might as well have
been talking to the wall. Cerino said that the kid's asset was
that he had no fear; he was v~ild and ambitious and had no
qualms and little conscience. Cerino said that he needed more
people like Tony. Angelo wasn't so sure.

Tony was short at five-foot-seven and wiry. What he
lacked in intimidation through stature, he tried to make up for
in muscle. He worked out regularly at the American Gym in
Jackson Heights. He told Angelo he took protein
supplements and occasionally steroids.

Tony's features were rounded, ethnic, southern Italian, and
his hair was shiny, black, and thick. His nose was slightly
flattened and angled to the right thanks to some amateur
boxing. He'd grown up in Woodside and never finished high
school, where he'd had frequent fights over his stature as well
as his sister, Mary, who was, in his vernacular, a "looker."
He'd always been protective of his sister, thinking that all
males had the same goals as himself when it came to females.

"I can't sit here any longer," Tony said. "I've got to get out
of the car." He reached for the door latch.

Angelo put his hand on Tony's arm. "Relax!" Angelo said
with enough threat in his voice to restrain Tony. Cerino had
been right to pair them up, in a way. Angelo, the "dude,"
made an excellent foil for brash Tony. He looked older than
his thirty-four years. Where Tony was short, Angelo was tall
and gaunt, his features sharp and hatchetlike. If Tony was
sensitive about his height, Angelo was sensitive about his skin.
His face bore the scars of a nearlethal case of chicken pox at
age six and severe acne from thirteen to twenty-one. Where
Tony was wild and impulsive, Angelo was cautious and
calculating: a seemingly calm sociopath whose character had
been molded by an endless series of foster homes and a final
stint of hard time in a maximum security prison.

Both men were rather vain when it came to their ward

54

robes. Yet Tony never quite cut the figure for which he
aimed; his suits, no matter how expensive, were always ill-
fitting on his disproportionately muscled body. On the other
hand Angelo gave even Dapper John Gotti a run for his
money where sartorial elegance was concerned. He wasn't
flashy, just meticulous. He wore exclusively Brioni suits,
shirts, ties, and shoes. As Tony's muscle building was in
response to his short stature, Angelo's fastidious attire was in
response to his complexion, a subject about which he did not
brook any reference.

Tony leaned back in his seat. He glanced in Angelo's
direction. Angelo was one of the few people Tony feared
and respected, even envied. Angelo was connected, a made
man whose reputation was legendary.

"Paulie told me that Frankie DePasquale would show up at
this grocery store," Angelo said. "So we're going to spend
the next month waiting here if need be."

"Christ!" Tony muttered. Instead of getting out of the car,
he reached into his baggy jacket and extracted his .25 caliber
Beretta Bantam. Releasing the spring-loaded catch in the
butt, he slid out the magazine and counted the bullets as if
one of the eight shells could have disappeared since he last
counted them half an hour ago.

When Tony pulled the empty gun's trigger, Angelo rolled
his eyes. "Put the gun away," he said. "What's the matter with
you?"

"All right, all right!" Tony said, pushing the magazine home
and returning the pistol to its shoulder holster. "Take it easy,

will you." He glanced at Angelo, who stared back at him for
a moment. Tony held up his hands. He knew Angelo well
enough to know he was irritated. "The gun's away. Relax
already."

Angelo didn't say anything. He resumed looking toward
the entrance of D'Agostino's, watching the people coming
and going.

Tony sighed heavily. "It's been a freaking month since

   55


the mothers threw the acid in Paulie's face. Maybe the bums
have split, skipped town. That's what I would have done.
The next day I would have been outtahere. Gone down to
Florida or out to the coast. We might be sitting here for
nothing. Have you thought of that?"

"Frankie has been seen," Angelo said. "He's been seen
here at D'Agostino's."

"So how did it happen?" Tony asked. "How'd they get
close to Cerino in the first place?"

"It wasn't complicated," Angelo said. "Vinnie Dominick
called the meeting with Cerino. There were to be no weap-
ons. Everybody had to leave his piece in his car. We even
used a metal detector that Cerino had taken from Kennedy
Airport. When Terry Manso started to serve coffee, he
threw a cup of acid in Paul's face. The reason we know
Frankie was involved was because he came with Manso."

"How'd Frankie get away?" Tony asked.

"The moment Paulie got the acid the lights went out,"
Angelo said. "Then the place went crazy with Paulie
screaming and everybody diving for cover in the dark. I was
by the front window. I threw a chair through it and dove
outside. That was when I saw Manso come out the front
door. Frankie was already climbing into a car. It all hap-
pened so fast, few people could react."

"How did you manage to get Manso?" Tony asked.

"It was a race," Angelo said. "Manso lost. My car was
directly in front of the restaurant with my piece on the front
seat where I could get to it fast if something went wrong. I
got offtwo shots as Manso tried to get into his car. He never
made it. Both slugs went into his back."

"How many people were involved?" Tony asked. He'd
been curious about the acid episode since he'd heard about
it, but he'd been afraid to bring it up.

"The way I figure it, at least two more besides Manso and
DePasquale," Angelo said. "Knowing for sure is one of the
reasons we want to talk with Frankie."

   56

"God, it blows my mind," Tony said with a shake of his
head. "I can't imagine how much the Lucia people prom-
ised to pay for this kind of hit."

"Nobody knows for sure," Angelo said. "In fact, word
has it that the punks did it on their own, thinking they'd
be rewarded by the Lucia people for their balls. But as far
as we can tell the Lucia people haven't even acknowledged
it."

"So disrespectful," Tony muttered. "Acid in the face.

Christ!"

"That reminds me," Angelo said. "Did you get that bat-
tery acid?"

"Yeah, sure," Tony said. "It's in Doc Travino's old doc-
tor's bag on the backseat."

"Good," Angelo said. "Paulie is going to like that. It's a
nice touch."

Tony stretched. He was quiet for a minute. Then he
cleared his throat. "What do you say to my getting out of
the car for just a second? I'd like to do a set of push-ups. My
shoulders are tight."

Angelo swore under his breath and told Tony that being
in the car with him was like being locked up with a two-
year-old kid.


"I'm sorry," Tony said with arched eyebrows. "I'm used
to more activity than this." Locking his hands together, he
did a series oi isometric exercises. In the middle of one of
these maneuvers he stopped and stared out the side win-
dow.

"Holy crap, isn't that Frankie DePasquale coming along
beside us?" Tony said excitedly.

Angelo leaned forward to see around Tony. "It sure
looks like him."

"Finally!" Tony exclaimed as he fumbled to withdraw his
gun and reach for the door latch. He felt Angelo's hand on
his arm. He looked at his mentor in surprise.

"Not yet," Angelo said. "We have to make sure the kid's

  57

alone. We can't screw this up. It might be our only chance
and Paulie doesn't want more trouble."

Like an eager hunting dog restraining himself with dif-
ficulty from some flushed prey, Tony watched as Frankie
DePasquale disappeared into the crowded grocery store. To
his surprise, Angelo started the car. "Where are you
going?" he demanded.

"I'm just backing up a bit," Angelo explained. "It ap-
pears that Frankie is alone. We'll take him when he comes
out again."

Angelo angled back to the curb at a bus stop. He left the
engine running. They waited.

Twenty minutes later, Frankie came out of the store with
bundles in both arms. Angelo and Tony watched as he
walked directly toward them.

"He looks like a teenager," Angelo said.

"He is," Tony said. "He's eighteen. He was in my sister's
class before he started hanging around with the wrong peo-
ple and dropped out of school."

"Now!" Angelo said.

In a flash both Angelo and Tony got out of the car and
confronted the surprised Frankie DePasquale. Frankie's
eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped.

"Hello, Frankie," Angelo said calmly. "We need to
talk."

Frankie responded by dropping his groceries. The bags
split when they hit the wet sidewalk and a number of cans
of tomato paste rolled into the gutter. Frankie turned and
fled.

Tony was on him in a flash. He grabbed him roughly
from behind, knocking him to the pavement. Holding him
down, he frisked him quickly, coming up with a small Sat-
urday night special. Tony pocketed the gun, then turned the
terrified boy over. Up close, Frankie looked even younger
than eighteen. In fact, it didn't look as if he shaved yet.

   58

"Don't hurt me!" Frankie pleaded.

"Shut up!" Tony snapped. The kid was such a drip. It
was disgusting.

Angelo pulled the car up alongside them. With the engine
running he jumped from the car. A few pedestrians had
stopped beneath their umbrellas to gawk at the spectacle.
Angelo pushed through them.

"All right, move on," Angelo commanded. "We're po-
lice." Angelo flashed an old police department badge that
he kept in his pocket for just this sort of occasion. The fact
that it said Ozone Park when they were currently in Wood-
side made no difference. It was the shape and the glint of
metal that caused the desired effect. T he small crowd
started to disperse.

"They're not police!" Frankie yelled.

Tony responded to Frankie's outburst by putting his
Beretta Bantam to the side of Frankie's head. "One more
word and you're history, kid."

"In the car," Angelo commanded.

With Angelo on one side and Tony on the other' they
stood Frankie up and dragged him to the car. Opening the
rear door and pushing his head down, they shoved him
inside. Tony climbed in after him. Angelo ran around and
jumped into the driver's seat. With a screech of rubber they

headed west on Roosevelt Avenue.

"What are you doing this for?" Frankie asked. "I haven't
done anything to you guys."

"Shut up!" Angelo said from the front seat. He was
keeping his eye on the rearview mirror. If there had been
any sign of trouble, he would have turned on Queens Boule-
vard. But everything was quiet so he kept going straight.
Roosevelt became Greenpoint, and Angelo began to relax.

"All right, punk," Angelo said, glancing in the rearview
mirror. "Time to talk." He could just see Frankie cowering
in the corner, keeping as far from Tony as possible. Fony

   59

was holding his gun in his left hand with his arm draped
over the back of the seat. Tony's eyes never left Frankie.

"What do you want to talk about?" Frankie asked.

"The job you and Manso did on Paulie Cerino," Angelo
said. "I'm sure you guessed that we work for Mr. Cerino."

Frankie's eyes darted from Tony's face to Tony's gun,
then up to the image of Angelo in the rearview mirror. He
was terrified. "I didn't do it," he said. "I was just there. It
was Manso's idea. They forced me to go. I didn't want to
do it, but they threatened my mother."

"Who's 'they'?" Angelo asked.

"I mean Terry Manso," Frankie said. "He was the one."

With a sudden wicked slap, Tony cracked Frankie across
the face with the barrel of his gun.

Frankie screamed and pressed the palms of his hands
against his face. A trickle of blood oozed between his fin-
gers.

"What do you think we are? Stupid?" Tony sneered.

"Don't hurt him yet," Angelo said. "Maybe he'll be co-
operative."

"Please don't hurt me anymore," Frankie pleaded be-
tween sobs.

Tony swore contemptuously and forced the barrel of his
pistol between Frankie's fingers and into his mouth.
"Your brains are going to be all over the inside of this car
if you don't smarten up and stop screwing around with

us."

"Who else was involved?" Angelo asked again.

Tony withdrew the barrel of his gun so Frankie could
talk.

"It was just Manso," Frankie sobbed. "And he made me
go along."

Angelo shook his head in disgust. "Obviously you are not
cooperating, Frankie. Remember about the lights. At the
same time Manso threw the acid, the lights went out. That

   60

wasn't a coincidence. Who was screwing around with the
lights? And the car. Who was driving the car?"

"I don't know anything about the lights," Frankie
sobbed. "I don't remember who was driving. Somebody I
didn't know. Somebody that Manso got."

Angelo shook his head in disgust. Nothing was easy any-
more. He hated this kind of dirty stuff. He had entertained
vague hopes that Frankie would have spilled his guts the
moment they got him into the car. Obviously that was not
to be the case.

Glancing up into the rearview mirror, Angelo caught a
glimpse of Tony's face in the flickering light of the passing
streetlamps. Tony was sporting one of his contented smiles
that told Angelo Tony was enjoying himself. Even Angelo
thought Tony could be scary on occasion.

Once they got to the Greenpoint pier area in Brooklyn,
Angelo turned right on Franklin, then left on Java. The
area was run-down, especially the closer they got to the
water. Abandoned warehouses lined the street. Seventy-five
to a hundred years ago, the area had been a thriving water-
front, but that had long since changed save for a few iso-
lated enterprises, like the Pepsi-Cola plant up toward

Newtown Creek.

In the cul de sac where Java Street dead-ended at the East
River, Angelo drove through a chain-link gate. A sign over
the gate said: AMERICAN FRESH FRUIT COMPANY. The car
began to vibrate on the rough cobblestone surface, but
Angelo didn't slow down. When he could drive no farther,
he parked.

"Everybody out," Angelo said. They were parked in the
shadow of a huge warehouse built out over the pier that
stuck out almost a hundred yards into the East River. Just
across the river was the monumental mass of Manhattan's
glittering skyline. Tony got out holding Doc Travino's little
black bag and motioned for Frankie to get out too.

   61

Angelo unlocked an overhead door to the warehouse,
pulled it up, and motioned for Frankie to enter. Frankie
hesitated on the dark threshold. "I've told you everything
I know. What do you want from me?"

Tony gave Frankie a shove that sent the boy stumbling
forward. The click of the lightswitch echoed in the cavern-
ous warehouse as Angelo threw the switch activating the
mercury vapor lights. At first the lights merely glowed, but
as they walked out the pier dragging a reluctant Frankie,
they became progressively brighter. Soon it was enough to
illuminate the huge stacks of green bananas that filled the
warehouse.

"Please!" Frankie moaned, but Angelo and Tony ignored
him. They walked to the very end, unlocking a paneled
door. Angelo found the lightswitch that activated a single
bulb suspended by a bare wire. The room contained an old
metal desk missing its drawers, a few chairs, and a large
hole in the floor. Below the hole the water of the East River
looked more like oil than water as it swirled around the
pier's piling, flowing with the tide.

"I'm telling you the truth," Frankie wailed. "It was all
Manso. I was forced to go along. I don't know anything
else."

"Sure, Frankie," Angelo said. Turning to Tony he added,
"Tie him to one of the chairs."

Tony put Doc Travino's bag on the desk and unsnapped
it open. From within he pulled out a length of clothesline.
Then, with a depraved smile, he told Frankie to sit in one
of the wooden side chairs. Frankie did as he was told. While
Tony tied him up, Angelo lit himself a cigarette.

Tony gave the rope a couple of yanks to test his knots.
Satisfied, he stood up and nodded to Angelo.

"Once more, Frankie," Angelo said. "Who else was in-
volved with the acid trick? Who besides you and Manso?"

"Nobody," Frankie sobbed. "I'm telling the truth."

   62

Angelo derisively blew smoke in Frankie's face. Glancing
at Tony, he said, "Time for the truth serum."

Tony pulled a small glass bottle and an eye dropper from
Doc Travino's bag. He handed both to Angelo. Angelo
unscrewed the cap and gingerly sniffed the contents. When
he got a whiff, he pulled his head back quickly. "Geez,
powerful stuff." He blinked a few times and wiped tears
from the corners of his eyes.

"Any chance you want to change your story?" Angelo
asked calmly after walking over to Frankie.

"I'm telling you the truth," Frankie persisted.

Angelo looked at Tony. "Hold his head back."

Tony grabbed a handful of the boy's hair just above the
forehead and yanked Frankie's head back.

"Tell me, Frankie," Angelo said as he bent over the boy's
upturned face. "Have you ever heard the expression 'an eye
for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth'?"

Only then did Frankie realize what was happening. But
despite his attempts at clamping his eyes shut, Angelo
managed to empty the eye dropper into Frankie's lower
right lid.

A slight spattering noise like water hitting a hot skillet
preceded an ear-piercing shriek as the sulfuric acid ate into
his delicate eye tissues. Angelo glanced at Tony and noticed
that Tony's smile had swelled to a grin. Angelo wondered
what the world was coming to with this new generation.

This kid Tony was having a ball. For Angelo, this was not
entertainment, it was business. Nothing more, nothing less.

Angelo set the sulfuric acid bottle on the desk and took
a couple more puffs on his cigarette. When Frankie's
screams had abated to choking sobs, Angelo leaned toward
him and calmly asked if Frankie wanted to change his story.

"Talk to me!" Angelo commanded when it seemed that
Frankie was ignoring him.

"I'm telling the truth,~' Frankie managed.

   63

"Chrissake!" Angelo muttered as he went back for the
acid. Over his shoulder, he called to Tony, "Hold his head
back again."

"Wait!" Frankie croaked. "Don't hurt me anymore. I'll
tell you what you want to know."

Angelo put the acid back on the desk and returned to
Frankie. He looked at the tears streaming out of the kid's
shut eyes, especially the one where he'd put the acid. "OK,
Frankie," Angelo began. "Who was involved?"

"You have to get me something for my eye," Frankie
whined. "It's killing me."

"We'll take care of it as soon as you tell us what we want
to know," Angelo said. "Come on, Frankie. I'm losing my
patience."

"Bruno Marchese and Jimmy Lanso," Frankie muttered.

Angelo looked at Tony.

Tony nodded. "I've heard of Bruno," he said. "He's a
local kid."

"Where can we find these guys if we want to talk to
them?" Angelo asked.

"Thirty-eight twenty-two Fifty-fifth Street, apartment
one," Frankie said. "Just off Northern Boulevard."

Angelo took out a piece of paper and wrote the address
down. "Whose idea was it?" he asked.

"It was Manso's," Frankie sobbed. "I was telling the
truth about that. It was his idea that if we did it, we'd all
become Lucia soldiers, part of the inner circle. But I didn't
want to do it. They made me go along."

"Why couldn't you have told us this in the car, Frankie?"
Angelo asked. "You would have saved us a lot of trouble
and yourself some grief."

"I was afraid the others would kill me if they found out
I'd talked," Frankie said.

"So you were more worried about your friends than us?"
Angelo questioned as he stepped behind Frankie. It was
enough to hurt Angelo's feelings. "That's curious. But no

   64

matter. Now you don't have to worry about your friends
because we'll take care of you."

"You got to get me something for my eye," Frankie said.

"Sure," Angelo said. In a smooth motion and without a
second's hesitation, Angelo pulled out his Walther TPH
Auto pistol and shot Frankie in the back of the head just
above the neck. Frankie's head snapped forward, then
slumped down on his chest.

The suddenness of the final act surprised Tony, who
winced and stepped back, anticipating a gory mess. But
there wasn't any. "Why didn't you let me do that?" he
whined.

"Shut up and untie him," Angelo said. "We're not here
for your entertainment. We're working, remember?"

Once Tony had Frankie untied, Angelo helped carry the
limp body over to the hole in the floor. On the count of
three they heaved him into the river. Angelo watched just
long enough to make sure that the running tide took the
body out into the river proper.

"Let's head back to Woodside to pay the others a social
call," Angelo said.

The address that Frankie had given was a small two-story
row house with an apartment on each floor. The outer door
was locked but it had a mechanism amenable to a credit
card. They were inside in minutes.

Positioning themselves on either side of the door to
apartment one, Angelo knocked. There was no answer.
From the street they'd seen that the lights were on.

"Bust it," Angelo said, nodding toward the door.

Tony took several steps back, then kicked the door. T he
jamb splintered on the first kick and the door swung in. In
the blink of an eye both Angelo and Tony were in the small
apartment with their guns gripped in both hands. The
apartment was empty save for several half-filled bottles of
beer on the coffee table. The TV was on.

"What do you figure?" Tony asked.

   65

"They must have got spooked when Frankie didn't come
back," Angelo said. He lit a cigarette and thought for a
moment.

"What next?" Tony questioned.

"You know where this Bruno's family lives?" Angelo
asked.

"No, but I can find out," Tony said.

"Do it," Angelo said.

   66
3

7:55 A.M., TUESDAY
MAN HATTAN

It was a glorious morning as Laurie Montgomery walked
north on First Avenue, nearing Thirtieth Street. Even New
York City looked good in the cool crisp air scrubbed clean
from a day of rain. It was definitely colder than the previous
days and in that sense a disturbing reminder of the coming
winter. But the sun was out and there was enough breeze to
disperse the exhaust of the vehicles jostling their way in
Laurie's direction.

Laurie's step had a definite spring to it as she approached
the medical examiner's office. She smiled to herself as she
thought how differently she felt this morning as compared
to how she'd felt when she'd left for home the night bet ore.
gingham's reprimand had been unpleasant but deserved.
She'd been in the wrong. If she'd been chief she would have
been equally as angry.

67

As she approached the front steps, she wondered what
the day would bring. One aspect of her work she particu-
larly enjoyed was its unpredictability. All she knew was that
she was scheduled to be "on autopsy." She had no idea
what kinds of cases and what kinds of intellectual puzzles
she'd encounter that day. Just about every time she was on
autopsy, she dealt with something she'd never seen, some-
times something she'd never even read about. It was a job
that meant continual discovery.

This morning the reception area was relatively quiet.
There were still a few media people hanging around for
more word on the "preppy murder II" case. Yesterday's
Central Park murder had made the front page of the tab-
loids and the local morning news.

Just shy of the inner door, Laurie stopped. Over on one
of the vinyl couches she spotted Bob Talbot deep in conver-
sation with another reporter. After a moment's hesitation
Laurie strode over to the couch.

"Bob, I'd like to talk to you a moment," she said. Then
to his companion, she added, "Pardon me for interrupt-
ing."

Bob eagerly got to his feet and stepped aside with Laurie.
His attitude surprised her. She would have expected him to
be more sheepish and contrite.

"Seeing you two days in a row must be some sort of
record," Bob said. "It's a pleasure I could get used to."

Laurie started right in. "I can't believe you didn't have
more respect for my confidence. What I told you yesterday
was meant for your ears only."

Bob was clearly taken aback by Laurie's rebuke. "I'm
terribly sorry. I didn't think what you were saying was a
secret. You didn't say so."

"You could have thought about it," Laurie fumed. "It
doesn't take a rocket scientist to guess what such a state-
ment would do to my standing around here."

"I'm sorry," Bob repeated. "It won't happen again.

   68

"You're right, it won't happen again," Laurie said. She
turned and headed for the inner door, ignoring Bob as he
called out to her. But although she ignored him, her anger
had lessened. After all, she had been speaking the truth the
day before. She wondered vaguely if she shouldn't be more
uncomfortable with the social and political aspects of her
job that gingham had referred to than with Bob. One of the
attractions for Laurie of pathology in general and forensics
in particular was that they tried to deal with the truth. The
idea of compromise for whatever reason disturbed her. She
hoped she would never have to choose between her scruples
and the politicking.

After Marlene Wilson buzzed her through, Laurie went
directly to the ID office. As per usual Vinnie Amendola was
drinking coffee and perusing the sports pages. If the date on
the paper hadn't been that day's, she might have sworn he'd
never left. If he noticed Laurie, he didn't give any indica-
tion. Riva Mehta, Laurie's office-mate, was in the ID office.
She was a slight Indian woman with a dark complexion and
a soft, silky voice. On Monday they'd not crossed paths.

"Looks like today's your lucky day," Riva teased. She
was getting herself some coffee before heading up to the
office. Tuesday was to be a paper day for her.

"How so?" Laurie questioned.

Vinnie gave a short laugh without looking up from his
paper.

"You got a homicide floater," Riva said. A floater was a
body that had been in water for a period of time. They
generally were not desirable cases since they frequently were
in advanced stages of decomposition.

Laurie looked at the schedule Calvin had made up that
morning. Listed were that day's autopsies and the people to
whom they'd been assigned. After her name were two drug
overdoses and a GSW homicide. The GSW stood for Gun
Shot Wound.

"The body was hauled out of the East River this morn-

   69

iing  Riva said. "An attentive security man had apparently seen
it bobbing past the South Street Sea Port."

"Lovely," Laurie said.

"It's not so bad," said Vinnie. "It hadn't been in the water
long. Only a matter of hours."

Laurie nodded in relief. That meant she probably wouldn't
have to do the case in the decomposing room. It wasn't the
smell that bothered her on such cases as much as the isolation.
The decomposing room was all by itself on the other side of
the morgue. Laurie much preferred to be in the thick of things
and relating to the other staff. There was a lot of give and take
in the main autopsy room. Often she learned as much from
other people's cases as she did from her own.

Laurie looked at the name of the victim and his age: Frank
DePasquale. "Poor fellow was only eighteen," she said. "Such
a waste. And like most of these homicides, the case will
probably never be solved."

"Probably not," Vinnie agreed as he struggled to fold his
newspaper to the next page.

Laurie said good morning to Paul Plodgett when he
appeared at the door. He had dark circles under his eyes. She
asked him how his famous case was progressing.

"Don't ask," Paul said. "It's a nightmare."

Laurie got herself a cup of coffee and picked up the three
folders for her day's cases. Each folder contained a case
worksheet, a partially filled-out death certificate, an inventory
of medico-legal case records, two sheets for autopsy notes, a
telephone notice of death as received by communications, a
completed identification sheet, an investigative report, a sheet
for the autopsy report, and a lab slip for HIV antibody
analysis.

As she was shuffling through all the material, Laurie noticed
the names of the other two cases: Louis Herrera and Duncan
Andrews. She remembered the name Duncan Andrews from
the day before.

   70

"That was the case you asked me about yesterdu,,' a voice
said from over Laurie's shoulder. She turner and looked up into
Calvin Washington's coal black eyes He'd come up behind her
and put a finger by Andrews' Lime. "When I saw the name, I
thought you'd want the c; ~se."

"Fine by me," Laurie said.

Each one of the medical examiners had his own \ icy of
approaching his autopsy day. Some grabbed the m Serial and
went directly downstairs. Laurie had a di Parent modus
operandi. She liked to take all the paperwork up to her office to
plan her day as rationally as possible With her coffee in one
hand, her briefcase in the other, a ~3 the three new files
under her arm, Laurie set out for the elevator. She got as far
as communications when Se Leant Murphy, one of the
policemen currently assigned a' the medical examiner's office,
called her name. He bounded out of the police cubicle,
dragging a second man behind him. Sergeant Murphy was an
ebullient, red-taced lrishman.

"Dr. Montgomery, I'd like you to meet Detective l,ieutenant
Lou Soldano," Murphy said proudly. "He's one of the brass in
the homicide department at headqu`r rters downtown."

"Happy to meet you, Doctor," Lou said. He stuck m t his
hand. He was an attractive, dark-complected man ~ medium
height, with well-defined features and bright ey s that just then
were riveted to her face. His hair was cropped short in a style
that seemed appropriate for his stocky, muscular body.

"Happy to meet you as well," Laurie said. "We tic n t see
too many police lieutenants here at the medical exam eras

office." Laurie felt a bit nervous under the man's unb in king
stare.

"They don't let us out of our cages too often," Lc u said.
"I'm pretty much glued to my desk. But I still like tc sneak out
once in a while, especially on certain cases."

   71

"Hope you enjoy your visit here," Laurie said. She smiled
and started to leave.

"Just a moment, Doctor!" Lou said. "I was told that you
were assigned to autopsy Frank DePasquale. I wonder if
you would mind if I observed the post. I've already cleared
it with Dr. Washington."

"Not at all," Laurie said. "If you can tolerate it, be my
guest."

"I've seen a few autopsies," Lou said. "I don't think there
will be any problem."

"Fine," Laurie said.

There was an awkward pause. For a moment no one
spoke. Finally Laurie realized the man was waiting for
some directions.

"I'm on my way to my office," Laurie said. "I usually go
over the paperwork first. Would you care to come along?"

"I'd be delighted," he said.

In the elevator Laurie looked at Soldano more closely.
He was a square, athletic-appearing man of obvious intelli-
gence whose rumpled appearance vaguely reminded her of
Colombo, the TV detective made famous by Peter Falk.
The crease in his suit pants had long since disappeared.
Despite the fact that it was only a little after eight in the
morning, he had a heavy five o'clock shadow.

As if reading Laurie's mind, Lou self-consciously ran a
hand up and down the sides of his face.

"I guess I look a wreck," Lou said. "I've been up since
four-thirty when the DePasquale body floated to shore.
Didn't have a chance to shave. Hope it doesn't offend you.
I'm not trying for the Don Johnson Miami Vice look."

"I didn't notice," Laurie lied. "But why is a detective
lieutenant so interested in an eighteen-year-old homicide
victim? Is there something special about this case that I
should know?"

"Not really," Lou said. "It's more personal. Before I got

   72

promoted to lieutenant and switched to Homicide, I'd been
with the organized crime unit for six years. With DePas-
quale the two areas overlap. DePasquale was a young hood-
lum on the fringes of the Lucia crime family organization.
He might have been only eighteen' but he already had a
long sheet."

The elevator stopped on the fifth floor, and Laurie mo-
tioned for them to get off.

"As you've probably already guessed," Lou continued,
following Laurie down the corridor, "DePasquale's c Lath
was an obvious execution."

"It was?" Laurie questioned. As of yet, nothing was obvi-
ous to her.

"Absolutely," Lou said. "You're going to find that he
was shot from close range with a small caliber bullet: into
the base of the brain. It's the usual, proven method. No
mess, no fuss."

They went into Laurie's office. Laurie introduced Lou to
Riva, who was already hard at work. Laurie got a chair for
Lou and put it next to her desk. They both sat dowry

"You've seen these gangland-style execution cases
before, haven't you?" Lou questioned.

"I'm not sure," Laurie said evasively. From medical
school training, she knew how to be vague when asked a
pointed question. She didn't want to give the impression she

was inexperienced.

"They usually mean friction between rival orga niza-
tions," Lou said. "And in this case it would mean friction
between the Lucia and the Vaccarro crime families. They
are the major players in the Queens area and their respective
interests are controlled by midlevel bosses, Vinnie Domi-
nick and Paul Cerino. My guess would be that Paul Cerino
had a hand in poor Frank DePasquale's murder, and if he
did, I'd like nothing better than to nail him with an h~dict-
ment. I was after the guy for the entire six years 1 was

   73

assigned to Organized Crime. I could never get an indict-
ment to stick. But if I could link him to a capital offense like
whacking DePasquale, I'd be in fat city."

"That puts the burden on us," Laurie said as she opened
DePasquale'sfolder.

"If you or your lab could come up with something, I'd be
eternally grateful," Lou said. "We need some kind of break.
The problem with guys like Cerino is that they keep so
many layers between themselves and all the crime commit-
ted in their name, we seldom get any charges to stick.'?

"Oh, damn!" Laurie said suddenly. She'd been listening
to Lou as well as going through the DePasquale file.

"What's the matter?" Lou asked.

"They didn't take an X-ray on DePasquale," Laurie said.
She reached for her phone and dialed the morgue. "We
have to have an X-ray before the autopsy. Unfortunately
that's going to hold things up. I'll have to post one of the
other cases first. I'm sorry."

Lou shrugged.

Laurie told the mortuary tech who answered the phone to
X-ray Frank DePasquale as soon as possible. The tech said
he'd do his best. As she was hanging up, the doorway to her
office was filled by Calvin Washington.

"Laurie," Calvin said, "we've got a problem that you
should know about."

Laurie stood up when Calvin entered. "What is it?" she
asked. She noticed that Calvin was eyeing Lou question-
ingly. "Dr. Washington, I believe you met Lieutenant Sol-
dano."

"Ah, yes," Calvin said. "Don't mind me. It's just Alz-
heimer's setting in. We met just this morning." He shook
hands with Lou, who'd stood when Laurie introduced him.

"Sit down, both of you," Calvin boomed. "Laurie, I have
to warn you that we've already been getting some heat from
the Mayor's office about this Duncan Andrews case. It

   74

seems that the deceased has some powerful political connect
lions. So we're going to have to cooperate. I want you to
look hard for some natural cause of death so that you can
downplay the drugs. The family would prefer it that way.

Laurie looked up at Calvin's face, half expecting it to
break out in a broad smile, saying that he was only joking.
But Calvin's expression didn't change.

"I'm not sure I understand," Laurie said.

"I can't be much clearer," Calvin said. His infarnoui
impatience began to show.

"What do you want me to do, lie?" Laurie asked.

"Hell, no, Dr. Montgomery!" Calvin snapped. "What do
I have to do, draw you a map? I'm just asking you to lean
as far as you can, okay? Find something like a coronary
plaque, an aneurysm, anything, and then write it up. An`!
don't act so surprised or self-righteous. Politics play a role
here and the sooner you learn that the better oflf we'll all be
Just do it."

Calvin turned and left as quickly as he'd come.

Lou whistled and sat down. "Tough guy," he said.

Laurie shook her head in disbelief. She turned to Rival
who hadn't paused in her work. "Did you hear that?" Lau
rie asked her.

"It happened to me once, too," Riva said without look
ing up. "Only my case was a suicide."

With a sigh, Laurie sat down in her desk chair and lookers
across at Lou. "I don't know if I'm prepared to sacrificer
integrity and ethics for the sake of politics."

"I don't think that was what Dr. Washington was askings
you to do," Lou said.

Laurie felt her face flush. "It wasn't? I'm sorry but 1
think it was."

"I don't mean to tell you your business," Lou said, 'but
my take was that Dr. Washington wants you to emphasize
any potential natural cause of death you find. The rest car

   75

be left to interpretation. For some reason it makes a differ-
ence in this case. It's the real world versus the world of
make-believe."

"Well, you seem pretty blase about fudging the details,"
Laurie said. "In Pathology we're supposed to be dealing
with the truth."

76

Friday, Holly's day off.

"Shelly!" Laurie yelled. Her older brother was home
from his freshman year at college for the long Columbus
Day weekend. Laurie expected to find him either in the
kitchen or the den. She looked in the den; no one we; there,
but the TV was on with the sound turned off.

For a moment Laurie looked at the silent antics of a
daytime game show. She thought it odd that the IV had
been left on. Thinking that someone might still be home,
she resumed her tour of the apartment. For some real on the
silent rooms filled her with apprehension. She began to
move faster, sensing a secret urgency.

Pausing in front of Shelly's bedroom door, Laur e hesi-
tated. Then she knocked. When there was no anus r, she
knocked again. When there was still no answer, she to led the
door. It was unlocked. She pushed open the do.'r and
stepped into the room.

In front of her on the floor was her brother, Shelly. His
face was as white as the ivory-colored china in the dining
room breakfront. Bloody froth oozed from his nose.

77

Around his upper arm was a rubber tourniquet. On the
floor, six inches from his half-opened hand, was a syringe
Laurie had seen the night before. On the edge of his desk
was a glassine envelope. Laurie guessed what was inside
because of what Shelly had told her the night before. It had
to be the "speedball" he'd boasted of, a mixture of cocaine
and heroin.

Hours later the same day, Laurie endured the worst con-
frontation of her life. Inches from her nose was her father's
angry face with his bulging eyes and purpled skin. He was
beside himself with rage. His thumbs were digging into her
skin where he held her upper arms. A few feet away her
mother was sobbing into a tissue.

"Did you know your brother was using drugs?" her fa-
ther demanded. "Did you? Answer me." His grip tightened.

"Yes," Laurie blurted. "Yes, yes!"

"Why didn't you tell us?" her father shouted. "If you'd
told us, he'd be alive."

"I couldn't," Laurie sobbed.

"Why?" her father shouted. "Tell me why!"

"Because . . ." Laurie cried. She paused, then said: "Be-
cause he told me not to. He made me promise."

"Well, that promise killed him," her father hissed. "It
killed him just as much as the damn drug."

Laurie felt a hand grip her arm and she jumped. The
shock brought her back to the present. She blinked a few
times as if waking from a trance.

"Are you all right?" Lou asked. He'd gotten up and was
holding Laurie's arm.

"I'm fine," Laurie said, slightly embarrassed. She ex-
tracted herself from Lou's grip. "Let's see, where were we?"
Her breathing had quickened. Perspiration dotted her fore-
head. She looked over the paperwork in front of her, trying
to remember what had dredged up such old, painful memo-
ries. As if it had been yesterday, she could recall the anguish

   78

of the conflict of responsibility, sibling or filial, and the
terrible guilt and burden of having chosen the former.

"What were you thinking about?" Lou asked. "You
seemed a long way off.'?

"The fact that the victim had been discovered by his
girlfriend," Laurie said as her eyes stumbled again onto
Sara Wetherbee's name. She wasn't about to share her past
with this lieutenant. To this day she had trouble talking
about that tragic episode with friends, much less a st ranger.
"It must have been very hard for the poor woman."

"Unfortunately, homicide victims are often found by
those closest to them,' Lou said.

"Must have been a terrible shock," Laurie said. Her heart
went out to Sara Wetherbee. ''I must say, this ]:)uncan
Andrews case is certainly not the usual overdose."

Lou shrugged. "With cocaine, I'm not sure there is a
usual case. When the drug went upscale in the seventies,
deaths have been seen in all levels of society, from athletes
and entertainers to executives to college kids to inner city
hoodlums. It's a pretty democratic blight. A great leveler, if
you will."

"Here at the medical examiner's office, we mostly see
the lower end of the abuser spectrum," Laurie said. "But
you're right in general." Laurie smiled. She was impressed
by Lou. "What was your background before joining the

police?"

"What do you mean?" Lou asked.

"Did you go to college?'' Laurie asked.

"Of course I went to college!" Lou snapped. "Wl~at kind
of question is that?"

"Sorry," Laurie said. "I didn't mean to upset you. '

"And I don't mean to be testy," Lou said. "Sometimes
I'm a bit self-conscious about where I went to school. I only
got to go to a community college on the Island, not some
Ivy League ivory tower. Where'd you go'?"

   79

"Wesleyan University, up in Connecticut," Laurie said.
"Ever heard of it?"

"Of course I've heard of it," Lou said. "What do you
think, all police officers are ignoramuses? Wesleyan Univer-
sity. I might have known. As Billy Joel says, you uptown
girls live in an uptown world."

"How did you know I was from New York?"

"Your accent, Doctor," Lou said. "It's as indelible as my
Long Island Rego Park accent."

"I see," Laurie said. She didn't like to think she was such
an open book. She wondered what else this man could tell
about her from his years as an investigator.

Laurie changed the subject. "Where you go to school
matters less than what you do while you're there," she said.
"You shouldn't be sensitive about your college. Obviously
you got a good education."

"Easy for you to say," said Lou. "But thanks for the
compliment."

Laurie looked down at the papers on her desk. Suddenly
she felt a little guilty about her privileged background of a
private secondary school, Wesleyan University, Columbia
Medical School. She hoped she hadn't sounded patroniz-
ing.

"Let me take a quick look at the third case," Laurie said.
She opened the third folder. "Louis Herrera, age twenty-
eight, unemployed, found in a dumpster behind a grocery
store." Laurie looked up at Lou. "Probably died in a crack
house and was literally dumped. That's the usual overdose
we see. Another sad, wasted life."

"In some respects maybe more tragic than the rich guy,
Lou said. "I'd guess he had a lot fewer choices in life."

Laurie nodded. Lou's perspective was refreshing. She
reached for the phone and dialed Cheryl Myers down in the
medical investigator's department. She asked Cheryl to get
all the medical records she could on Duncan Andrews. She

80

told her that she hoped to find some medical problem that
she might be able to relate to his pathology.

Hanging up the phone, Laurie glanced over at Lou. "I
can't help it, but I feel like I'm cheating." She stood up and
gathered all the paperwork.

"You're not cheating," Lou assured her. "Besides, why
not wait until you have all the information, including the
autopsy? Then you can worry about it. Who knows, maybe
everything will work out."

"Good advice," Laurie said. "Let's get downstairs and
get to work."

Normally Laurie changed into her scrub clothes in her
office, but with Lou there, she opted to use the locker room.
When they got off the elevator on the basement level, Laurie
directed Lou into the men's side while she went into the
women's. Five minutes later they met up in the hall. Laurie
had on a layer of normal scrub clothes, then another imper-
meable layer, then a large apron. On her head she wore a
hood. A face mask dangled from around her neck. Lou had
on a single layer of scrubs, a hood, and he carried his face
mask.

"You look like one of the doctors," Laurie said, eyeing
Lou to make sure he'd put on the right clothing.

"I feel like I'm going into surgery instead of to see an
autopsy," Lou said. "I didn't wear all this the last time. You
sure I have to wear this mask?"

"Everyone in the autopsy room wears a mask," Laurie

said. "Because of AIDS and other infectious problems,
rules have become much stricter. If you don't wear it, Cal-
vin will bodily throw you out."

They walked down the main corridor of the morgue,
passing the stainless steel door to the walk-in cooler and
past the long bank of individual refrigerated compartments.
The refrigerator compartments formed a large U in the
middle of the morgue.

   81

"This place is certainly grisly," Lou commented.

"I suppose," Laurie said. "It's less so when you're used
to it."

"It looks like a Hollywood set for a horror movie," Lou
said. "Whoever picked out these blue tiles for the walls?
And what about the cement floor? Why isn't there any
covering? Look at all the stains."

Laurie stopped and gazed at the floor. Although the sur-
face was swept clean, the stains were unspeakable. "It was
supposed to be tiled long ago," she said. "Somehow it got
fouled up in New York City bureaucratic red tape. At least
that's what I've been told."

"And what are all those coffins doing here?" Lou asked.
"That's a nice touch." He pointed to a stack of simple pine
boxes piled almost to the ceiling. Others were standing on
end.

"Those are Potter's Field coffins," Laurie said. "There
are a lot of unidentified bodies in New York City. After
their autopsies we keep them in the cooler for a number of
weeks. If they go unclaimed, they are eventually buried at
city's expense."

"Isn't there someplace else they could store the coffins?"
Lou asked. "It looks like a garage sale."

"Not that I know of," Laurie said. "I guess I've never
thought about it. I'm so used to seeing them there."

Laurie pushed into the autopsy room first, then held the
door for Lou. In contrast to the previous morning, all eight
tables were now occupied by corpses, each with a tag tied
around its big toe. At five of the tables the posts were
already under way.

"Well, well, Dr. Montgomery is starting before noon,"
one of the gowned and hooded doctors quipped.

"Some of us are smart enough to test the water before we
jump in the pool," Laurie shot back.

"You're on table six," one of the mortuary techs called

   82

out from a sink where he was washing out a length of
intestine.

Laurie looked back at Lou, who had paused just inside
the door. She saw him swallow hard. Although he'd said
he'd seen autopsies before, she had the feeling that he found
this "assembly line" operation a bit overwhelming. With
the gut being washed out, the smell wasn't too good either.

"You can go outside anytime," Laurie said to him.

Lou held up a hand. "I'm all right," he said. "If you can
take this, I can too."

Laurie walked down to table six. Lou followed her. A
gowned and hooded Vinnie Amendola appeared.

"It's you and me today, Dr. Montgomery," Vinnie said.

"Fine," Laurie said. "Why don't you get everything we'll
need and we'll get started."

Vinnie nodded, then went over to the supply cabinets.

Laurie put out her note papers where she could get to
them, then looked at Duncan Andrews. "Handsome-look-
ing man," she said.

"I didn't think doctors thought that way," Lou said. "I
thought you guys all switched into neutral or something."

"Hardly," Laurie said. Duncan's pale body lay in appar-
ent repose on the steel table. His eyelids were closed. The
only thing that marred his appearance aside from his pasty
white color were the excoriations on his forearms. Laurie
pointed to them. "Those deep scratches are probably the
result of what's called formication. That's a tactile halluci-
nation of bugs under or on the skin. It's seen in both co-
caine and amphetamine intoxication."

Lou shook his head. "I can't understand why people take
drugs," he said. "It's beyond me."

"They do it for pleasure," Laurie said. "Unfortunately,
drugs like cocaine tap into parts of the brain that developed
during evolution as the reward center. It was to encourage
behavior likely to perpetuate the species. If the war against

   83

drugs is to succeed, the fact that drugs can be pleasurable
has to be admitted and not ignored."

"Why do I have the feeling you don't think much of the
Just Say No campaign?" Lou asked.

"Because I don't. It's stupid," Laurie said. "Or at least
shortsighted. I don't think the politicians who dreamed that
scheme up have a clue to what growing up in today's society
is like, especially for poor urban kids. Drugs are around, and
when kids try them and find out that drugs are pleasurable,
they think the powers-that-be are lying about the negative or
dangerous side as well."

"You ever try any of that stuff?"

"I've tried pot and cocaine."

"Really?"

"Are you surprised?" Laurie asked.

"I suppose I am, to an extent."

"Why?"

Lou shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose you don't look
the type."

Laurie laughed. "I guess he looks more the type than I do
right now," she said, pointing to Andrews. "But when he was
alive I bet he didn't look the type either. Yeah, I tried some
drugs in college. Despite what happened to my brother, or
maybe because of it."

"What happened to your brother?" Lou asked.

Laurie looked down at the body of Duncan Andrews.
She'd not meant to bring her brother into the conversation.
The comment had slipped out as if she were talking with
someone with whom she was close.

"Did your brother overdose?" Lou asked.

Laurie's eyes went from Duncan's corpse to Lou. She
couldn't lie. "Yes," she said. "But I don't want to talk about
it."

"Fine," Lou said. "I don't mean to pry."

Laurie turned back to Duncan's body. For a second she

   84

was immobilized by the thought it was her brother's body
before her on that cold table. She was relieved to be
interrupted by Vinnie returning with gloves, specimen bottles,
preservatives, labels, and a series of instruments. She was
eager to get started and put these reveries behind her.

"Let's do it," Vinnie said. He began applying the labels to
the specimen jars.

Laurie opened the gloves and put them on. She put on her
goggles and began a careful exterior examination of Duncan
Andrews. After looking at Duncan's head, she motioned for
Lou to step around to the other side of the table. Parting
Duncan's hair with her gloved hand, she showed Lou multiple
bruises.

"I'll bet he had at least one convulsion," Laurie said. "Let's
look at the tongue."

Laurie opened Duncan's mouth. The tongue was lacerated
in several locations. "Just what I expected," she said. "Now
let's see how much cocaine this fellow has been using." With
a small flashlight and a nasal speculum, she looked up

Duncan's nose. "No perforations. Looks normal. Guess he
hadn't been sniffing much."

Laurie straightened up. She noticed Lou's attention had
been directed at a neighboring table where they were busy
sawing off the top of a skull. Their eyes met.

"You okay?" Laurie questioned.

"I'm not sure," Lou said. "You actually do this every day?"

"On average, three or four days a week," Laurie said.
"You want to go outside for a while? I can let you know
when we do DePasquale."

"No, I'll be all right. Let's get on with it. What's next?"

"I usually check the eyes," Laurie said. She studied Lou.
The last thing she wanted was for him to pass out and hit his
head on the concrete floor. That had happened to a visitor
once before.

   85

"Continues" Lou urged. "I'm fine."

Laurie shrugged. Then she put her thumb and index fin-
ger on Duncan's eyelids and drew them up.

Lou gasped and turned away.

For a moment even Laurie was taken aback. The eyes
were gone! The pulpy red sockets were filled with pink-
stained wads of gauze. It gave the corpse a ghastly appear-
ance.

"Okay!" Lou said. "You got me. You set me up and you
got me. I'll have to give you that." He turned back to
Laurie. The bit of facial skin visible between his mask and
his hood was blanched. "Let me guess: this was some sort
of initiation ordeal for the rookie."

Laurie let out a short, nervous laugh. "I'm sorry, Lou,"
she said. "I'd forgotten the eyes had been taken. Truly. This
was the case where the family was insistent that the de-
ceased's wishes to be an organ donor be honored. If the eyes
can be harvested within twelve hours, they often can be
used if there are no other contraindications. Occasionally it
can even be longer than twelve hours if the body is chilled."

"I don't mind being the butt of a joke," Lou said.

"But it wasn't a joke," Laurie insisted. "I'm sorry. Hon-
est. I'd been called on this case yesterday. With everything
else that's happened, I'd forgotten. I just remembered this
was a case where the victim took the cocaine IV. Let's see
if we can find the injection site."

Laurie rotated Duncan's right arm palm up so she could
examine its volar surface. Vinnie did the same with the left

arm.

"Here it is," Laurie exclaimed, pointing to a minute
puncture wound over one of the veins in front of the elbow

area.

"I didn't know cocaine could be mainlined," Lou said.

"It's taken into the body just about every way you can
imagine and some you can't," Laurie said. "IV is not com-

   86

mon, but it's done." As she spoke, her mind took h' r back
to the night before she found Shelly dead in his be Iroom.
He'd just come home from Yale, and Laurie we; in his
room, eager to hear about college. Flis open Dopp sit was
on his bed.

"What's this?" Laurie questioned. She held up a Pack of
condoms.

"Give me that," Shelly shouted, clearly peeved lo have
his baby sister find such a thing in his shaving kit.

Laurie giggled as Shelly snatched the contraceptive s from
her hand. While Shelly was busy burying them in his top
bureau drawer, Laurie looked into tile Dopp kit to so e what
else she could find. But what she saw was more dis urhing
than interesting. Touching it ever so gingerly, Laurie lilted
a 10 cc syringe from the bag. It was the needle she was to
see the following day.

"What is this?" she demanded.

Shelly came over and tried to grab the needle, but Laurie
evaded him.

"You got this from Daddy's office, didn't you?" I_a~'rie
demanded.

"Give me that or you are in serious trouble," Shelly

snapped. He trapped her against the wall.

Laurie gripped the needle in both hands behind her back.
Having grown up in New York (pity, she knew vhc!t it
meant when a fellow teenager had a needle.

"Are you shooting up?" Laurie asked.

Shelly overpowered her and got the needle. He took it
over to his bureau and hid it with his condoms. Then he
turned back to his sister, who hadr't. moved.

"I've tried it a couple of times," Shelly said. "It'. called
speedball. A lot of the guys at school do it. It's no b g deal.
But I don't want you to say anything to Mom or Dad. If
you do, I'll never talk to you again. You uncle stand?
Never."

   87

Laurie's momentary reverie was cut short by the boom-
ing voice of Calvin Washington. "What the hell is going on
here?" he yelled. "Why haven't you even started this case?
I came in here to see if you found anything we can hang our
hats on and you haven't even started. Get busy."

Laurie sprang into action. She completed her external
examination, noting only a few ecchymotic bruises on Dun-
can's upper arms in addition to her other findings. Then she
took a scalpel and expertly made the traditional Y-shaped
incision from the points of the shoulders down to the pubis.
With Vinnie helping, she worked silently and quickly re-
moving the breastbone and exposing the internal organs.

Lou tried to stay out of the way. "I'm sorry if I've slowed
you down," he said when Laurie paused, allowing Vinnie to
organize the specimen bottles.

"No problem," Laurie said. "When we do DePasquale
I'll explain a bit more. I just want to get Andrews finished.
If Calvin really gets mad there could be trouble."

"I understand," Lou said. "Would you rather I leave?"

"No, not at all," Laurie said. "Just don't get your feelings
hurt when I ignore you for a while."

After Laurie inspected all the internal organs in situ, she
used several syringes to take various fluids for toxicologic
testing. She and Vinnie went through a precise procedure to
make sure the right specimen got in the correctly labeled
bottle. Then she began to remove the organs, one by one.
She spent the most time on the heart, until eventually it,
too, was removed.

While Vinnie took the stomach and the intestines to the
sink to wash them out, Laurie carefully went through the
heart, taking multiple samples for later microscopic exami-
nation. She then took similar samples from some of the
other organs. By then Vinnie was back. Without any en-
couragement, he began on the head, reflecting the scalp.
After Laurie inspected the skull, she nodded to him to use

88

the power vibrating saw to cut through the skull in a circu-
lar fashion just above the ears.

Lou kept his distance when Laurie lifted the brain o'..~t of
its skull and plopped it into a pan held by Vinnie. Wielding
a long-bladed knife similar to a butcher's, she began mak-
ing serial cuts as if she were dealing with a slab of processed
meat. It was all an efficient, well-practiced duet requiring
little conversation.

Half an hour later, Laurie led Lou out of the autopsy
room. Leaving the aprons and gowns behind, they vent
up to the lunchroom on the second floor for coffee. they
had about fifteen minutes while Vimlie took Duncan~s re-
mains away and "put up" the next case, Frank DePas-
quale.

"Thanks, but I don't think I'll be eating anything lor a
few days, ' Lou said when offered something from olive ot
the several vending machines in the lunchroom. Laurie
poured herself another cup of coffee. They sat at a For mic a
table near the microwave oven. There were about fifteen
other people in the room, all engaged in animated conversa-
tion.

Seeing other people smoking, Lou took out a bc~x <:' f
Marlboros, a pack of matches, and l it up. When he notice d
Laurie's expression, he took the cigarette out of his mouth.
"Okay if I smoke?" he asked.

"If you must," Laurie said.

"Just one," Lou assured her.

"Well, Duncan Andrews didn't have any pathology on
gross," she said. "And I don't think I'm going to find
anything on histology either."

"You can only do your best," Lou said. "If worse comes
to worst, dump it in Calvin's lap. Let him decide what to do.
As part of the brass, it's his job."

"Whoever does the autopsy has to sign out on the cleats
certificate," Laurie said. "But maybe I can give it a try.''

   89

"I was impressed with the way you handled that knife in
the autopsy room . . ." Lou said.

"Thanks for your compliment," Laurie said. "But why
do I feel like I hear a 'but' coming?"

"It's just I'm surprised an attractive woman like yourself
would choose this kind of work," Lou said.

Laurie closed her eyes and let out a sigh of exasperation.
"That's a rather chauvinistic comment." She stared at Lou.
"Unfortunately, it undermines your compliment. Did you
mean to say, 'What is a pretty girl like you doing in a place
like this?' "

"Hey, I'm sorry," Lou said. "I didn't mean it that way at
all."

"Talking about my appearance and my abilities and re-
lating the two makes a negative comment about both,"
Laurie said. She took a sip of her coffee. She could tell that
Lou was bewildered and uncomfortable. "I don't mean to
jump on you," she added. "But I'm sick of defending my
career choice. And I'm also sick of hearing my looks and
my gender have anything to do with my position."

"Maybe I'd better just keep my trap shut," said Lou.

Laurie glanced up at the clock on the wall. "I think we
should get downstairs. I'm sure Vinnie has DePasquale on
the table." She gulped down the rest of her coffee and stood
up.

Lou stubbed out his cigarette and hurried after her. Five
minutes later they were back in their gowns, standing in
front of the X-ray view box in the autopsy room, looking at
the X-rays of Frank DePasquale. The AP and the lateral of
the head showed the bright silhouette of the bullet resting
in the posterior fossa.

"You were right about the location of the bullet," Laurie
said. "There it is in the base of the brain."

"Gangland execution is very efficient," Lou said.

"I can believe it," Laurie added. "The reason is that a

   90

bullet into the base of the brain hits the brainstem. That's
where the vital centers are for thin rs like breathing and
heartbeat."

"I suppose if I have to go, that's on way I'd like it to be,"
Lou said.

Laurie looked at the detective. "That's a pleasant
thought. "

Lou shrugged. "In my line of word\. you think about it."

Laurie glanced back at the X-ray. "You were also right
about its being small caliber. I'd gut ss a twenty-two or a
twenty-five at most."

"That's what they usually use," Lou said. "The more
powerful stuff is just too messy."

Laurie led the way to table six, where Frankie's mortal
remains were laid out. The corpse we, slightly bloated. The
right eye was more swollen than the left.

"He looks younger than eighteen, ' Laurie said.

"More like fifteen," Lou agreed.

Laurie asked Vinnie to roll the boy over so they could
look at the back of the head. With a ~ loved hand she parted
his wet, matted hair and exposed a round entrance wound
surrounded by a larger round area oi abrasion. After taking

some measurements and photographs, Laurie carefully
shaved the surrounding hair to expose the wound com-
pletely.

"It was obviously a close-range shot," Laurie said. She
pointed to the tight ring of gunpowd.` r stippling around the
punched-out center.

"How close?" Lou asked.

Laurie pondered for a moment. I I say three or four
inches. Something like that."

"Typical," Lou said.

Laurie took another series of measurements and photo-
graphs. Then, with a clean scalpel, sl e carefully teased bits
of the gunpowder residue from the 1epths of som. of the

   91

small stippled puncture wounds. By tapping the scalpel
blade against the inside of a glass collection tube, Laurie
preserved this material for laboratory analysis.

"Never know what the chemists can tell us," she said. She
gave the tubes to Vinnieto label.

"We need a break," Lou said. "I don't care where it
comes from."

When Vinnie was finished labeling the collection tubes,
Laurie had him help her turn Frank back into a supine
position.

"What's wrong with the right eye?" Lou asked.

"I don't know," Laurie said. "From the X-ray it didn't
look like the bullet went into the orbit, but you never
know." The lid was a purplish color. Swollen conjunctive
protruded through the palpebral fissure. Gently, Laurie
pulled up the eyelid.

"Ugh," Lou said. "That looks bad. The first case had no
eyes; this one looks like the eye's been run over with a Mack
truck. Could that have happened when he was floating
around in the East River?"

Laurie shook her head. "Happened before death. See the
hemorrhages under the mucous membrane? That means the
heart was pumping. He was alive when this occurred."

Bending closer, Laurie studied the cornea. By looking at
the reflection of the overhead lights off its surface, she could
tell that the cornea was irregular. Plus, it was a milky white.
Reaching over to the left eye, she lifted its lid. In contrast
to the right, the left cornea was clear; the eye stared blankly
at the ceiling.

"Could the bullet have done that?" Lou asked.

"I don't think so," Laurie said. "It looks more like a
chemical burn the way it's affected the cornea. We'll get a
sample for Toxicology. I'll look at it closely in sections
under the microscope. I have to admit, I haven't seen any-
thing quite like it."

   92

Laurie continued her external exam. When she looked at
the wrists, she pointed to them. "See these abrasion; and
indentations?"

"Yeah," Lou said. "What's that mean?"

"I'd say this poor guy had been tied up. Maybe the eve
lesion was some kind of torture."

"These are nasty people," Lou said. "What irks One is
that they hide behind this supposed code of ethics when in
reality it's just a dog-eat-dog world. And what really irks
me is that their screwing around tends to give all Italian-
Americans a bad name."

As Laurie examined Frank's hands and legs, she asked
Lou why the Vaccarro and Lucia cringe families were leud-
ing.

"For territory, ' Lou said. "They all have to sleep in the
same bed, Queens and parts of Nassau County. They are
forever at each other's throats for territory. They are in direct
competition for their drugs, loan-sharking, gambling clubs,
fencing, extortion rings, hot car rings, hijacking . . . You
name it and they're into it. They're forever fighting and
killing each other, but it's a Mexican standoffso in a way they
also have to get along. It's a weird world."

"All this illegal activity goes on even today?" Laurie
questioned.

"Absolutely," Lou said. "And what we know about is

just the tip of the iceberg."

"Why don't the police do something?"

Lou sighed. "We're trying, but it ain't easy. We need
evidence. As I explained before, thaws hard to gel. The
bosses are insulated and the killers are pros. Even when
we've got the goods on them they still have to go through
the courts, and nothing is guaranteed. We Americans have
always been so worried about tyrannic from the author ities,
that we legally give the bad guys the e dge."

"It's difficult to believe so little can be done," Lauri ~ said.

   93

"Something can only be done if we get hard evidence.
Take Frank DePasquale here. I'm ninety-nine percent sure
Cerino and his crew are responsible for whacking him. But
I can't do anything without some proof, some break."

"I thought the police had informers," Laurie said.

"We have informers," Lou agreed. "But nobody who
really knows anything. The people that could really point a
finger are more scared of each other than they are of us."

"Well, maybe I'll come up with something with this
post," Laurie said, redirecting her gaze to Frank DePas-
quale's corpse. "The trouble is that bodies in water tend to
be washed of evidence. Of course, there is the bullet. At the
very least I can give you the bullet."

"I'll take whatever I can get," Lou said.

Laurie and Vinnie tackled the autopsy. At each step she
explained to Lou what they were doing. The only difference
between Frank's autopsy and Duncan's was the way Laurie
did the brain. With Frank she was meticulously careful to
follow the bullet's path. She noted that it never came near
to the swollen eye. She was also careful not to touch the
bullet with a metal instrument. Once she'd retrieved it, she
put it into a plastic container to avoid scratching it. Later,
after it was dry, she marked it on its base, then photo-
graphed it before sealing it in a small envelope. The enve-
lope was then attached to a property receipt, ready to be
turned over to the police, meaning Sergeant Murphy or his
partner upstairs.

"It's been quite a morning," Lou said as they exited the
autopsy room. "It's been very instructive, but I think I'll
pass on your third case."

"I was surprised you tolerated two," Laurie said.

They paused outside the locker room. "I'll go through
the microscopic material on Frank DePasquale, and I'll let
you know if anything interesting turns up. The only thing
that I think might be interesting is the eye. But who
knows??'

   94

"Well, it's been fun . . ." Lou said. I le shifted his weight
from one foot to the other.

Laurie looked into the lieutenant's dark eyes. Sh had a
feeling he wanted to ask her something else, but couldn't
seem to get it out. 'I'm heading upstairs for another ;hot of
coffee," she said. 'Would you care for another bef' re you
run off?"

"Sounds good." Lou said without hesitation.

Up in the lunchroom they found themselves at the same
table they'd occupied earlier. Laurie couldn't uncl rstand
why the confident Lou had become so fidgety and awk-
ward. She watched while he took out his cigaret es and
matches and fumbled to light up.

"You've been smoking for a long time?" Laurie asked,
just to make conversation.

"Since I was twelves" Lou said. "In my neighbor rood it
was the thing to do." He shook out his match and tools a
long drag.

"Have you ever considered stopping?" Laurie as fell.

"Absolutely," Lou said. He blew smoke over hi shoul-
der. "It's easy to stop. I've been doing it weekly for a year.
Seriously though. I do want to quit. But it's hard i t hcad-
quarters. Most everybody smokes."

"I'm sorry that we didn't come up with a break trough
with DePasquale." Laurie said.

"Maybe the bullet will help somehow," Lou s id He
dropped his cigarette into the ashtray while trying, to bal-
ance it on the edge. "The ballistics people are pi tty re-
sourceful. Ouch!" Lou pulled his hand away fri em the
ashtray. He'd burned his finger on his cigarette.

"Lou, are you all right?" Laurie askecl.

"I'm finest' L ou said too quickly. He tried again; rid this
time succeeded in retrieving his cigarette.

"You seem upset about something" Laurie sale

"Just have a lot on my mind," Lou said. "But here is
something I'd like to ask. Are you married?"

   95

In spite of herself, Laurie smiled and shook her head.
"Now there's a question out of the blue."

"I agree," Lou said.

"Also, under the circumstances, it's not very profes-
sional," Laurie said.

"I can't argue with that either," Lou admitted.

Laurie paused as she had a mini-argument with herself.
"No," she said finally. "I'm not married."

"Well, in that case . . ." Lou said, struggling for words,
". . . maybe we could have lunch someday."

"I'm flattered, Lieutenant Soldano," Laurie said un-
easily. "But I usually don't mix my private life with work."

"Nor do I," Lou said.

"What if I say maybe, and I'll think about it?"

"Fine," Lou said. Laurie could tell he regretted having
put the question to her. He stood up abruptly. Laurie got
up, too, but Lou motioned for her to stay where she was.
"Finish your coffee. I can testify that you need a break,
believe me. I'll just run downstairs, change, and be on my
way. Let me hear from you." With a wave, Lou left. At the
door, he turned and waved again.

Laurie waved back as Lou's figure disappeared from
view. He really was a bit like Colombo: intelligent yet lum-
bering and mildly disorganized. At the same time, he had a
basic blue-collar charm and a refreshing, down-to-earth
lack of pretense that appealed to her. He also seemed
lonely.

Finishing her coffee, Laurie got up and stretched. As she
walked out of the lunchroom, she realized that Lou also
reminded her a bit of her on-again, off-again boyfriend,
Sean Mackenzie. No doubt her mother would find Lou
equally as inappropriate. Laurie wondered if part of the
reason she found herself attracted to such a type was be-
cause she knew her parents would disapprove. If that was
true, she wondered when she'd get this rebelliousness out of
her system for good.

   96

Pressing the down button on the elevator, it dawned on
Laurie that after Lou had surprised her with his question,
she'd failed to ask him if he were married. She decided that
if he called, she'd ask. She checked her watch. She was
doing fine: only one more autopsy to go and it `` as still
before noon.

Laurie checked the address she'd jotted on a l rece of
paper, then looked up at the impressive Fifth Avenue apart-
ment building. It was in the mid-Seventies, bordering on
Central Park. The entrance had a blue canvas, scalloped
awning that extended to the curb. A liveried doorma ~ stood
expectantly just behind the glazed, wrought-iron door.

As Laurie approached the door, the doorman pi. shed it
open for her then politely asked if he could help her.

"I'd like to speak to the superintendent," Laurie s. id. She
unbuttoned her coat. While the doorman struggled with an
old-fashioned intercom system, Laurie sat on a leather
couch and glanced around the foyer. It was tasteful! `~ cleco-
rated in restrained, muted tones. An arrangement Of fresh
fall flowers stood on a credenza.

It was not difficult for Laurie to imagine Duncan An-
drews striding confidently into the foyer of his ap`: rtment
building, picking up his mail, and waiting for the elevator.
Laurie glanced over at the bank of mailboxes discreetly
shielded by a Chinese wooden screen. She wonderer which
one was Duncan's and if letters awaited his arrival

 "Can I help you?"

Laurie stood and looked eye-to-eye at a must.: chioed
Hispanic. Stitched into his shirt above his breast pocket was
the name "Juan."

"I'm Dr. Montgomery," Laurie said. "I'm from tl e med-
ical examiner's of lice." Laurie flipped open the leather - cover
of her wallet to reveal her shiny medical examiner s badge.
It looked like a police badge.

"How can I help you?" Juan asked.

   97

"I would like to visit Duncan Andrews' apartment,"
Laurie said. "I'm involved with his postmortem examina-
tion and I'd like to view the scene."

Laurie purposefully kept her language official. In truth,
she felt uncomfortable about what she was doing. Although
some jurisdictions required medical examiners to visit death
scenes, the New York office didn't. Policy had evolved to
delegate such duties to the forensic medical investigators.
But when Laurie was training in Miami, she had had a lot
of experience visiting scenes. In New York, she missed the
added information such visits afforded. Yet she wasn't visit-
ing Duncan's apartment for such a reason. She didn't ex-
pect to find anything that would add to the case. She felt
compelled more for personal reasons. The idea of a privi-
leged, accomplished young man ending his life for a few
moments of drug-induced pleasure made her think of her
brother. This death had stirred up feelings of guilt she'd
suppressed for seventeen years.

"Mr. Andrews' girlfriend is up there," Juan said. "At
least I saw her go up half an hour ago." Directing his
attention to the doorman, he asked if Ms. Wetherbee had
left. The doorman said she hadn't.

Turning back to Laurie, Juan added, "It's apartment 7C.
I'll take you up there."

Laurie hesitated. She'd not expected anyone to be in the
apartment. She really didn't want to talk with any of the
family members, much less Andrews' girlfriend. But Juan
was already in the elevator pressing the floor button and
holding the door for her. Having presented herself in her
official capacity, she felt she couldn't leave.

Juan pounded on the door to 7C. When it didn't open
immediately, he pulled out a ring of keys the size of a
baseball and began flipping through them. The door opened
just as he was about to insert a key.

Standing in the doorway was a woman about Laurie's

   98

height with blond, curly hair. She was wearing a sweatshirt
over acid-washed jeans. Fresh tears stained her che ks.

Juan introduced Laurie as being from the hospital then
excused himself.

"I don't remember seeing you at the hospital," Sal a said.

"I'm not from the hospital," Laurie said. "I'm fr em the
medical examiner's office."

"Are you going to do an autopsy on Duncan's body?"
Sara asked.

"I already have," Laurie said. "I just wanted to see the
scene where he died."

"Of course," Sara said. She stepped back from th door.
"Come in."

Laurie stepped into the apartment. She felt extremely
uncomfortable knowing she was intruding on thi, poor
woman's grief. She waited while Sara locked the door-. The
apartment was spacious. Even from the foyer Lauri' could
see out over the leafless expanse of Central Park. lJncon-
sciously she shook her head at the senselessness of I Duncan
Andrews' taking drugs. At least on the surface liS life
seemed perfect.

"Duncan actually collapsed right here in the doorway,''
Sara said. She pointed at the floor by the door. Fresh tears
spilled down her cheeks. "Just before I knocked he pulled
it open. It was as if he'd gone crazy. He was heading ~ utside
practically naked."

"I'm terribly sorry," Laurie said. "Drugs can do that to

people. Cocaine can make them feel like they're ~ urging
up."

"I didn't even know he took drugs,?' Sara cbl:>ed.
"Maybe if I'd gotten over here faster after he celled, it
wouldn't have happened. Maybe if I'd stayed Sunday e ve-
ning . . ."

"Drugs are such a curse," Laurie said. "No one i i going
to know the reason Duncan took them. But it fists his

   99

choice. You can't blame yourself." Laurie paused. "I know
how you feel," she said at last. "I found my big brother
after he'd overdosed."

"Really?" Sara said through her tears.

Laurie nodded. For the second time that day Laurie had
admitted a secret that she'd not shared with anyone for
seventeen years. This job was getting to her, all right, but in
a way she had never expected. The case of Duncan Andrews
had touched her in a fashion no other case had ever done.

   100

4

6:5 I P.M., TUESDAY
 MANHATTAN

"Christ!" Tony exclaimed. "Here we are waiting. again.
Every night we wait. I thought last night when we finally
caught that prick DePasquale, things would mov along.
But oh no, we're back here waiting like nothing hap ~ keened."

Angelo leaned forward and tapped the ash from Lois ciga-
rette into the ashtray, then leaned back. He didn't fly any-
thing. He'd promised himself earlier that after `:'on to
ignore Tony. Angelo regarded the busy street scene People
were heading home after work, walking their dogs, or com-
ing back from the grocery store. He and Tony were parked
in a loading zone on Park Avenue between Eighty- 1 rst and
Eighty-second, headed north. Both sides of the str et were
filled with high-rise apartment buildings whose fir ;t Doors
were filled with professional office suites.

"I'm going to get out and do some push-ups," Tory said.

   101

"Shut the hell up!" Angelo snapped, despite his vow to
disregard his partner. "We went over this last night. You
don't get out and do push-ups when we're waiting for ac-
tion. What's the matter with you? You want a neon sign or
something to let the cops know we're sitting here? We're not
supposed to call attention to ourselves. Can't you under-
stand that?"

"All right," Tony said. "Don't get pissed. I won't get
out!"

In utter frustration, Angelo blew through pursed lips and
beat a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel with the first
two fingers of his right hand. Tony was wearing even for
Angelo's practiced calm.

"If we want to hit the doctor's office, why don't we just
go in there and do it?" Tony said after a pause. "It don't
make sense wasting all this time."

"We're waiting for the secretary," Angelo said. "We
want to be sure the place is empty. Plus, she can let us in.
We don't want to break down any doors."

"If she lets us in, then she's there and it's not empty
anymore," Tony said. "It doesn't make sense."

"Trust me," Angelo said. "This is the best way to do
what we have to do."

"Nobody ever tells me anything," Tony brooded. "This
whole operation is weird. Breaking into a doctor's office is
crazy. It's even crazier than when we broke into the Man-
hattan Organ Repository. At least there we got a few hun-
dred in cash. What the hell are we going to find in a doctor's
office?"

"If it doesn't take too long we can see if there's any cash
in here, too," Angelo said. "Maybe we can also look for
Percodan and stuff like that if it will make you happy."

"Hard way to get a few pills," Tony muttered.

Angelo laughed in spite of his aggravation.

"What do you think about old Doc Travino?" Tony

   102

asked. "Do you think he knows what the hell he's talking
about?"

"Personally, I have my doubts," Angelo sai<:l. "But
Cerino trusts him and that's what's important."

"Come on, Angelo," Tony whined. "Tell me why we're
going in there. Isn't Cerino happy with this doe?"

"Cerino loves the guy," Angelo said. "He thinks he's the
best in the world. In fact, that's why we're going in. '

"But why?" Tony asked. "Tell me that and I'll ShUl. Up.''

"For some of the guy's records," Angelo said.

"I knew it was crazy," Tony said, "but not that crazy.
What are we going to do with the guy's records?'?

"You told me you would shut up if I told you what we
were after. So shut up! Besides, you're not supposed to ask
so many questions."

"There, that's just what I was complaining about,?? T ony
said. "Nobody tells me what's going on. If I knew more
about what was happening, I could do more; I could be
more help."

Angelo laughed sarcastically.

"I can tell you don't believe me," Tony complained. "But

it's true. Try me! I'm sure I'd have some suggestions, even
for this job."

"Everything is going fine," Angelo assured him. "E'lan-
ning is not your strong suit. Whacking people is.'

"That's true," Tony agreed. "That's what I like best.
Bam! It's over. None of this complicated stuff."

"There'll be enough whacking over the next c. rupee of
weeks to satisfy even you," Angelo promised.

"I can't wait," Tony said. "Maybe it will make up for all
this waiting around.?'

"There she is," Angelo said. He pointed aheatl to a
heavyset woman emerging from one of the apartment build-
ings. She was busy buttoning a red coat with one hand and
holding a hat to her head with the other.

   103

"Okay, let's go," Angelo said. "But keep your piece out
of sight and let me do all the talking."

Angelo and Tony got out of the car. They walked over to
the woman just as she joined a cab line.

"Mrs. Schulman!" Angelo called.

The woman turned toward Angelo. Her distrustful hau-
teur evaporated as soon as she recognized the man. "Hello,
Mr...." she said, trying to remember Angelo's name.

"Facciolo," Angelo offered.

"Of course," she said. "And how is Mr. Cerino getting
along?"

"Just great, Mrs. Schulman," Angelo said. "He's getting
pretty good with his cane. But he asked me to come over
here to talk to you. Do you have a minute?"

"I suppose," Mrs. Schulman said. "What is it you'd like
to talk about?"

"It's confidential," Angelo said. "I'd prefer if you came
over to the car for a moment." Angelo gestured toward the
black Town Car.

Obviously discomfited by this request, Mrs. Schulman
muttered something about having to be somewhere shortly.

Angelo slipped a hand into his jacket pocket and lifted his
Walther automatic pistol just enough so Mrs. Schulman
could see its butt.

"I'm afraid I have to insist," Angelo said. "We won't
take much of your time and afterwards we'll be sure to drop
you off someplace convenient."

Mrs. Schulman glanced at Tony, who smiled back. "All
right," she said nervously. "As long as it doesn't take too
long."

"That will be up to you," Angelo said, motioning toward
the car again.

Tony led the way. Mrs. Schulman slid into the front seat
when Tony opened the door for her with a courteous bow.
Tony got in the back while Angelo climbed into the driver's
seat.

   104

"Does this have something to do with my husband,
Danny Schulman?" Mrs. Schulman asked.

"Danny Schulman from Bayside?" Angelo said ' Is he
your old man?"

"Yes, he is," Mrs. Schulman said.

"Who's Dann! Schulman?" Tony asked from the back-
seat.

"He owns a joint in Bayside called Crystal Palace, ' An-
gelo said. "A lot of the Lucia people go there."

"He's very well connected," Mrs. Schulman said.
"Maybe you men would like to talk with him."

"No, this has nothing to do with l2'anny," Angelo said.
"All we want to know is if the good doctor's office is
empty."

"Yes, everyone has gone for the day`' Mrs. Schulman
said. "I locked up as I usually do."

"That's good,' Angelo said, "because we want you to go
back inside. We're interested in some oi the doctor s rec-
ords."

"What records?" Mrs. Schulman asked.

"I'll tell you when we get inside," Angelo said. "But
before we go I avant you to know that if you decide to do
anything foolish, it'd be the last foolish thing you do. Do I
make myself clear?"

"Quite clear," Mrs. Schulman said, r egaining some of her
composure.

"This isn't a trig deal," Angelo added. "I mean, we're
civilized people.'

"I understand. ' Mrs. Schulman said.

"Okay! Let's go," Angelo said, and he opened his door.

"Hello, Miss Montgomery," George said. George was
one of the doormen at Laurie's parents' apartment house.
He'd been there for decades. He looked sixty but he was
actually seventy-~wo. He liked to tell 1 aurie that h`'d been
the one to open the cab door the rla,, her motl-~er had

   105

brought Laurie home from the hospital just days after her
birth.

After a brief chat with George, Laurie went on up to her
parents'. So many memories! Even the smell of the place
was familiar. But more than anything, the apartment re-
minded her of that awful day she'd found her brother. She'd
almost wished her parents had moved after the tragedy, just
so she wouldn't have to be constantly reminded of her
brother's overdose.

"Hello, dear!" her mother crooned as she let Laurie into
the foyer. Dorothy Montgomery bent forward and offered
her daughter a cheek. She smelled of expensive perfume.
Her silver-gray hair was cut short in a style that was making
the covers of women's fashion magazines lately. Dorothy
was a petite, vibrant woman in her mid-sixties who looked
younger than her years, thanks to a second face-lift.

As Dorothy took Laurie's coat, she cast a critical eye
over her daughter's attire. "I see you didn't wear the wool
suit I bought for you."

"NO, Mother, I did not," Laurie said. She closed her
eyes, hoping her mother wouldn't start in on her this early.

"At least you could have worn a dress."

Laurie refrained from responding. She'd chosen a jac-
quard blouse embellished with mock jewels and a pair of
wool pants that she'd gotten from a mail order catalogue.
An hour earlier she'd thought it was one of her best outfits.
Now she wasn't so sure.

"No matter," Dorothy said after hanging up Laurie's
coat. "Come on, I want you to meet everyone, especially
Dr. Scheffield,ourguest of honor."

Dorothy led Laurie into the formal living room, a room
reserved exclusively for entertaining. There were eight peo-
ple in the room, each balancing a drink in one hand and a
canape in the other. Laurie recognized most of these guests,
four married couples who'd been friends of her parents for

   106

years. Three of the men were physicians, tibe other a lanker.
Like her own mother, the wives w' ren't career vomen.
They devoted their time to charities just as her moth r did.

After some small talk, Dorothy dragged Laurie den the
hall to the library where Sheldon Mor tgc~mery was c flowing
Jordan Scheffield some rare medical textbooks.

"Sheldon, introduce your daughter to Dr. Sch~ffield,"
Dorothy commanded, interrupting he r h usband in r lid sent-
ence.

Both men looked up from a bool ire Sheldon's hands.
Laurie's gaze went from her father's dour aristocratic face
to Jordan Scheffield's, and she was pleasantly surprised. She
had expected Jordan to look more like her image of an
ophthalmologist; that he'd be older, heavier, stodgy, and
far less attractive. But the man who stood before leer was
dramatically handsome with sandy bloc' hair, tanned skin,
bright blue eyes, and rugged, angular features. Not only
didn't he look like an ophthalmologists lie didn't even look
like a doctor. He looked more like ~ professional athlete.
He was even taller than her father, ~ ho was six-tvio. And
instead of a glenn plaid suit like her f lither was wearing, he
had on tan slacks, a blue blazer, and a white shirt ripen at
the collar. He wasn't even wearing a tie

Laurie shook hands with Jordan its Sheldon made the
introductions. His grip was forceful ar,d sure. He looked
directly into her eyes and smiled pleasantly.

The fact that Sheldon liked Jordar was immediately ap-
parent to Laurie as he pounded him on the back, insisting
he get him some more of the special Scc tch he usually hid

when company came. Sheldon went tic get the prized lic,3uor,
leaving Laurie alone with Jordan.

"Your parents are extremely hosp table," Jordan said.

"They can be," Laurie said. "Their enjoy entertaining.
They certainly were looking forward to! your c033~ii3g to-
night."

   107

"I'm glad to be here," Jordan said. "Your father had
nothing but nice things to say about you. I've been looking
forward to meeting you."

"Thank you," Laurie said. She was mildly surprised to
hear that her father had spoken of her at all, let alone
spoken well. "Likewise," said Laurie. "Frankly, you're not
what I'd expected."

"What did you expect?" Jordan asked.

"Well," said Laurie, suddenly slightly embarrassed, "I
thought you'd look like an ophthalmologist."

Throwing his head back, Jordan laughed heartily. "And
just what does an ophthalmologist look like?"

Laurie was relieved when her father came back with Jor-
dan's refill, thus sparing her an explanation. Her father told
Jordan that he wanted to show him some ancient surgical
instruments in the den. As Jordan obediently followed his
host, he sent a conspiratorial smile Laurie's way.

At dinner, Jordan was responsible for lightening the at-
mosphere. He managed to force even the most reserved of
Laurie's parents' friends to open up. Hearty laughter filled
the room for the first time in recent memory.

Sheldon encouraged Jordan to tell certain stories he'd
told Sheldon about his famous patients. Jordan was only
too happy to oblige, and he recounted the stories in an
exuberant, almost boastful manner that had everyone
laughing. Even Laurie's emotional day receded into the
background as she heard Jordan's amusing tales of the rich
and famous who passed through his office each day.

Jordan's specialty was the anterior part of the eye, partic-
ularly the cornea. But he also did some plastic surgery, even
cosmetic plastic surgery. He'd treated celebrities ranging
from movie stars to royalty. He had everyone in stitches
about a prince from Saudi Arabia who'd come to his office
along with dozens of servants. Then he went on to name
drop a few sports figures he was treating. Finally, he men-
tioned he'd even treated the occasional Mafioso.

   108

"As in Mafia?" Dorothy asked with horrified disbelief.
"Absolutely," Jordan said. "God is my witness. Honest-
to-goodness mobsters. In fact just this month I've been
seeing a Paul Cerino, who is obviously connected to the
underworld over in Queens."

Laurie choked on her white wine at Jordan's mention of
Paul Cerino's name. Hearing it for the second time that day
startled her. The conversation stopped as everyone looked at
her with concern. She waved offtheir attention and m a naged
to say she was all right. Once she could speak again, she asked
Jordan what he was treating Paul Cerino for.

"Acid burns in his eyes," Jordan said. "Someone had
thrown acid into his face. Luckily he had been smart
enough to rinse his eyes with water almost immediately."

"Acid! How dreadful," Dorothy said.

"It's not as bad as alkali. Alkali can eat right through the
cornea."

"Sounds ghastly," Dorothy said.

"How are Cerino's eyes doing?" Laurie asked. She was
thinking of Frank DePasquale's right eye, wondering if that
could be the beginning of the break that Lou had been
hoping for.

"The acid opacified both corneas, ' Jordan said. "But the
fact that he washed his eyes out saved the conjunctive from
extensive damage. So he should do well with corneal l:rans-
plants which we'll be doing soon."

"Does it frighten you to be involved with these pec~ple?"
one guest asked.

"Not at all," Jordan said. "They need me. I'm of use to
them. They wouldn't harm me. In fact I find it all rather
comical and entertaining."

"How do you know this Cerino is a mobster?" one clef the
other guests asked.

Jordan gave a short laugh. "It's pretty apparent. He
comes in with several bodyguards wl~ 0 have obvious telltale
bulges in their suits.''

   109

"I'm glad to be here," Jordan said. "Your father had
nothing but nice things to say about you. I've been looking
forward to meeting you."

"Thank you," Laurie said. She was mildly surprised to
hear that her father had spoken of her at all, let alone
spoken well. "Likewise," said Laurie. "Frankly, you're not
what I'd expected."

"What did you expect?" Jordan asked.

"Well," said Laurie, suddenly slightly embarrassed, "I
thought you'd look like an ophthalmologist."

Throwing his head back, Jordan laughed heartily. "And
just what does an ophthalmologist look like?"

Laurie was relieved when her father came back with Jor-
dan's refill, thus sparing her an explanation. Her father told
Jordan that he wanted to show him some ancient surgical
instruments in the den. As Jordan obediently followed his
host, he sent a conspiratorial smile Laurie's way.

At dinner, Jordan was responsible for lightening the at-
mosphere. He managed to force even the most reserved of
Laurie's parents' friends to open up. Hearty laughter filled
the room for the first time in recent memory.

Sheldon encouraged Jordan to tell certain stories he'd
told Sheldon about his famous patients. Jordan was only
too happy to oblige, and he recounted the stories in an
exuberant, almost boastful manner that had everyone
laughing. Even Laurie's emotional day receded into the
background as she heard Jordan's amusing tales of the rich
and famous who passed through his office each day.

Jordan's specialty was the anterior part of the eye, partic-
ularly the cornea. But he also did some plastic surgery, even
cosmetic plastic surgery. He'd treated celebrities ranging
from movie stars to royalty. He had everyone in stitches
about a prince from Saudi Arabia who'd come to his office
along with dozens of servants. Then he went on to name
drop a few sports figures he was treating. Finally, he men-
tioned he'd even treated the occasional Mafioso.

   108

"As in Mafia?" Dorothy asked with horrified disbelief.

"Absolutely," Jordan said. "Goal is my witness. I-lonest-
to-goodness mobsters. In fact jug this month I've been
seeing a Paul Cerino, who is obviously connected to the
underworld over in Queens."

Laurie choked on her white wine at Jordan's mention ol
Paul Cerino's name. Hearing it for the second time tl:lat day
startled her. The conversation stopp! d as everyone lo eked at
her with concern. She waved offthei r attention and managed
to say she was all right. Once she co~.'I d speak again, she asked
Jordan what he was treating Paul C lerino for.

"Acid burns in his eyes," Jordan said. "Someone had
thrown acid into his face. Luckily he had been smart
enough to rinse his eyes with water almost immediately."

"Acid! How dreadful," Dorothy said.

"It's not as bad as alkali. Alkali can eat right through the
cornea."

"Sounds ghastly," Dorothy said.

"How are Cerino's eyes doing?' Laurie asked. She was
thinking of Frank DePasquale's right eye, wondering if that
could be the beginning of the break that Lou had been
hoping for.

"The acid opacified both corneas,?' Jordan said. ' But the
fact that he washed his eyes out saved the conjunctive from
extensive damage. So he should d`.? well with corneal trans-

plants which we'll be doing soon.

"Does it frighten you to be involved with these people?'
one guest asked.

"Not at all," Jordan said. "The'` need me. I'm cuff use to
them. They wouldn't harm me. In fact I find it all rather
comical and entertaining."

"How do you know this Cerino is a mobster?" one of the
other guests asked.

Jordan gave a short laugh. "it's pretty apparent. Ile
comes in with several bodyguards who have obvious, telltale
bulges in their suits.'?

   109

"Paul Cerinois a known mobster," Laurie said. "He's
one of the midlevel bosses of the Vaccarro crime family,
which is currently warring with the Lucia organization."

"How do you know that?" Dorothy asked.

"This morning I autopsied a gangland-style execution
victim. The authorities believe the murder was a direct re-
sult of the feud, and they would like nothing better than to
associate the killing with Paul Cerino."

"How hideous!" Dorothy said with disdain. "Laurie,
that's enough! Let's talk about something else."

"This isn't appropriate dinner conversation," Sheldon
agreed. Then, turning to Jordan, he added: "You'll have to
excuse my daughter. Since she abandoned her medical edu-
cation and went into pathology, she's somewhat lost her
sense of etiquette."

"Pathology?" Jordan questioned. He looked over at Lau-
rie. "You didn't tell me you are a pathologist."

"You didn't ask me," Laurie said. She smiled to herself,
knowing that Jordan had been too busy talking about his
own affairs to have asked about hers. "Actually I'm a foren-
sic pathologist currently working for the Office of the Chief
Medical Examiner here in New York."

"Maybe we should talk about this season at Lincoln
Center," Dorothy suggested.

"I don't know much about forensics," Jordan said. "We
only had two lectures on it in medical school and before
them we were told that the material would not be on the
exam. So guess what I did?" Jordan pretended to fall asleep
by snoring and allowing his head to drop onto his chest.

Sheldon laughed at Jordan's antics. "We only had one
lecture and I cut it," he confessed.

"I think we should change the subject," Dorothy said.

"The problem with Laurie," Sheldon said to Jordan,
"was that she didn't go into surgery, where she could have
been dealing with the living. We have a gal in the thoracic

   110

program who's unbelievable, as good as a man. Laurie
could have done equally as well."

It took every ounce of self-restraint Laurie possessed not
to lash out at her father's inane, sexist remark. Instead, she
calmly defended her specialty. "Forensics very much cleats
with the living, and it does it by speaking for the dead..' She
told the story of the curling iron and how knowledge of the
cause of that fatality could potentially save someone e lays
life.

When Laurie finished, there was an uncomfortable
pause. Everyone looked down at their place settings and
toyed with their flatware. Even Jordan seemed strangely
subdued. Finally Dorothy broke the silence by announc-
ing that dessert and cognac would be served in the living
room.

By the time the group had reassembled in the living room,
Laurie was uncomfortable enough to consider leaving. As
she watched the others fall effortlessly into conversations,
she debated taking her mother aside and making the excuse
that it was a "school night." But before she could decide, a
discreet maid hired for the evening appeared at Laurie's
side with her serving tray filled with brandy snifters. Ac-
cepting a cognac, Laurie turned her back on the group.
With drink in hand, she slipped down the hall and into the
den.

"Mind if I join you?" Jordan had followed her from the
living room.

"Not at all," Laurie said, mildly startled. She thought her
exit had not been noticed. She tried to smile. She sat in a
leather club chair while Jordan leaned comfortably ag`-rinst
a massive rear-projection TV. Sounds of laughter drifted in
from the living room.

"I didn't mean to make fun of your specialty," he said. '~1
actually find pathology fascinating."

"Oh?" Laurie said.

   111

"I enjoyed the story about the curling iron," he added. "I
had no idea you could get electrocuted with such an appli-
ance unless you dropped it in the tub while you were taking
a bath."

"You might have said so at the time." She knew she
wasn't being polite, but she wasn't feeling particularly hos-
pitable just then.

Jordan nodded. "Sorry," he said. "I guess I felt a little
inhibited by your parents. It's pretty obvious they are not
wild about your specialty choice."

"Is it that obvious?" Laurie asked.

"Indeed," Jordan said. "I couldn't believe your father's
remark about that woman in their thoracic program. And
your mother kept trying to change the subject of the conver-
sation."

"You should have heard my mother's comment the day
I told her I was going into forensics. She said: 'What will I
tell people at the club who ask me what you do?' That gives
you a pretty good idea of her feelings. And my father, the
quintessential cardiac surgeon! He thinks that anything
other than surgery, specifically thoracic surgery, is for the
weak, the timid, and the retarded."

"Not an easy pair to please. It must be hard on you."

"Frankly, I've caused them some heartache through the
years. I was a pretty rebellious kid: dating rough types,
riding motorcycles, staying out late, the usual. Maybe I
trained my parents to be wary of everything I do. They've
never been particularly supportive. In fact they've kind of
ignored me, especially my father."

"Your father certainly speaks highly of you now," Jor-
dan said. "Practically every time I run into him in the
surgical lounge."

"Well, it's news to me," Laurie said.

"Anybody want more cognac?" Sheldon called. He'd
stuck his head into the den, waving the bottle of cognac.

   112

Jordan said no. Laurie merely shook her head. Sheldon
told them to give a yell if they changed their minds. Then
he left them.

"Enough," said Laurie. "This is much too serious a con-
versation. I didn't mean to put a damper on the evening."
She actually was sorry she'd revealed so much to Jordan. It
wasn't like her to confide in a relative stranger this way.
similar to what she'd done with Lou Soldano. But. she'd
been feeling vulnerable all day, ever since she'd been as-
signed Duncan Andrews.

"You didn't put a damper on anything," Jordan assured
her. Then he looked at his watch. "Say," he said. "It's
getting late, and I have surgery in the morning. My first
case, at seven-thirty, is an English baron who sits in the
House of Lords."

"Really," Laurie said without much interest.

"I think I'll be calling it a night," Jordan added. "I'd be
delighted to give you a lift home. That is, of course, if you
are intending to leave."

"I'd love a ride home," Laurie said. "I've been thinking
about leaving since we got up from the table."

After the appropriate goodbyes during which Dorothy
let Laurie know her coat was far too thin for late fall,
Jordan and Laurie left the party and waited at the elevator.

"Mothers!" Laurie said once the doors had closed behind
them.

As they rode down, Jordan started talking about the
parade of celebrities due in his office the next day. Laurie
wasn't sure if he was trying to impress her or merely cheer
her up.

Emerging from the building into the cold November air,
Jordan switched the conversation to the surgical aspect ol
his practice. Laurie was nodding as if listening. In reality
she was waiting for some signal from Jordan whether he'd
parked his car to the north or to the south. For a moment

   113

they stopped directly in front of the building while Jordan
told Laurie how many surgical cases he did in a year.

"Sounds like you're busy," Laurie said.

"Could be busier," Jordan admitted. "If I had my way,
I'd be doing twice the amount of surgery I'm doing now.
Surgery is what I enjoy; it's what I'm best at."

"Which way is your car?" Laurie finally asked. She was
shivering.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said. "It's right here." He pointed to
a long black limousine sitting directly in front of her par-
ents' building. As if on cue, a liverieddriver leaped out and
held the rear door open for Laurie.

"This is Thomas," Jordan said.

Laurie said hello and slipped in the sleek automobile.
Thomas looked as though he could have moonlighted as a
bouncer; he was powerfully built. The limo's interior was
elegantly luxurious, complete with a cellular phone, dicta-
phone, and fax.

"Well," Laurie said, noticing all the equipment. "You
look ready for business or pleasure."

Jordan smiled. He was clearly pleased with his style of
living. "Where to?" he asked.

Laurie gave her address on Nineteenth Street and they
pulled out into traffic.

"I never imagined you had a limo," Laurie said. "Isn't it
a bit extravagant?"

"Perhaps a bit," Jordan agreed. His white teeth shone in
the half-light of the car's interior. "But there is a practical
side to this ostentation. I do all my dictation work to and
from work and even between work and the hospital. So in
a sense, the car pays for itself."

"That's an interesting way of looking at it."

"It's not merely a rationalization," Jordan said. He went
on to describe other ways he'd organized his practice to
boost his productivity.

   114

As Laurie listened she couldn't help compare Jordan
Scheffield with Lou Soldano. They couldn't have been more
opposite. One was self-effacing, the other arrogantly narcis-
sistic; one was provincial, the other sophisticated; and
where one could be awkward, the other was smoothly
adroit. Yet despite their differences, Laurie found each at-
tractive in his own way.

As they turned onto Nineteenth Street, Jordan's mono-
logue stopped abruptly. "I'm boring you with all this shop
talk," he said.

"I can see you are committed," Laurie said. "I like that."

Jordan stared at her. His eyes sparkled.

"I've truly enjoyed meeting you tonight," he said. "I wish
we'd had more time to talk. How about having dinner with
me tomorrow night?"

Laurie smiled. It had been a day of surprises. She'd not
been dating much since her ninetieth breakup with Sean
Mackenzie. Yet she found Jordan interesting despite his
seemingly overbearing nature. Impulsively she decided it
might be fun to see a little more of the man, even if her
parents did approve of him.

"I'd love to have dinner," Laurie said.

"Wonderful," Jordan said. "How about Le Cirque? I
know the maitre d' there and he'll give us a great table. Is
eight o'clock okay?"

"Eight is fine," Laurie said, although she began to have
second thoughts as soon as Jordan suggested Le Cirque.
For a first date she would have preferred a less formal

environment.

"What the hell time is it?" Tony asked. "My battery must
have died in my watch." He shook his wrist, then tapped the
crystal.

Angelo extended his arm and glanced at his Piaget. "It's
eleven eleven."

   115

"I don't think Bruno's coming out," Tony said. "Why
don't we go in and see if he's there?"

"Because we don't want Mrs. Marchese to see us," An-
gelo said. "If she sees us then we got to do her too, and
that's not right. The Lucia people might do that kind of
stuff, but we don't. Besides, look. Here comes the punk
now." Angelo pointed to the front entrance of the tiny
two-story row house.

Bruno Marchese emerged into the night dressed in a
black leather jacket, freshly pressed Guess jeans, and sun-
glasses. He paused for a moment on the front steps of the
house to light a cigarette. Tossing the match into the shrub-
bery, he started toward the sidewalk.

"Get a load of those shades," Angelo said. "Must think
he's Jack Nicholson. My guess is that he's going socializing.
He should have stayed home. The trouble with you young
guys is that your brains are in your balls."

"Let's get him," Tony urged.

"Hold on," Angelo said. "Let him round the corner.
We'll nab him when he walks under the railroad tracks."

Five minutes later they had Bruno cowering in the back-
seat, staring into Tony's smiling face. The pickup had gone
even more smoothly than it had with Frankie. The only
casualty had been Bruno's sunglasses, which ended up in
the gutter.

"Surprised to see us?" Angelo asked after they had driven
a short while. Angelo looked at Bruno in the rearview mir-
ror.

"What's this about?" Bruno demanded.

Tony laughed. "Oh, a tough guy. Tough and dumb. Ho --
about I give him a few whacks with my gun?"

"It's about the Cerino incident," Angelo said. "We want
to hear about it from you."

"I don't know anything about it," Bruno said. "I never
even heard of it."

   116

"That's funny," Angelo said. "We've had it from a friend
of yours that you were involved."

"Who?" Bruno asked.

"Frankie DePasquale," Angelo said. He watched
Bruno's expression change. The kid was terrified, and for
good reason.

"Frankie didn't know crap," Bruno said. "I don't know
anything about any Cerino incident."

"If you don't know anything about it, how come you're
hiding out at your mother's house'?" Angelo asked.

"I'm not hiding out," Bruno said. "I got kicked out of my
apartment so I'm just staying there a few days."

Angelo shook his head. They drove to the American
Fresh Fruit Company in silence. Once they were there,
Angelo and Tony brought Bruno to the same spot they'd
brought Frankie.

As soon as Bruno saw the hole in the floor, his tough-guy
stance melted. "All right, you guys," he said. "What do you
want to know?"

"That's better,'' Angelo said. "First sit down."

Once Bruno had complied, Angelo leaned toward him
and said, "Tell us about it." He took out a cigarette and lit

up, blowing smoke up toward the ceiling.

"I don't know much," Bruno said. "I only drove the car.
I wasn't inside. Besides, they made me do it."

"Who made you do it?" Angelo asked. "And remember,
if you give me any bull now, you'll be in deep trouble."

"Terry Manso," Bruno said. "It was all his idea. I didn't
even know what was going on until after it was all over."

"Who else beside you, Manso, and DePasquale were in-
volved in all this9" Angelo said.

"Jimmy Lanso," Bruno said.

"Who else?" Angelo demanded.

"That's all," Bruno insisted.

"What did Jimmy do?" Angelo asked.

   117

"He went into the place early to locate the electrical
panel," Bruno said. "He made the lights go out.'

"Who ordered this hit?" Angelo asked.

"I told you," Bruno said. "It was all Manso's idea."

Angelo took another long pull on his cigarette, then tilted
his head back as he blew out the smoke. He tried to think
if there was anything else that he needed to ask this punk.
When he decided there wasn't, he glanced at Tony and
nodded.

"Bruno, I'd like to ask a favor," Angelo said. "I'd like
you to take a message back to Vinnie Dominick. Do you
think you could do that for me?"

"No problem," Bruno said. A bit of his earlier toughness
returned to the timbre of his voice.

"The message is " Angelo began. But he didn't finish.
The sound of Tony's Bantam made Angelo flinch. When it
wasn't your own gun, it always sounded louder.

Since they hadn't tied Bruno to the chair, his whole body
sagged forward and crumpled to the floor. Angelo stood
over him and shook his head. "I think Vinnie will get the
message," he said.

Tony looked at his gun with a mixture of admiration and
pleasure, then took out a handkerchief and wiped the soot
from the muzzle. "It gets easier every time I do it," he said
to Angelo.

Angelo didn't respond. Instead, he squatted down next to
Bruno's body and pulled out his wallet. There were several
hundred-dollar bills and a few smaller denominations. He
handed one of the hundreds to Tony. The rest he pocketed.
Then he put the wallet back.

"Give me a hand," he told Tony. Together they carried
Bruno over to the hole and tossed him into the river. Like
Frankie, Bruno obligingly floated quickly away, pausing
only momentarily against one of the pier's piles. Angelo
brushed off his trousers. Bruno's body had kicked up some
dust from the floor.

118

"You hungry?'? Angelo asked.

"I'm starved," Tony said.

"Let's go over to Valentino's on Steinway Street," An-
gelo said. "I'm in the mood for a pizza."

A few minutes later Angelo backed up the Town Car,
then made a three-point turn to exit through the chain-link
gate. At the junction of Java and Manhattan Avenue, he
made a left, then gunned the car.

"It's amazing how easy it is to whack somebody," Tony
said. "I remember when I was a kid, I used to think it wits
a big deal. There was a guy who lived on the next block. We
kids had heard that he'd bumped somebody off. We used to
sit outside his house just to see him come out. He was our
hero."

"What kind of pizza you want?" Angelo asked.

"Pepperoni," Tony said. "I remember the first time I
whacked somebody I was so excited I got the trots It even
gave me bad dreams. But now it's just fun."

"It's work," Angelo said. "I wish you'd understated
that."

"Which list we going to work off of after we eat'?" Today
asked. "The old one or the new one."

"The old one," Angelo said. "I want to show the new one
to Cerino just to be sure. No sense making work for our-
selves."

   119

   5

6:45 A.M., WEDNESDAY
MANHATTAN

From where Laurie was standing she could see her brother
heading for the lake. He was walking quickly; Laurie was
afraid he might break into a run. She thought 1:' e knew
about the mud and how dangerously deep it was. Yet he
kept going as if he didn't care.

"Shelly!" Laurie cried. Either he was ignoring her or he
couldn't hear. Laurie yelled again as loud as she could but
still he didn't respond. She started running after him. He
was only a step away from the horrid ooze. "Stop!" Laurie
yelled. "Don't go near the water! Stay away!"

But Shelly kept walking. By the time Laurie reached the
lakeside, he was already in black mud up to his waist. He
had turned back toward shore. "Help me!" he cried.

Laurie came to a stop just at the edge. She reache<.l out for
him, but their hands could not touch. Laurie turned and

  121

screamed for help, but no one was in sight. Turning back to
Shelly, she saw that he had sunk up to his neck. There was
pure terror in his eyes. As he sank further, his mouth
opened and he screamed.

Shelly's scream merged into a mechanical ringing that
pulled Laurie from her sleep. Still desperate to help Shelly,
Laurie's hand shot out and swept the Westclox from the
windowsill. The same movement toppled a half-full glass of
water and collided with the book she'd been reading the
night before. The clock, the glass of water, and the book all
fell to the floor.

Laurie's sudden movement and the crash of the things on
the floor so surprised Tom that he leaped first to the top of
the bureau, where he knocked off most of Laurie's cosmet-
ics, then to the valance over the window. Unable to make
the top of the valance, Tom's claws sank into the uphol-
stered front, and the sudden weight brought the valance
down.

With the commotion and the noise Laurie was out of bed
before she knew what she was doing. It was a few seconds
before the sound of the alarm clock shocked her into full
awake. Reaching down for it, she managed to shut it off.

For a moment Laurie stood in the ruins of her room to
catch her breath. She'd not had that particular nightmare
for years, probably not since college, and its effect was more
upsetting than the disarray of her room. Perspiration dot-
ted her forehead, and she could feel her heart beating in her
chest.

After she'd sufficiently recovered, she went into the
kitchen for the dustpan to clean up the broken glass. Next
she picked up the cosmetics from the floor and stacked them
on her bureau. The valance was too big a task. She decided
to leave that for later in the day.

She found Tom hiding under the sofa in the living room.
Alter coaxing him out, she held him in her lap and stroked
him for a few minutes until he started purring.

   122

About ten minutes later, she was about to step Into the
shower when the doorbell rang. "Now what?" she thought.
Clutching a towel, she went to her intercom and asked who
was there.

"It's Thomas," a voice said.

"Thomas who?" Laurie yelled back.

"Dr. Scheffield's driver," the voice said. "I'm here to
deliver something at the request of the doctor. He ~:'uldn't
come himself because he's already in surgery."

"I'll be right down," Laurie said.

Laurie quickly threw on a pair of jeans and a swc.rtshirt.

"You're early this morning." Debra Engler was poised,
as usual, at her door.

Laurie was grateful when the elevator arrived.

Thomas tipped his hat when he saw her. He said he hoped
he hadn't woken her. What he had for her was a long white
box tied with a thick red ribbon. Laurie thanked him for the
package and went back upstairs.

Putting the box on the kitchen table she untied the red
bow, opened the box, and spread the inside tissue paper.
Nestled within the paper were several dozen long-stf mmed
red roses. On top of the flowers was a card that said: Until
tonight, Jordan.

Laurie caught her breath. Never having been the recipi-
ent of such a flamboyant gesture, she didn't know quite how

to react. She wasn't even sure if accepting them was appro-
priate or not. But. what could she do? She could 't send
them back.

Reaching into the box, Laurie lifted one of the -blossoms
and smelled its springlike sweetness and looked at ts deep
ruby color. Even though the arrival of the roses confused
her and made her feel uncomfortable, she also had ~ ~ admit
that it was romantic and flattering.

Getting the largest vase she had, I aurie put halt oi the
roses into water, then carried them into the living room. She
put the vase on her coffee table. She thought she c ould get

   123

used to having cut flowers in her apartment. The effect was
amazing.

Returning to the kitchen, Laurie put the cover on the box
and retied the ribbon. If a dozen roses could do so much for
her apartment, she could only guess what they would do for
her office.

"Oh, my God!" Laurie said when she saw the time. In a
panic, she tore off her clothes and jumped into the shower.

It was almost eight-thirty before Laurie arrived at the
medical examiner's office, a good half hour later than usual.
Feeling guilty, she went directly to the ID office even
though, given the box of roses, she would have preferred to
go to her office first.

"Dr. gingham wants to see you," Calvin said as soon as
he saw Laurie. "But get your butt back here on the double.
We got a lot of cases to do."

Laurie put her briefcase and box of roses down on an
empty desk. She was self-conscious about the roses, but if
Calvin noticed, he didn't give any indication. Hurrying
back through the reception area, Laurie presented herself to
Mrs. Sanford. Given her last time in the chief's office, Lau-
rie was apprehensive to say the least. She tried to imagine
what he wanted this time, but she couldn't.

"He's on the phone right this minute," Mrs. Sanford
said. "Would you care to sit down? It should only be a
moment."

Laurie went over to a couch, but before she could sit
down, Mrs. Sanford was speaking into her intercom: Dr.
gingham was ready to see her.

Taking a deep breath, Laurie walked into the chief's
office. As she approached his desk, his head was down. He
was writing. He made Laurie stand while he finished his
note. Then he looked up.

For a moment he studied her with his cold blue eyes. He
shook his head and sighed. "After months of flawless work,

   124

you seem to have developed a penchant for trouble. Don't
you like your work, Doctor?"

"Of course I like my work, Dr. Bingharn," Laurie said,
alarmed.

"Sit down," gingham said. He folded his hands and
placed them resolutely on his blotter.

Laurie sat down on the very edge of the chair facing Dr.
gingham.

"Then perhaps you do not like working at this particular
office," he said. It was half question, half statement.

"Quite the contrary," Laurie said. "I love being here.
What makes you think I don't?"

"Only because it is the only way I can explain your be-
havior."

Laurie returned his gaze evenly. "I have no idea what
behavior you are referring to," she said.

"I'm referring to your visit yesterday afternoon to the
apartment of the deceased, Duncan Andrews, where you
apparently gained access by flashing your official c,reden-
tials. Did you go there or have I been misinformed`?"

"I was there," Laurie said.

"Didn't Calvin tell you that we have been getting some
pressure from the mayor's office about this case?"

"He said something to that effect," Laurie said. "but the
only aspect of the case he discussed with me with regard to
that pressure concerned the official cause of death.''

"Wouldn't that make you think that this was somehow a
sensitive case and that maybe you should be as circumspect
as possible in all respects?"

Laurie tried to imagine who would have complained
about her visit. And why? Certainly not Sara Wetherbee.
While she was thinking she realized Dr. gingham was wait-
ing for a response. "I didn't think that visiting the scene
would upset anyone," she said at last.

"It is true you didn't think," Dr. gingham said. ''That is

   125

painfully obvious. Can you tell me why you went to visit
this scene? After all, the body was gone. Hell, you'd already
finished the autopsy. And on top of that we have medical
investigators to do that type of thing; medical investigators
whom we had warned not to meddle in this particular case.
So that brings me back to the question: Why did you go?"

Laurie tried to think of an explanation without becoming
personal. She did not want to discuss her brother's overdose
with Dr. gingham, particularly not now.

"I asked you a question, Dr. Montgomery," gingham
said when Laurie failed to respond.

"I hadn't found anything on autopsy," Laurie said fi-
nally. "There was no pathology. I suppose I went in desper-
ation to see if the scene might reveal a plausible alternative
to the drugs the man had obviously taken."

"This is in addition to asking Cheryl Myers to look into
the man's medical history."

"That's right," Laurie said.

"Under normal circumstances," gingham said, "such ini-
tiative might be commendable. But under the present cir-
cumstances it has added to the problems of this office. The
father, who happens to be very politically connected, found
out you were there and screamed bloody murder, as if we're
out to ruin his senatorial campaign. And all this is on top
of the Central Park Preppy II case, which has already
caused enough trouble with the mayor's office. We don't
need any more. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Laurie said.

"I hope so," gingham said. He looked down at the work
on his desk. "That will be all, Dr. Montgomery."

Laurie walked out of the chiefs office and took a deep
breath. This was the closest she had ever come to being
fired. Two unpleasant summonses to the chief's office in
three days. Laurie couldn't help but think that one more
time in front of gingham and she would be out.

   126

"You and the chief square things away?" Calvin asked
when Laurie reappeared.

"I hope so," Laurie said.

"Me too," Calvin said. "Because I need you in top
form." He handed her a pack of folders. "You've got four
cases today. Two more overdoses like the Duncan Andrews
case and two more floaters. Fresh floaters, I might add. I
figured since you did the same kind of cases yesterday.
you'd be the fastest today. There's a lot of work for every-
one. I had to give several people five cases, so consider
yourself lucky."

Laurie flipped through the folders to make sure that they
were complete. Then she took them, her briefcase, and her
box of roses up to her office. Before she did anything else,
she went to the lab and borrowed the largest flask she could
find. Taking the roses from the box, she arranged them and
filled the flask with water. After putting the flowers on the
lab bench, she stepped back. She had to smile; they were so
glaringly out of place.

Sitting down at her desk, Laurie started with the first
folder. She didn't get far. The moment she opened it there
was a knock on her door. "Come in," she said.

The door opened slowly and Lou Soldano poked his l ace
in. "Hope I'm not bothering you too much," he said. "I'm
sure you didn't expect to see me."

He looked as though he'd never gone to bed the previous
night. He was wearing the same baggy, unpressed suit and
he still hadn't managed to shave.

"You're not bothering me," Laurie said. "Come in!"

"So how are you today?" he asked once he'd come in and
sat down. He put his hat in his lap.

"Except for a little run-in with the boss, I guess I'm fine."

"Wasn't about my being here yesterday, was it.?" Lou
asked.

"No," Laurie said. "Something 1 did yesterday afternoon

   127

"Dr. Washington said these cases were the same as Duncan
Andrews.Ihad no idea he was speaking so literally. What
a coincidence."

"Are they cocaine overdoses?" Lou asked.

"Yes," Laurie said. "But that's not what makes them
such a coincidence. One's a banker, the other an editor."

"What's so amazing about that?" Lou asked.

"It's the demographics," Laurie said. "All three were
successful professionals, actively employed, young single
people. Hardly the usual overdose we're accustomed to
seeing around here."

"Like I said: what's so amazing about that? Aren't these
people the kind of yuppies who made coke popular? What's
the big surprise?"

"The fact that they took cocaine is not the surprising
aspect," Laurie began slowly. "I'm not naive. Behind the
veneer of material success can lie some pretty serious ad-
dictions. But as I told you the overdose cases we get in
here are usually the truly down and out. With crack you
see a lot of very impoverished, lower-class people. We do
see more prosperous people from time to time, but usually
by the time the drugs kill them, they've already lost every-
thing else: job, family, money. These recent cases just
don't strike me as typical overdoses. It makes me wonder
if there wasn't some kind of poison in the drug. Now
where did I put that article from the American Journal of
Medicine?" she said, talking more to herself. "Ah, here it
is."

Laurie pulled out a reprint of an article and handed it to
Lou. "Street cocaine is always cut with something, usually
sugars or common stimulants, but sometimes with weird
stuff. That article is about a series of poisonings resulting
from a kilo of cocaine cut with strychnine."

"Wow," Lou said as he scanned the article. "That would
be quite a trip."

   130

"It'd be a quick trip in here to the morgue," Laurie
agreed. "Seeing three rather atypical OD cases with such
strikingly similar demographics in two days makes me won-
der if they each got the cocaine from the same contanfinated
source."

"I think it's a long shot," Lou said. "Especially worth only
three cases. And quite frankly, even if your hunch is right
I'm not that interested."

"Not interested?" Laurie couldn't believe what she was
hearing.

"With all the problems this city has, with all the violence
and street crime going down, it's hard for me to muster
much sympathy for a trio of fancy pants who have nothing
better to do with their leisure time than do illegal cirugs.
Frankly I'm much more concerned about poor slabs like
that headless female floater we got downstairs."

Laurie was stunned, but before she could launch- into a
rebuttal, her phone rang. She was surprised to hear Jordan
Scheffield on the other end when she picked up.

"I finished my first case," he said. "Went perfec fly. I'm
sure the Baron will be pleased."

"Glad to hear it," Laurie said, glancing self-consciously
at Lou.

"Did you get the flowers?" Jordan asked.

"Yes," Laurie said. "I'm looking at them this ver: min-
ute. Thank you. They were just what the doctor or dered."

"Very clever," Jordan laughed. "I thought it wou d be an
appropriate way to let you know that I'm looking forward
to seeing you tonight."

"The gesture might fall into the same category as your
limo," Laurie said. "A bit on the extravagant sic' . But I
appreciate your thinking of me."

"Well, I just wanted to check in. I've got to get back to
surgery," Jordan said. "See you at eight."

"I'm sorry," Lou said once Laurie had hung up. ''YOU

131

could have told me it was a personal call. I would have
stepped out into the hall."

"I usually don't get personal calls here," Laurie said. "It
took me by surprise."

"A dozen roses. A limo. Must be an interesting guy."

"He is interesting," Laurie said. "In fact, he said some-
thing last night that I think you'll find interesting."

"That's hard to believe," Lou said. "But I'm all ears."

"The man on the phone is a doctor," Laurie said. "His
name is Jordan Scheffield. You may have heard of him.
Supposedly he's quite well known. At any rate, he told me
last night that he has been taking care of the man you are
so interested in: Mr. Paul Cerino."

"No fooling!" Lou said. He was surprised. He was also
interested.

"Jordan Scheffield is an ophthalmologist," Laurie said.

"Wait a see," Lou said. He held up a hand while he
reached into his jacket and pulled out a tattered pad of
paper and a ballpoint pen. "Let me write this down." While
he bit on his tongue, he wrote out Jordan's name. Then he
asked Laurie to spell ophthalmologist.

"Is that the same as optometrist?" Lou asked.

"No," Laurie said. "An ophthalmologist is a medical
doctor trained to do surgery as well as manage medical eye
care. An optometrist is trained more to correct visual prob-
lems with eyeglasses and contact lenses."

"What about opticians?" Lou asked. "I've always mixed
these guys up. No one ever explained it to me."

"Opticians fill the eyeglass prescriptions," Laurie said.
"Either from an ophthalmologist or an optometrist."

"Now that I have that straight," Lou said. "Tell me
about Dr. Scheffield and Paul Cerino."

"That's the most interesting part," Laurie said. "Jordan
said that he was treating Mr. Cerino for acid burns of the
eyes. Someone had thrown acid in Paul Cerino's eyes to
blind him."

   132

"You don't say," Lou said. "That could explain a lot.
Like maybe these two gangland-style executions of Lucia
people. And what about Frankie's eye? Could that have
been acid?"

"Yes," Laurie said. "It could have been acid. It will be
tough to determine since Frankie was in the East River, but
on the whole, the damage to his eye was definitely consistent
with an acid burn."

"Can you try to have your lab document that it was acid'?
This could be the start of the lucky breakthrough I'm been
praying for."

"Of course we'll try," Laurie said. "But like I said, his
having been in the river might make it tough. We 11 also
examine the bullet in the present case. Maybe it will match
the one from Frankie."

"I haven't been this excited for months," Lou said.

"Come on,?' Laurie said. "Let's see `~hat we can do."

Together they went down to the lab. Laurie found the
director, a toxicologist, Dr. John DeVries. He was a tall,
thin man with gaunt cheeks and an academic's paltry He
was dressed in a soiled lab coat several sizes too small.

Laurie made introductions, then asked if any of the re-
sults on the previous day's cases were available.

"Some might be," John told her. "You have the acces-
sion numbers?"

"Absolutely," Laurie said.

"Come in my office," John said. He led them to his office,
a narrow cubbyhole filled with books and stacks of scien-
tific journals.

John leaned across his desk and punched a few keys on
his computer. "What are the accession numbers?" he asked.

Laurie gave Duncan Andrews' number and John en-
tered it.

"There was cocaine in the blood and urine," Jolt n said,
reading off the screen. "And apparently in high conc,entra-
tion. But this was only by thin-layer chromatography."

   133

"Any contaminants or other drugs?" Laurie asked.

"Not so far," John said, straightening up. "But we'll be
using gas chromatography and mass spectrometry as soon
as we have time. We got a lot of work around here."

"This was a cocaine overdose case but it's a little atypical
in that the deceased did not appear to be a habitual user.
And if he did use drugsÄwhich his family swears he
didn't it wasn't interfering with his life. The man was very
successful, a solid citizen: the kind of person you do not
expect to overdose. So his death was unusual perhaps, but
not extraordinary. Cocaine can be an upscale drug. But
now I've got two more OD'swith similar profiles the very
next day. I'm concerned that a batch of cocaine may be
poisoned with some kind of contaminant. That's what may
be killing these seemingly casual users. I'd really appreciate
it if you ran the samples sooner rather than later. We might
be able to save some lives."

"I'll do what I can," John said. "But as I told you, we're
busy. Was there another case you wanted to know about
now?"

Laurie gave Frank DePasquale's accession number and
John consulted the screen. "Only a trace of cannabinoid in
the urine. Otherwise, nothing on screening."

"There was a sample of eye tissue," Laurie said. "Find
anything there?"

"Hasn't been processed yet," John said.

"The eye appeared burned," Laurie added. "We now
suspect acid. Could you look for acid? It might be impor-
tant if we can document it."

"I'll do what I can."

Laurie thanked John, then motioned for Lou to follow
her to the elevator. As they walked, Laurie shook her head.
"It's like squeezing water out of a stone to get information
out of him," she complained.

"He seems exhausted," Lou said. "Or he hates his job.
One of the two."

   134

"In his defense, he is busy," Laurie said. "Like every-
thing else here, his funding is limited and getting progres-
sively worse, so he's stretched thin when it comes to staff.
But I hope he can find the time to search for a contami-
nant in the drug cases. The more I think about it the more
sure I am."

When they got to the elevators, Laurie glanced at her
watch. "I have to get a move on!" She lifted her eyes to Lou.
"I can't afford to have Dr. Washington mad at me as well
as Dr. gingham. I'll be out pounding the pavement, looking
for a new job."

Lou gazed into her eyes. "You really are upset about
these overdose cases, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am," Laurie admitted. She averted her eyes and
glanced up at the floor indicator. Lou's comment brought
up the memory of the nightmare she'd had that morning.
She hoped that he wouldn't mention her brother. Thank-
fully the elevator door opened, and they boarded.

They changed into scrub clothes and entered the main
autopsy room. It was a beehive of activity; every table was
occupied. Laurie saw that even Calvin was working at table
one. Things were definitely hopping for him to be there; it
was not customary for Calvin to do routine cases.

Laurie's first case was on the table. Vinnie had taken the
liberty of getting all the paraphernalia he anticipated she'd
need. The deceased's name was Robert Evans, aged twenty-
nine.

Laurie set out her papers and switched into her profes-
sional persona, beginning her meticulous external exam.
She was halfway through when she realized that Lou was
not across from her. Raising her head, she saw him standing
to the side.

"I'm sorry I haven't been including you," she said.

"I understand," Lou said. "You do your thing. I'm fine.
1 can tell that you are all very busy. I don't want to be in the
way."

   135

"You won't be in the way," Laurie said. "You wanted to
watch, so come over and watch."

Lou stepped around the table being careful where his feet
touched the floor. His hands were clasped behind his back.
He looked down at Robert Evans. "Find anything interest-
ing?" he asked.

"This poor fellow convulsed just like Duncan Andrews,"
Laurie said. "He has all the consequent bruises and badly
bitten tongue to prove it. He also has something else. Look
here in the antecubital fossa. See that blanched puncture
mark? Remember seeing that on Duncan Andrews?"

"Sure," Lou said. "That was the intravenous site where
he mainlined the cocaine."

"Exactly," Laurie said. "In other words, Mr. Evans took
his cocaine the same way Mr. Andrews did."

"So?" Lou questioned.

"I told you yesterday that cocaine can be taken lots of
ways," Laurie said. "But sniffing, or the medical term, in-
sufflation, is the usual recreational route."

"What about smoking?" Lou asked.

"You're thinking of crack. Cocaine hydrochloride, the
salt, is poorly volatile and can't be smoked. For smoking it
has to be converted to its free base: crack. The point is that
although the usual form of cocaine can be injected, it usu-
ally isn't. The fact that it had been used that way on both
these cases is curious, not that I know what to make of it."

"Wasn't it common in the sixties to shoot cocaine?" Lou
asked.

"Only when it was combined with heroin in what they
call speedball." Laurie closed her eyes for a moment, took
a deep breath, and let it out with a sigh.

"Are you all right?" Lou asked.

"I'm fine," Laurie said.

"Maybe what we're seeing is the beginning of a new fad,"
Lou suggested.

   136

"I hope not," Laurie said. "But if it is, it's much too
deadly to be a fad for long."

Fifteen minutes later, when Laurie plunged the scalpel
into Robert's chest, Lou winced. Despite the fact that Rob-
ert was dead and that there was no blood, Lou could not
dismiss the idea that the razor-sharp knife was cutting into
human tissue just hke his own skin.

With no pathology apparent, Laurie finished the internal
aspect of Robert Evans' autopsy in short order. While Vin-
nie took the body away and brought in Bruno Marchese,
Laurie and Lou went to the X-ray view box to look at
Bruno's X-rays and the one of the headless woman.

"The bullet is in just about the same location," Laurie
said, pointing to the bright dot inside the outline of Bruno's
skull.

"Looks like slightly larger caliber," Lou said. "I could be
wrong, but I don't think it's from the same gun."

"I'll be impressed if you're right," Laurie said.

Laurie put up Bruno's full-body X-ray. She scanned the
film with a practiced eye. When she saw no abnormalities
she replaced it with the X-ray of the unfortunate woman.

"It's a good thing we took this X-ray," Laurie said.
"Oh?" Lou said, staring at the foggy-appearing shadows.

"You mean you don't see the abnormality?" l aurie
asked.

"No," Lou said. "At the same time I don't knovv how
you doctors can see much in these things I mean a bullet
jumps out at you, but the rest just looks like a bunch of
smudges. "

"I can't believe you can't see it," Laurie said.

"All right, I'm blind," Lou said. "So tell me!"

"The head and the hands!" Laurie said. "They're gone.''

"You miserable slut!" Lou laughed in a forced whisper to
keep those at a nearby table from hearing.

"Well, it's an abnormality," Laurie teased.

   137

Finished with the X-rays, Laurie and Lou returned to the
table just in time to help Vinnie move Bruno from the
gurney onto the table. Lou started to help, but Laurie
shooed him away since he was not gloved. To save time,
Laurie started out with the body prone.

The entrance wound looked much like Frankie's al-
though the diameter of the stippling was slightly larger,
suggesting the gun had been a bit farther away. After taking
all the appropriate photographs and samples, she and Vin-
nie turned the body supine.

The first thing Laurie did then was check the eyes. They
were normal.

"After what you said upstairs 1 was hoping the eyes
might tell us something," Lou said.

"1 was hoping as well," Laurie admitted. "I'd love to give
you that break you need."

"It still might be important," Lou said. "If Paul Cerino
had acid thrown in his eyes, and if Frank DePasquale did
too, it's certainly a link. I think it's worth my while to take
a trip out to Queens and have a chat with Paul."

After finishing the rest of the external exam, Laurie ac-
cepted a knife from Vinnie and began the internal. Again,
with no pathology, it went very quickly.

As soon as Bruno's autopsy was completed, Vinnie rolled
him away and brought in the second floater. As Laurie
helped Vinnie transfer the body to the table, someone from
a nearby table called out: "Where'd that body come from,
Laurie? Sleepy Hollow?"

After the laughter died down, Lou leaned over to Lau-
rie's ear. "That was crude," he whispered teasingly. "Want
me to go over and slug the guy?"

Laurie laughed. "Black humor," she said. "It has always
played a role in pathology."

Laurie inspected the woman's severed limbs and neck.
"The mutilation was done after death," she said.

   138

"That's comforting," Lou said. He felt his tolerance was
getting lower with every case. He was having more trouble
dealing with this dismembered body than with the others.

"The decapitation and the removal of the hands was
done crudely," Laurie said. "Look at the rough saw marks
on the exposed bones. Of course some of this tissue appears
to have been eaten by fish or crabs."

Lou forced himself to look even though he would have
preferred not to. He was feeling slightly nauseated.

"The rest of the torso looks okay," Laurie saicl. 'No
human bite marks."

Lou swallowed again. "Would you have expected bite
marks?" he asked weakly.

"If rape was involved," Laurie said, "then bite marks are
occasionally seen. You have to think about them, otherwise
you can miss them."

"I'll try to remember that," Lou said.

Laurie carefully inspected the chest and abdomen. The
only finding of note was a right upper quadrant scar f ollow-
ing the line of the ribs.

"This could turn out to be important for ID purposes,"
Laurie said, pointing at the scar. "I'd guess it was a gall-
bladder operation."
"What if the body is never identified?" Lou asked.

"It will stay in the walk-in cooler for a number of weeks,"
Laurie said. "If by then we still don't know who she is, she'll
end up in one of those pine coffins in the hall."

Laurie opened up the rape-kit and spread out the con-
tents. "Most of this is probably academic after the body has
been in the river, but it's still worth a try." As she took the
appropriate samples, she asked Lou if he thought the case
was related to Frank's or Bruno's.

"I can't be sure, but I have my suspicions. I have a
number of people including police divers out looking I or the
heads and hands. I'll tell you one thing: whoever dumped

   139

this woman didn't want her to be identified. Given the East
River's tidal and current patterns, the fact that she was
found in the same general vicinity as Frankieand Bruno
suggests she was dumped from the same place. So, yeah, I
think there could be a connection.'?

"What do you think the chances are of finding the head
or the hands?" Laurie asked.

"Not great," Lou said. "They could have sunk where the
body was dumped or they might not have been dumped in
the river."

Laurie had moved on to the internal portion of the au-
topsy. She noted that the victim had had two surgeries in
the past: a gallbladder removal, as Laurie had surmised,
and a hysterectomy.

With three of her four cases out of the way before noon,
Laurie felt comfortable enough with her progress to suggest
that she and Lou have a quick cup of coffee.. Lou happily
agreed, saying he could use the fortification after the morn-
ing's ordeal. Besides, he would have to leave to get back to
his office. Having seen the autopsies of the two "floaters,"
he couldn't rationalize any more time. He jokingly told
Laurie that she'd have to do the second overdose without

his assistance.

After taking off her goggles, apron, and gown, Laurie
took Lou up to the coffeemaker in the ID room. It was just
one floor up, so they used the stairs. Laurie sat in a desk
chair while Lou sat on the corner of a desk. Just as hap-
pened the previous day, Lou's demeanor suddenly changed
when he was about to leave. He became clumsy and self-
conscious. He even managed to spill some of his coffee
down the front of his scrub shirt.

"I'm sorry," he said? dabbing at the coffee spots with a
napkin. "I hope it doesn't stain."

"Don't be silly, Lou," Laurie said. "These scrub clothes
have had lot worse stains than coffee."

"I guess you're right," he said.

   ]40

  "Is something on your mind?" Laurie asked.

"Yeah," Lou said. He stared into his coffee. "I wanted to
know if you'd like to grab a bite to eat tonight. I know a
great place down in Little Italy on Mulberry Street."

"I'd like to ask you a question," Laurie said. "Yesterday
you asked if I was married. You never said whether you're
married."

"I'm not married," he said.

"Have you ever been married?" Laurie asked.

"Yeah, I was married," Lou said. "I've been divorced for
a couple of years. I have two kids: a girl seven and a boy
five."

"Do you ever see them?"

"Of course I see them," Lou said. "What do you think?
I wouldn't see my own kids? I get 'em every weekend."

"You don't have to be defensive," Laurie said. "I was
just curious. Yesterday I realized after you'd left that you'd
asked me about my marital status without telling me
yours."

"It was an oversight," Lou said. "Anyway, how about
dinner?"

"I'm afraid I have plans tonight," Laurie said.

"Oh, fine," said Lou. "Give me the third degree about my
marital and parental status, then turn me down. I suppose
you're seeing the fancy doctor with the roses and the limo.
Guess I'm not quite in his league." He stood up abruptly.
"Well, I better be going."

"I think you're being overly sensitive and silly," Laurie
said. "I only said I was busy tonight."

"Overly sensitive and silly, huh? I'll keep that in mind.
It's been another illuminating morning. Thank you so very
much. If you come up with anything interesting on any of
the floaters, please give me a call." With that, Lou tossed his
Styrofoam cup into a nearby wastebasket and walked out
of the room.

Laurie remained in her seat for a moment, sipping her

   141

coffee. She knew that she'd hurt Lou's feelings, and that
made her feel uncomfortable. At the same time she thought
he was being immature. Some of that "blue collar" charm
she'd noted the day before was wearing thin.

After finishing her coffee, Laurie returned to the autopsy
room and her fourth case of the day: Marion Overstreet,
aged twenty-eight, editor for a major New York publishing
house.

"You want anything special for this case?" Vinnie asked.
He was eager to get under way.

Laurie shook her head no. She looked at the young
woman on the table. Such a waste. She wondered if this
woman would have gambled with drugs if she could have
anticipated such a terrible price.

The autopsy went quickly. Laurie and Vinnie worked
well together as a team. Conversation was kept to a mini-
mum. The case was remarkably similar to both Duncan
Andrews' and Robert Evans', down to the fact that Over-
street had injected the cocaine, not snorted it. There were
only a few minor surprises that Laurie would have Cheryl
Myers or one of the other forensic investigators check out.
By twelve forty-five Laurie walked out of the main autopsy
room.

After changing to her street clothes, Laurie took it upon
herself to carry the specimens from each of the day's cases
to Toxicology. She hoped to have another chat with the
resident toxicologist. She found John DeVries in his office
eating his lunch. An old-fashioned lunch box with a Ther-
mos built into its vaulted cover was open on his desk.

"I finished the two overdoses," Laurie said. "I've
brought up their toxicology samples."

"Leave the samples on the receiving desk in the lab," he
told her. He held an uncut sandwich in both hands.

"Any luck finding a contaminant in the Andrews case?"
she asked hopefully.

   142

'it's only been a few hours since you were here last. 1'11
call you if I find anything."

"As soon as possible," Laurie encouraged. "I don't mean
to be a bother. It's just that I'm more convinced than ever
that a contaminant of some sort is involved. If there is, I
want to find it."

"If it's there, we'll find it. Just give us a chance, for
Chrissake."

"Thanks," Laurie said. "I ll try to be patient. It's just
thatÄ"

"I know, I know," John interrupted. '~1 get the picture
already. Please!"

"I'm out of here," Laurie said. She put her hands in the
air to signify her surrender.

Back in her office, Laurie ate some of the lunch, dictated
the morning's autopsies, and tried to tackle some of her
paperwork. She found she couldn't take her mind off the
drug overdose cases.

What worried her was the specter of more cases. If there
was some source of contaminated cocaine in the city, it
meant there would be more deaths. At this point the ball
was in John's court. There was nothing more she could do.

Or was there? How could she prevent more deaths? The
key lay in warning the public. Hadn't gingham just lectured
her on the fact that they had social and political responsibil-
ities?
With that thought in mind, Laurie picked up the phone
and called the chief's office. She asked Mrs. Sanford if Dr.
gingham might have a moment to see her.

"I believe I could squeeze you in," Mrs. Sanford said,
"but you have to come immediately. Dr. gingham is due at
a luncheon at City Hall."

When she entered gingham's office, she could tell the
chief medical examiner was not prepared to give her more
than a minute of his time. When he asked her what it was

143

she wanted, Laurie outlined the facts surrounding the three
cocaine overdose cases as succinctly as possible. She em-
phasized the upscale demographics, the fact that none of
the victims appeared to have been in the depths of addic-
tion, and that all three had mainlined the drug.

"I get the picture," gingham said. "What's your
point?"

"I'm afraid that we are seeing the beginning of a series,"
Laurie said. "I'm concerned about a toxic contaminant in
some cocaine supply."

"With only three cases, don't you think that's a rather
fanciful leap?"

"The point is," Laurie said, "I'd like to keep it at three
cases."

"An admirable goal," gingham said. "But are you cer-
tain about this alleged contaminant? What does John have
to say?"

"He's looking," Laurie said.

"He hasn't found anything?"

"Not yet," Laurie admitted. "But he's only used thin-
layer chromatography so far."

"So I guess we have to wait for John," gingham said. He
stood up.

Laurie held her seat. Having come this far, she wasn't
about to give up yet. "I was thinking that maybe we should
make a statement to the press," Laurie said. "We could put
out a warning."

"Out of the question," gingham said. "I'm not about to
gamble the integrity of this office on a supposition based on
three cases. Aren't you coming to me a little prematurely?
Why don't you wait and see what John comes up with?
Besides, making that kind of statement would require
names, and the Andrews organization would have the
mayor at my throat in an instant."

"Well, it was just a suggestion," Laurie said.

   144

"Thank you, Doctor," gingham said. "Now if you'll
excuse me, I'm late as it is."

Laurie was chagrined Gingham didn't give her suggestion
more credence, but without more conclusive proof she
could hardly force the issue. She only wished there was
something she could do before more of the same kind of
overdoses showed up on her schedule.

It was then she had a thought. Her training in forensics
in Miami had involved direct on-the-scene investigation.
Maybe if she toured any future scenes, some critical clue
might present itself.

Laurie went to the forensic medical investigative depart-
ment, where she found Bart Arnold, chief of the investiga-
tors, sitting at his desk. Between two of his innumerable
telephone conversations' she told him that she wanted to be
notified if any more overdoses were called in that were
similar to the three that she had had. She was very explicit.
Bart assured her that he'd let the others know, including the
tour doctors who took calls at night.

Laurie was about to return to her office when she r emem-
bered that she should also request that the autopsies of any
similar overdoses be assigned to her. That meant seeing
Calvin.

"It always worries me when one of the troops wants to
see me," Calvin said when Laurie poked her head in his

office. "What is it, Dr. Montgomery? It better not be about
scheduling your vacation. With the current case load, we've
decided to cancel all this year's vacations."

"Vacation! I wish!" Laurie said with a smile. Despite his
gruff manner, she had a genuine fondness and respect lor
Calvin. "I wanted to thank you for assigning me those two
overdose cases this morning."

Calvin raised an eyebrow. "Well, this is a first. No one
ever thanked me for assigning him a case. Why do I have
the feeling there's more to this visit?"

   145

"Because you are naturally suspicious," Laurie teased. "I
truly have found the cases interesting. More than interest-
ing. In fact I'd like to request that any other similar case
that comes in be assigned to me."

"A grunt looking for work!" Calvin said. "It's enough to
make a poor administrator's heart glow. Sure. You can
have all you want. Just so I don't make any mistakes, what
do you mean by similar? If you took all our overdoses you'd
be here 'round the clock."

"Upscale overdose or toxicity cases," Laurie said. "Just
like the two you gave me this morning. People in their
twenties or thirties, well educated, and in good physical
condition."

"I'll personally see that you get them all," Calvin said
cheerfully. "But I have to warn you now. If you put in for
overtime, I'm not paying."

"I'm hoping there will be no overtime," Laurie said.

After saying goodbye to Calvin, Laurie returned to her
office and sat down to work. The positive meeting with
Calvin had compensated for the meeting with gingham,
and with a modicum of peace of mind, Laurie was able to
concentrate. She was able to accomplish more work than
she'd expected and signed out a number of cases including
most of the weekend's autopsies. She even had time to
counsel a devastated family about the "crib death" of their
infant. Laurie was able to assure them they were not at
fault.

The only problem that intruded during the early after-
noon was a call from Cheryl Myers. She told Laurie that
she'd been unable to find any medical conditions in Duncan
Andrews'past. His only brush with a hospital had occurred
nearly fifteen years ago when he broke his arm during a
high school football game. "You want me to keep look-
ing?" Cheryl asked after a pause.

"Yes," Laurie said. "It can't hurt. Try to go back to his

   146

childhood." Laurie knew that she was hoping for nothing
less than a miracle, yet she wanted to be complete. Then she
could turn the whole problem over to Calvin Washington.
She decided Lou had been right: it the powers-that-be
wanted to distort the record for political expediency, t Icy
should do it themselves.

By late afternoon Laurie's thoughts drifted back to the
drug cases. On a whim she decided to check out wl ere
Evans and Overstreet lived. She caught; a cab on First A ve-
nue and asked to go to Central Park South. Evans' address
was near Columbus Circle.

When the cab arrived at the destination, Laurie asked
him to wait. She hopped out of the cab to get a good lock
at the building. She tried to remember who else li ved
around there. It was some movie star, she was sure. Prc~ba-
bly dozens of stars lived nearby. Wi4:h a view of the park
and its proximity to Fifth Avenue, Central Park South was
prime real estate. In Manhattan it didn't get much better
than that.

Standing there, Laurie tried to picture Robert E\ans
striding confidently down the street and turning into his
building, briefcase in hand, excited about the prospect, of
a social evening in New York. It we' hard to jibe such an
image with so untimely and profligate a demise.

Getting back in the cab, Laurie eliirected the drivel to
Marion Overstreet's: a cozy brownstone on West Sixty-
seventh Street a block from Central Park. This time she
didn't even get out of the car. She merely gazed at the
handsome residence and again tried to imagine the young
editor in life. Satisfied, she asked the confused driver to ~ eke
her back to the medical examiner's Office..

After the confrontation with gingham that morning over
her visit to Duncan Andrews' apartment, Laurie had not
intended going inside either victim's building. She'd merely
wanted to see them from the outside. She didn't know ~ by

   147

she'd had the compulsion to do so, and when she got back
to the medical examiner's, she wondered if it had been a bad
idea. The excursion had saddened her since it made the
victims and their tragedies more real.

Back in her office, Laurie ran into her office-mate, Rival
Riva complimented Laurie on the beauty of her roses. Lau-
rie thanked her and stared at the flowers. In her current
state of mind, they had changed their ambience. Although
they had suggested celebration that morning, now they
seemed more the symbol of grief, almost funereal in their
appearance.

Lou Soldano was still irritated as he drove over the
Queensboro Bridge from Manhattan to Queens. He felt like
such a fool having set himself up so conveniently for rejec-
tion. What had he been thinking, anyway? She was a doc-
tor, for Chrissake, who'd grown up on the East Side of
Manhattan. What would they have talked about? The
Mets? The Giants? Hardly. Lou was the first to admit that
he wasn't the most educated guy in the city, and except for
law enforcement and sports, he didn't know much about
most other things.

"Do you ever see your kids?" Lou said out loud, doing
a mockingly crude imitation of Laurie's much higher voice.
With a short little yell, Lou pounded the steering wheel and
mistakenly honked the horn of his Chevrolet Caprice. The
driver in front of him turned around and threw him a finger.

"Yeah, to you too," Lou said. He felt like reaching down
and putting his emergency light on the dashboard and pull-
ing the guy over. But he didn't. Lou didn't do things like
that. He didn't abuse his authority, although he did it in his
fantasy on a regular basis.

"I should have taken the Triborough Bridge," he mum-
bled as the traffic bogged down on the Queensboro. From
the last third of the bridge all the way to the juncture with

   148

Northern Boulevard it was stop and go and mostly stop. [t
gave Lou time to think about the last tier e he had seen Paul
Cerino.

It had been about three years previously when Lou had
just made detective sergeant. He was sol assigned to (~)rg~a-
nized Crime at the time and had been p pursuing Cerino lor
a good four years. So it was a surprise vvLen the operator at
the station had said that a Mr. Paul Cerino was on the line.
Confused as to why the man he was Otto r was calling him,
Lou had picked up the phone with great curiosity.

"Hey, how you doing?" Paul had said as if they were the
best of friends. "I have a favor to ask c f you. Woulcl you
mind stopping at the house this afternoon when you leave
work?"

Having been invited to a gangster's house had been such a
weird occurrence that Lou had been reluc Ant to tell anybody
about it. But finally he'd told his partner, Brian O'Shea,
who'd thought he'd gone crazy for accepting.

"What if he's planning on doing you in?" Brian askecl.

"Please!" Lou had said. "He wouldn't call me up here at
the station if he was going to bump me 0 if. Besides, even if
he decided to do it, he wouldn't get any where near it him-
self. It's something else. Maybe he wants to deal. Maybe he
wants to finger somebody else. Whatever it is, I'm going.
This could be something big."

So Lou went with great expectations of some major
breakthrough that he thought might e van have resulted in
a commendation by the chief. Of co terse the visit was
against Brian's better judgment, and Brian insisted on
going with him but waiting in the car Phe deal had been
that if Lou didn't come out in a half hour, Brian was goring
to call in a SWAT team.

It was with a lot of anxiety that Lou had mounted the
front steps of Cerino's modest house On Clintonville Street
in Whitestone. Even the house's appearance added to l ou's

   149

unease. There was something wrong about it. With the huge
amount of money the man had to be making from all his
illegal activities plus his only legal endeavor, the American
Fresh Fruit Company, it was a mystery to Lou why he lived
in such a small, unpretentious house.

With a final glance back at Brian, whose concerns had
only served to fan Lou's anxiety to a fevered pitch and with
a final check to make sure his Smith and Wesson Detective
Special was in its holster, Lou rang the front bell. Mrs.
Cerino had opened the door. Taking a deep breath, Lou
had entered.

Lou laughed heartily, bringing tears to his eyes. The ex-
perience was still capable of doing that after three years.
While still laughing, Lou glanced into the car immediately
to his left. The driver was looking at him as if he were crazy,
laughing as he was in such abominable traffic.

But the traffic notwithstanding, Lou could still laugh at
the shock he had had when he'd stepped into Cerino's house
that day expecting the worst. What he had unexpectedly
walked into was a surprise party for himself in celebration
of his having been promoted to detective sergeant!

At the time Lou had been recently separated from his
wife, so the promotion had gone unnoticed except at the
station. Somehow Cerino had heard about this and had
decided to give him a party. It had been Mr. and Mrs.
Cerino and their two sons, Gregory and Steven. There'd
been cake and soda. Lou had even gone out to get Brian.

The irony of the whole thing had been that Lou and Paul
had been enemies for so long they had almost become
friends. After all, they knew so much about each other.

It took Lou almost an hour to get out to Paul's, and by
the time he mounted the front steps, it was just about the
same time of day as when Paul had thrown the surprise
party. Lou could remember it as if it had been yesterday.

Looking through the front windows, Lou could see that

   150

the living room lights were on. Outside it was getting dark
even though it was only five-thirty. Winter was on it, way.

Lou pressed the front doorbell and heard the muted
chimes. The door `;vas opened by Gregory, the older boy.
He was about ten. He recognized Lou, greeted him in a
friendly fashion, and invited him inside. Gregory was a
well-mannered boy.

"Is your dad home?" Lou asked.

No sooner had he asked than Paul appeared from the
living room in his stocking feet clutching a red-tipped cane.
A radio was on in the background.

"Who is it?" he asked Gregory.

"It's Detective Soldano," Gregory said.

"Lou!" Paul said, coming directly toward Lou and ex-
tending a hand.

Lou shook hands with Paul and tried to see his eyes
behind a pair of reflective sunglasses. Haul was a big man,
moderately overweight, so that his small facial features
were sunk into his fleshy face. He had dark hair cut short,
and large, heavily lobed ears. On both cheeks were red
patches of recently healed skin. Lou guessed it hall been
from the acid.

"How about some coffee?" Paul said. "C)r a little wine?"
Without waiting for a response, Pau] yelled for Gloria.
Gregory reappeared with Steven, the younger Cerino. He
was eight.

"Come in," Paul said. "Sit down. Tell me what's been
happening. You married yet?"

Lou followed Paul back into the living room. He could
tell that Paul had adapted well to his reduced visual acuity,
at least in his own home. He didn't use the cane to navigate
to the radio to turn it off. Nor did he use it to find his
favorite chair, into which he sank with a sigh.

"Sorry to hear about your eye problem'" Lou said, sit-
ting opposite Paul

   151

"These things happen," Paul said philosophically.

Gloria appeared and greeted Lou. Like Paul, she was
overweightÄa buxom woman with a kind, gentle face. If
she knew what her husband did for a living, she never let on.
She acted like the typical, lower-middle-class suburban
housewife who had to scrimp to get along on a budget. Lou
wondered what Paul did with all the money he had to be
accumulating.

Responding to Lou's positive reply regarding coffee,
Gloria disappeared into the kitchen.

"I heard about your accident just today," Lou said.

"I haven't told all my friends," Paul said with a smile.

"Did this involve the Lucia people?" Lou asked. "Was it
VinnieDominick?"

"Oh no!" Paul said. "This was an accident. I was trying
to jump-start the car and the battery blew up. Got a bunch
of acid in my face."

"Come on, Paul," Lou said. "I came all the way out here
to commiserate with you. The least you can do is tell me the
truth. I already know that the acid was thrown into your
face. It's just a matter of who was responsible."

"How do you know this?" Cerino asked.

"I was specifically told by someone who knows," Lou
said. "In fact it ultimately came from a totally reliable
source. You!"

"Me?" Paul questioned with genuine surprise.

Gloria returned with an espresso for Lou. He helped
himself to sugar. Gloria then retreated from the room. So
did the boys.

"You have awakened my curiosity," Paul said. "Explain
to me how I was the source of this rumor about my eyes."

"You told your doctor, Jordan Scheffield," Lou said.
"He told one of the medical examiners by the name of
Laurie Montgomery, and the medical examiner told me.
And the reason I happened to be talking to the medical
examiner was because I went over there to watch a couple

   152

of autopsies on homicide victims. The names might be fa-
miliar to you: Frankie DePasquale and Bruno Marchcse."

"Never heard of them," Paul said.

"They are Lucia people," Lou said. "And one of them,
curiously enough, had acid burns in one of his eyes."

"Terrible," Cerino said. "They certainly don't make bat-
teries the way they used to."

"So you're still telling me that you got battery acid in
your eyes?" Lou asked.

"Of course," Paul said. "Because that's what happened)."

"How are the eyes doing?" Lou asked.

"Pretty good, considering what could have happened,"
Paul said. "But the doctor says I'll do fine as soon as I have
my operations. First I have to wait a while, but I'm sure y ou
know about that."

"What are you talking about?" Lou said. "I don't know
anything about eyes except how many you got."

"I didn't know much either," Paul said. "At least not
before this happened. But I've been learning ever sine e . I

used to think they transplanted the whole eye. You know.
like changing an old-fashioned-type radio tube. Just plug
the thing in with all the prongs in the right place. But that's
not how it works. They only transplant the cornea."

"That's all news to me," Lou said.

"Want to see what my eyes look like?" Paul asked.

"I'm not sure," Lou said.

Paul took off his reflective sunglasses.

"Ugh," Lou said. "Put your glasses back on. I'm ù;orrv
for you, Paul. It looks terrible. It looks like you halve a
couple of white marbles in your eyes."

Paul chuckled as he put his glasses back on. "I would
have thought a hardened cop like you would) have felt satis-
faction that his old enemy took a fall."

"Hell no!" Lou said. "I don't want you handicapped. 1
want you in jail."

Paul laughed. "Still at it, huh?"

   153

"Putting you away is still one of my ultimate goals in
life," Lou said agreeably. "And finding that acid burn in
Frankie DePasquale's eye gives me some hope. At this point
it looks mighty suspicious that you were behind the kid's
murder. "

"Aw,Lou," Paul said. "It hurts my feelings that you'd
think something nasty about me after all these years."

  154

   6

 8:45 P.M., WEDNESDAY
MANHATTAN

At first Laurie thought the experience was unique enough to
be tolerable, but as the time approached eight forty-five she
began to get irritated. Thomas, Jordan's driver, had shown
up exactly at the agreed-upon time, eight o'clock, and had
rung Laurie's bell. But when Laurie got down to the car, she
learned that Jordan was not there. He was still in surgery
doing an emergency operation.

"I'm supposed to take you to the restaurant," Thomas
had said. "Dr. Scheffield will be meeting you there."

Taken by surprise with this situation, Laurie had agreed.
She'd felt strange entering the fancy restaurant by herself,
but she was quickly put at ease by the metro d', who had
been expecting her. She'd been discreetly ushered to a wait-
ing table wedged among others near to the window. Next to
the table stood a wine stand icing down a bottle of Meur-
sault.

  155

The sommelier had appeared instantly and had shown
Laurie the label of the wine. After she'd nodded, he'd
opened it, poured her a dollop, waited for her OK, then
filled her glass. All this had been accomplished without
words.

Finally at five minutes before nine, Jordan arrived.

He came into the room with a flourish, and although he
waved a greeting at Laurie, he didn't join her immediately.
Instead he weaved his way through the crowded room,
stopping at several tables to say hello. Each group of diners
greeted him with gusto; animated conversation and smiles
followed in his wake.

"Sorry," he said, finally sitting down. "I was in surgery,
but I guess Thomas told you as much."

"He did," Laurie said. "What kind of emergency surgery
was it?"

"Well, it wasn't exactly an emergency," Jordan said, ner-
vously rearranging his place setting. "My surgery has
picked up recently, so I have to squeeze standby cases in
whenever the operating room can give me a slot. How's the
wine?"

The wine steward had reappeared and gave Jordan a
taste of the wine.

"The wine is fine,'? Laurie said. "Seems that you know a
lot of people here."

Jordan took a sip of his wine and for a moment he looked
pensive while he swished it around inside his mouth. He
nodded with satisfaction after he swallowed, motioned for
his glass to be filled, then looked at Laurie. "I usually run
into a few of my patients here," he said. "How was your
day? I hope it was better than mine."

'Some sort of trouble?" Laurie asked.

"Plenty of trouble," Jordan said. "First my secretary,
who's been with me for almost ten years, didn't show up in
the morning. She's never not shown up without calling. We

   156

tried calling her but there was no answer. So scheduling got
all fouled up by the time I came in from the hospital. Then,
to make matters worse, we discovered that someone had
broken into the office the night before and had stolen our
petty cash as well as all the Percodans we kept on hand."

"How awful," Laurie said. She remembered how it had
felt to be robbed. Her room at college had been ransacked
one day. "Any vandalism?" she asked. Whoever had bro-
ken into her room had smashed what they couldn't carry
away.

"No," Jordan said. "But strangely enough the burglar
rifled through my records and used the copy machine."

"That sounds like more than a simple robbery," Laurie
said.

"That's what makes me uneasy," Jordan said. "The pe try
cash and the few Percodans I could care less about. But I
don't like the thought of someone in my records, not w ith
the high accounts receivable I have. I've already called my
accountant to run a tape; I want to make sure there isn't
some big change. Have you looked at the menu?"

"Not yet," Laurie said. Her irritation was fading now
that Jordan had arrived.

Responding to Jordan's gesture, the maitre d' appeared
with two menus. Jordan, who ate there frequently, was full
of suggestions. Laurie ordered from the daily specials menu
attached to the main menu.

She thought the food was wonderful although the fre-
netic atmosphere made it difficult for her to relax. But
Jordan seemed in his element.

While they were waiting for dessert and coffee, Laurie
asked Jordan about the effects of acid in the eye. He
warmed to the request immediately, going on at length
about the cornea's and the conjunctive's responses to both
acid and alkali. Laurie lost interest halfway through his
discourse, but her gaze remained steady. She had to admit:

   157

he was an attractive man. She wondered how he maintained
such a fabulous tan.

To Laurie's relief, the arrival of dessert and coffee inter-
rupted Jordan's impromptu lecture. As he began his flour-
less chocolate cake, he changed the subject. "I probably
should be thankful those crooks didn't take any of the
valuables last night, like the Picassosin the waiting room."

Laurie set her coffee cup down. "You have Picassos in
your waiting room?"

"Signed drawings," Jordan said casually. "About twenty
of them. It's truly a state-of-the-art office, and I didn't want
to scrimp on the waiting area. After all, that's the place the
patients spend the most time." Jordan laughed for the first
time since he'd sat down.

"That's even more extravagant than the limo," Laurie
said. Actually, she felt more strongly than she let on. The
idea of such ostentation in a medical setting seemed ob-
scene, especially given the runaway cost of medical care.

"It's quite an office," Jordan said proudly. "My favorite
feature of it is that the patients move. I don't go to them,
they come to me."

"I'm not sure I understand," Laurie said.

"Each one of my five examining rooms is built on a
circular mechanism. You've seen these revolving restau-
rants at the tops of certain buildings. It's kind of like that.
When I push a button in my office, the whole thing turns
and the examining room I want lines up with my office.
Another button lifts the wall. It's as good as a ride in
Disneyland. "

"Sounds very impressive," Laurie said. "Expensive but
impressive. I suppose your overhead is pretty high."

"Astronomical," Jordan said. He sounded proud of it.
"So high that I hate to take a vacation. It's too expensive!
Not the vacation itself, but letting the office sit idle. I also
have two operating rooms for outpatient procedures."

   158

"I'd like to see this office sometime," Laurie said.

"I'd love to show it to you," Jordan staid. "In fact, why
not now? It's just around the corner on Park Avenue.'

Laurie said she thought that was a great idea, so as soon
as Jordan took care of the bill, they we re off.

The first room they entered was Jorcl`-in's private office..
The walls and furniture were entirely of teak, waxed to `~
high gloss. The upholstery was black leather. There Has
enough sophisticated ophthalmological e quipment to outfit
a small hospital.

Next they entered the waiting room, which was paneled
in mahogany. Just as Jordan had said, ~ he walls were lined
with Picasso drawings. Down a short hall from the waiting
room was a circular room with five doors on its perimeter.
Opening one, Jordan asked Laurie to sit. in the examining
chair.

"Now stay right there," he said before leaving the room.

Laurie did as she was told. Next thing she knew, she felt
like the room was moving. Then the movement real or
imagined stopped abruptly and the lights in the room
began to dim. Simultaneously, the far recall rose. Its disap-
pearance effectively joined Laurie's examination room to
Jordan's private office. Jordan was sitting at his desk, back-
lit, and leaning back in his chair.

"What's that line about not having Mohammed go to the
mountain, but the mountain going to tire? Same principle

applies here. I like my patients to feel they are in powerful
hands. I actually believe it makes them heal more quickly.
I know that sounds a bit hocus-pocus, but it works for me. '

"I'm impressed," Laurie said. "Obviously I've never seen
anything quite like this. Where do you he ep your records'?"

Jordan took Laurie through another door that led from
his office into a long hall. At the end of the hall was a
windowless room with a bank of file cabinets, a copy ma"
chine, and a computer terminal.

   159

"All the records are in the file cabinets," he said. "But
most of the material is duplicated on the computer on hard
disk."

"Are these the records that the burglars went through?"
Laurie asked.

"They are," Jordan said. "And that's the copy machine.
I'm very meticulous about my records. I could tell someone
had been in them because the contents in some had been put
out of order. I know the copy machine was used after we
closed because I have my secretary record the number from
the machine at the end of each day."

"What about Paul Cerino'srecord?" Laurie asked. "Was
that disturbed?"

"I don't know," Jordan said. "But it's a good question."

Jordan flipped through his "C" drawer and pulled out a
manila folder.

"You were right," he said after paging through. "This
one was disturbed as well. See this information sheet? It's
supposed to be in the front. Instead it's in the back."

"Is there any way to tell if it had been copied?"

Jordan thought for a moment but shook his head. "Not
that I can think of. What's going through your mind?"

"I'm not sure," Laurie said. "But maybe this supposed
burglary should convince you to be a bit more careful. I
know you think taking care of this Cerino character is
mildly entertaining, but you have to understand that he is
apparently one nasty man. And maybe even more impor-
tant, he has some very nasty enemies."

"You think Cerino could have been responsible for my
break-in?" Jordan asked.

"I truly don't know," Laurie said. "But it's possible, one
way or the other. Maybe his enemies don't want you to fix
him up. There are all sorts of possibilities. The only thing I
do know is that these guys play for keeps. Over the last two
days I've done autopsies on two young men who'd been

   160

murdered gangland style, and one of therrr had what looked
like acid burns in his eye."

"Don't tell me that," Jordan said.

"I'm not trying to scare you just to scare you," Laurie
said. "I'm only saying this so that you w ill think about what
you are getting yourself involved with by taking care of
these people. I've been told that the two major crime fami-
lies, the Vaccarros and the Lucias, are currently at each
other's throats. That's why Cerino got th, acid slung in his
face. He's one of the Vaccarro bosses.''

"Wow," Jordan said. "This does put a ciifferent complex-
ion on things. Now you got me worried. Luckily I'l] be
operating on Cerino soon, so this will all be behind me."

"Is Cerino scheduled?" Laurie askecl.

Jordan shook his head. "Not exactly," he said. ''I'm
waiting on material, as usual."

"Well, I think you should do it as soon as possible. And
I wouldn't advertise the date and the time."

Jordan put the contents of Cerino~s file back into its
proper order and replaced it in the file drawer. "Want to see
the rest of the office?" he asked.

"Sure," Laurie said
Jordan took Laurie deeper into the office complex, show-
ing her several rooms devoted to special ophthalmologic
testing. What impressed her most were the two state-of-the-
art operating rooms complete with all the requisite ancillary
eq uipment.

"You have a fortune invested here." Laurie said once
they'd reached the final room, a photography lab.

"No doubt about it," Jordan agreed. "But it pays off
handsomely. Currently I'm grossing between one point five
and two million dollars a year."

Laurie swallowed. The figure was staggering. Although
she knew her father, the cardiac surgeon, had to have a huge
income to cover his life-style, she'd never before been

   161

slapped with such an astronomical figure. Knowing what
she did about the plight of American medicine and even the
shoestring budget the medical examiner's office ran under,
it seemed like an obscene waste of resources.

"How about coming by and seeing my apartment?" Jor-
dan said. "If you like the office, you'll love the apartment.
It was designed by the same people."

"Sure," Laurie said, mainly as a reflex. She was still
trying to absorb Jordan's comment about his income.

As they retraced their route through the office, Laurie
asked after Jordan's secretary. "Did you ever hear from
her?"

"No," Jordan said, obviously still angry about the no-
show. "She never called and there was never any answer at
her home. I can only imagine it has something to do with
her no-good husband. If she'd not been such a good secre-
tary, I would have gotten rid of her just because of him. He
has a restaurant in Bayside, but he's also involved with a
number of shady deals. She confided in me in order to
borrow bail on several occasions. He's never been con-
victed, but he's spent plenty of time on Rikers Island."

"Sounds like a mobster himself," Laurie said.

Once they got into the back of the car, Laurie asked
Jordan his missing secretary's name.

"Marsha Schulman," Jordan said. "Why do you ask?"

"Just curious," Laurie said.

It didn't take long for Thomas to pull up to the private
entrance of Trump Tower. The doorman opened the door
for Laurie to get out, but she held back.

"Jordan," she said, looking at him in the dim light of the
interior of the limo, "would you be angry if I asked for a
raincheck on seeing your apartment? I just noticed the time,
and I have to get up for work in the morning."

"Not at all," Jordan said. "I understand perfectly. I've
got surgery again myself at the crack of dawn. But there is
a condition."

   162

"Which is?"
"That we have dinner again tomorrow night."

"You can put up with me two evenings in a row?" Laurie
asked. She'd not been "rushed" like this shave high school.
She was flattered but wary.

"With pleasure," Jordan said, humorously affecting an
English accent.

"All right," Laurie said. "But let's pick a place not quite
so formal."

"Done," Jordan said. "You like Italian?"

"I love Italian."

"Then it will be Patio," Jordan said. "At eight."

Vinnie Dominick paused outside of the Vesuvio Restau-
rant on Corona Avenue in Elmhurst and took advantage of
his reflection in the window to smooth his hair and adjust
his Gucci tie. Satisfied, he motioned to Freddie Capuso to
open the door.

Vinnie's nickname since junior high school was "the
Prince." He'd been considered a handsome fellow whom
the neighborhood girls had found quite attractive. His fea-
tures were full but well sculpted. Favoring a tailored look,

he heavily moussed his dark hair and brushed it straight
back from his forehead. He looked considerably younger
than his forty years and, unlike most of hi, contemporaries,
he prided himself on his physical prowess. A high school
basketball star, he'd kept his game over He years, playing
three nights a week at St. Mary's gym.

Entering the restaurant, Vinnie scanned the room. Fred-
die and Richie crowded in behind him. Vinnie quickly spot-
ted whom he was looking for: Paul Cerino. I he restaurant
still had a few diners since its kitchen stayed open until
eleven, but most of its clientele had already departed. It was
a good location and time for a meeting.

Vinnie walked to Paul's table with the ~ont~dence of inane
meeting an old, good friend. Freddie and Richie followed

   163

several steps behind. When Vinnie reached the table, the
two men sitting with Paul stood. Vinnie recognized them as
Angelo Facciolo and Tony Ruggerio.

"How are you, Paul?" Vinnie asked.

"Can't complain," Paul said. He stuck out a hand for
Vinnie to shake.

"Sit down, Vinnie," Paul said. "Have some wine. Angelo,
pour the man some wine."

As Vinnie sat down, Angelo picked up an open bottle of
Brunello from the table and filled the glass in front of
Vinnie.

"I want to thank you for agreeing to see me," Vinnie said.
"After what happened last time, I consider it a special
favor."

"When you said it was important and involved family,
how could I turn you down?"

"First I want to tell you how much I sympathize with
your eye problem," Vinnie said. "It was a terrible tragedy
and it never should have happened. And right now in front
of these other people I want to swear on my mother's grave
I knew nothing about it. The punks did it on their own."

There was a pause. For a moment no one said anything.
Finally Cerino spoke. "What else is on your mind?"

"I know that your people whacked Frankie and Bruno,"
Vinnie said. "And even though we know this we have not
retaliated. And we're not going to retaliate. Why? Because
Frankie and Bruno got what they deserved. They were act-
ing on their own. They were out of step. And we're also not
going to retaliate because it is important for you and me to
get along. I don't want a war. It gets the authorities up in
arms. It makes for bad business for us both."

"And how do I know I can trust this gesture of peace?"
Cerino asked.

"By my good faith," Vinnie answered. "Would I ask for
a meeting like this at a place of your choosing if I wasn't

   164

serious? Furthermore, as another token of my desire to
settle the matter, I'm willing to tell you where Jimmy Lanso,
the fourth and final guy, is hiding out."

"Really?" Cerino asked. For the first time in the conver-
sation he was genuinely surprised. "And where might that
be?"

"His cousin's funeral parlor. Spoletto Funeral Home in
Ozone Park."

"I appreciate your openness in all of this," Paul said.
"But I have the feeling that there is more."

"I have a favor to ask of you," Vinnie said. "I want to ask
you as a colleague to show some good faith to me. I want
to ask you to spare Jimmy Lanso. He's family. He's a
nephew of my wife's sister's husband. I'll see to it that the
punk is punished, but I'd like to ask you as a friend not to
whack him."

"I'll certainly give it serious thought," Paul said.

"Thank you," Vinnie said. "After all, we are civilized
people. Kids can make mistakes. You and I have had our
differences, but we respect each other and understand our
common interests. I'm sure that you will take all this into
account." Vinnie stood up.

"I'll take everything into consideration,'? Paul said.
Vinnie turned around and walked out of the restaurant.

Paul lifted his wineglass and took a sip. "Angelo," he
called over his shoulder. "Did Vinnie touch his wine'?"

"No," Angelo said.

"I didn't think so," Paul said. "And he calls himself
civilized?"

"What about Jimmy Lanso?" Angelo asked.

"Kill him," Cerino said. "Take me home, then do it.'`

"What if it is a setup?" Angelo asked.

Paul took another sip of his wine. "I seriously doubt it,"
he said. "Vinnie wouldn't lie about family."

   165

Angelo did not like the situation at all. The idea of a
funeral home gave him the creeps. Besides, he didn't trust
Vinnie Dominick to tell the truth whether it was about
family or business. In Angelo's opinion there was a good
chance this was a setup, despite Cerino's thoughts to the
contrary. And if it was a setup, it was going to be very
dangerous to go breaking into the Spoletto Funeral Home.
Angelo decided this was a good occasion to let Tony take
the lead. And Tony was so eager, he'd no doubt be pleased.
He'd been crying for a year that he was never able to do
something on his own.

"So what's your take?" Angelo asked once he and Tony
were parked across the street from the funeral parlor. It was
a rather large, white clapboard building with Greek col-
umns supporting a small front porch.

"I think it's perfect," Tony said. His eyes sparkled with
excitement.

"Don't you feel it's a little creepy?" Angelo asked.

"Nah," Tony said. "My uncle's cousin had a home. I
even worked there for a summer when I needed a job for the
parole board. The work is definitely not your usual nine to
five, but for what we have in mind, I think it's convenient.
We whack him, they embalm him. It's all done in-house."
Tony laughed.

"You get it?"

"Of course I get it," Angelo snapped.

"Well, let's do it," Tony said. "I can see a light on in the
back. Must be the embalming room. That must be where
Lanso's hiding out."

"You say you worked in a funeral home?" Angelo asked
as he scanned the neighborhood for signs of trouble.

"For about two months," Tony said.

"Since you're familiar with this kind of place maybe you
should go in first." He hoped it would sound as if the idea
had just occurred to him. "Once you get Lanso cornered,

   166

you can flip the light on and off. Meanwhile I'll hang out
here and make sure it isn't a setup."

"Sounds great," Tony said. With that, he was off.

Getting up from the cot, Jimmy Lanso stepped cover to
the tiny TV and turned down the sound. He thought he'd
heard a noise again, just like he had the last couple of
nights. He listened intently but he didn't hear anything
except his own heart thumping in his chest and a slight
ringing in his ears from all the aspirin he'd been taking. Not
having slept for sixty or so hours except short snatches, he
was a nervous, exhausted wreck. He'd been hiding oul. in
the funeral home ever since he and Bruno abandoned their
pad in Woodside after Frankie didn't return or call.

The last month had been a nightmare for Jimmy. Ever
since the stupid acid episode, he'd been living in constant
fear. Up until the dirty deed actually went down, he'd been
convinced that his part in it would "make" his career. In-
stead, he seemed to have guaranteed his own death. The
first terrible shock was Terry Manso's getting killed trying
to get into the car. And now he'd heard that both l rankle
and Bruno had ended up floating in the East River. It
couldn't be long before they got him, too.

Jimmy's only hope was that his uncle had talked Lo Vin-
nie Dominick, his brother-in-law by marriage, and Minnie
had promised to take care of things. But until Jimmy heard
that everything was copacetic, he couldn't relax, not for a
second.

Jimmy heard a slight thump in the embalming room. It
was not his imagination. With the TV turned down it had
been as clear as day. He froze, wondering if he'd hear the
sound again. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead.
When all remained quiet, he mustered the courage to check
it out by stepping over to the door of the utility room he was
using to hide out.

   167

Opening the door as soundlessly as possible, Jimmy let
his eyes slowly roam around the unilluminated embalming
room. There was a series of high windows along one wall
that allowed some light in from a streetlamp, but most of
the room was lost in shadow. Jimmy could see the two
shrouded corpses that his cousin had embalmed that eve-
ning since they were on gurneys pushed against the wall
opposite the windows. Their white sheets seemed to glow in
the half-light. In the center of the room was the embalming
table, but Jimmy could just make out its outline. Against
the far wall was a large, glass-fronted cabinet that loomed
out of the shadows. On the wall below the windows were
several porcelain sinks.

With trembling fingers, Jimmy reached into the room and
switched on the light. Immediately he saw the source of the
noise. A large rat was on the embalming table. Disturbed in
its foraging, it stared at Jimmy with angry, gleaming eyes.
Then it leaped from the table and scampered to a grate in
the floor and disappeared down a drain.

Jimmy felt disgusted and relieved at the same time. He
hated rats, but he also hated hiding in a funeral home. The
place gave him the willies and reminded him of all the
horror comic books he'd read as a child. His imagination
had conjured up all sorts of explanations for the noises he'd
been hearing. So seeing a rat was far better than seeing one
of the embalmed corpses stalking around the room like
Tales From the Crypt.

Stepping out into the embalming room, Jimmy hurried
over to a large metal box the size of a small trunk. Pushing
it along the floor, he used it to cover the grate where the rat
had disappeared. With that accomplished, he headed back
toward his room. But he didn't get far. He heard another
slight thump through the door to the supply room.

Thinking the rat had surfaced in the supply room, Jimmy
grabbed the broom that he'd been using on his clean-up

   168

chores. Planning on beating the crap out of the rat, he threw
open the supply room door. He even took a step forward
before he froze. Blood drained from his face. In front of him
was an upright figure whose features were lost in shadow.

A muffled scream issued from between Jimmy's lips as he
staggered back. The broom slipped from his hands and fell
to the tiled floor with a clatter. Jimmy's wildest fears had
become a reality. One of the corpses had come alive.

"Hi, Jimmy," said the figure.

Panic could not overcome paralysis in Jimmy's brain. He
stood rooted to the floor as the figure in front oi him
stepped from the shadows of the supply room along with a
cold breeze from an open window.

"You look a little pale," Tony commented. He was hold-
ing his gun, but it was pointed toward the floor. "Maybe
you'd better climb up on that old porcelain table and lie
down." Tony pointed with his free hand toward the em-
balming table.

"They made me do it," Jimmy slobbered when he com-
prehended he was not dealing with a supernatural creature
but rather a live human being obviously associated with
Cerino's organization.

"Yeah, sure," Tony said in a falsely consoling tone of
voice. "But get on the table just the same."

As Jimmy stepped over to the embalming table with
shaky legs, Tony walked over to the wall switch and turned
the light on and off several times.

"On the table!" Tony commanded when he noticed that
Jimmy was hesitating.

With some effort Jimmy got himself up on the table,
sitting on the edge.

"Lie down!" Tony snapped. When Jimmy did so, Tony
walked over and looked down on him. "Great place to hide
out," he said.

'it was all Manso's idea," Jimmy blurted out. His head

   169

was propped up on a black rubber block. "All I did was
turn the lights off. I didn't even know what was going
down."

"Everybody says it was Manso's idea," Tony com-
plained. "Of course he's the only one who didn't make it
from the scene. Too bad he's not around to defend him-
self."

A thump in the supply room heralded Angelo's entrance.
He came into the room warily, looking like a caged animal.
He did not like the funeral home. "This place stinks," he
said.

"That's formaldehyde," Tony said. "You get used to it.
You don't even smell it after a while. Come over and meet
Jimmy Lanso."

Angelo walked over to the embalming table, eyeing
Jimmy with contempt. "Such a little prick," he said.

"It was Manso's idea," Jimmy insisted. "I didn't do any-
thing."

"Who else was involved?" Angelo demanded. He wanted
to be sure.

"Manso, DePasquale, and Marchese," Jimmy said.
"They made me go."

"Nobody wants to take any responsibility," Angelo said
with disgust. "Jimmy, I'm afraid you've got to go for a little
ride."

"No, please," Jimmy begged.

Tony leaned over and whispered into Angelo's ear. An-
gelo glanced over at the embalming equipment, then back
down at Jimmy cowering on the embalming table.

"Sounds appropriate," Angelo said with a nod. "Espe-
cially for such a gutless piece of dog turd."

"Hold him down," Tony said with glee. He darted over
to the embalming equipment and turned on a pump. He
watched the dials until sufficient suction was produced.
Then he wheeled the aspirator over to the table.

Jimmy observed these preparations with growing alarm.

   170

Having avoided watching any of the embalming proceclu res
his cousin had performed, he had no idea what Tony was up
to. Whatever it was, he was sure he wasn't going to like it.

Angelo leaned across his chest and held his hands down.
Without giving Jimmy a chance to guess what was happen-
ing, Tony plunged the knife-sharp embalming trocar into
Jimmy's abdomen and roughly rooted the tip around.

With a stifled scream Jimmy's face seemed to pull inward
as his cheeks went hollow and pale. The canister on the
aspirator filled with blood, bits of tissue, and partially, di-
gested food.

Feeling queasy, Angelo let go of the boy and turned
away. For a second Jimmy's hands tried to grab the trocar
from Tony, but they quickly went limp as the boy lapsed
into unconsciousness.

"What do you think?" Tony asked as he stepped away to
view his handiwork. "Pretty neat, huh? All I'd have tc, do
is pump him full of embalming fluid with the embalming
machine and he'd practically be ready for the grave."

"Let's get out of here," Angelo said. He felt a little green.
"Wipe off any prints from that machine."

Five minutes later they retraced their steps and climbed
back out the window. They'd considered using the door but
decided against it in case it was wired.

Once in the car, Angelo began to relax. Cerino had been
right. Dominick hadn't been lying. It hadn't been a setup.
As he pulled away from the curb, Angelo felt a sense of
accomplishment. "Well, that's the end of the acid boys," he
said. "Now we have to get back to real work."

"Did you show the second list to Cerino'?" Tony asked.

"Yeah, but we'll still start from the first list," Angelo
said. "The second list will be easier."

"Makes no difference to me," Tony said. "But what do
you say we eat first? Sitting around the Vesuvio made me
hungry. How about another pizza?"

"I think we'd better get one job done first," Angelo said.

   171

He wanted to put a little distance between the grisly scene
at the Spoletto Funeral Home and his next meal.

Embroiled again in the recurrent nightmare about her
brother sinking into the bottomless black mud, Laurie was
thankful for her alarm's jangle that pulled her from her
deep sleep. Barely awake she reached over to the alarm and
turned it off. Before she could retract her arm back into the
warm covers, the alarm went off again. That was when
Laurie realized it wasn't the alarm. It was the telephone.

"Dr. Montgomery, this is Dr. Ted Ackerman," the caller
said. "I'm sorry to bother you at this hour, but I'm the tour
doctor on call and I got a message that I should call you if
a certain kind of case came in."

Laurie was too bewildered to respond. Glancing down at
the clock she saw it was only two-thirty in the morning. No
wonder she was having a tough time getting her bearings.

"I just got a call," Ted continued. "It sounds like the
demographics you had mentioned. It also sounds like co-
caine. The deceased is a banker, aged thirty-one. The name
is Stuart Morgan."

"Where?" Laurie asked.

"Nine-seventy Fifth Avenue," Ted said. "Do you want to
take the call or shall I just go? I don't mind either way."

"I'll go," Laurie said. "Thanks." She hung up the phone
and stood up. She felt miserable. Tom, on the other hand,
seemed pleased to be awake. Purring contentedly, he
rubbed against her legs.

Laurie threw on some clothes and grabbed a camera and
several pairs of rubber gloves. She left her apartment still
buttoning her coat and dreaming of returning home to
climb back in bed.

Outside, Laurie found her street deserted, but First Ave-
nue had traffic. In five minutes she was in the back of a taxi
with an Afghani freedom fighter for a driver. Fifteen min-

   172

utes later she got out of the cab at 970 Filth. An NYP1) car
and a city ambulance were pulled up on the sidewalk. Both
vehicles had their emergency lights blinking impatiently.

Inside, Laurie flashed her medical examiner's badge and
was directed to Penthouse B.

"You the medical examiner?" a uniformed policeman
asked with obvious amazement when L aurie entered the
apartment and again showed her badge. His name tag read
"Ron Moore." He was a muscular, heavyset fellow in his
late thirties.

Laurie nodded, feeling little tolerance or reserve for what
was coming.

"Hell," Ron said, "you don't look like any of the medical
examiners I've ever seen."

"Nonetheless I am," Laurie said without humor.

"Hey, Pete!" Moore yelled. "Get a load of what just
walked in. A medical examiner who looks more like a Play-
boy Bunny!"

Another uniformed but younger-appearing policeman
poked his head from around a doorway. Elis eyebrows went
up when he saw Laurie. "Well, I'll be damned," he said. Ele
had a handful of correspondence in both hands.

"Who is in charge here?" Laurie questioned.

"I am, honey," Ron said.

"My name is Dr. Montgomery," l aurie said. "Not
honey."

"Sure, Doc," Ron answered.

"Who can give me a tour of the scene?" Laurie asked.

"Might as well be me," Ron said. "This here's the living
room, obviously. Notice the drug paraphernalia on the cof-
fee table. The victim apparently injected himself there. then
went into the kitchen. That's where the body is. You get to
the kitchen through the den."

Laurie took a quick look around the apartment. It was
tiny but beautifully decorated. From her spot in the foyer,

   173

she could see the living room and part of the den. In the
living room two large windows with a southern exposure
afforded an extraordinary view. But more than the view,
Laurie was interested in the clutter on the floor. It appeared
that the room had been ransacked.

"Was this a robbery?' Laurie asked.

"Nah," Ron said. "We did this. Part of our usual thor-
ough investigation, if you know what I mean."

"I'm not sure I do," Laurie said.

"We're always exhaustive in our search," Ron said.

"For what?" Laurie demanded.

"For proper identification," Ron said.

"You didn't notice all these diplomas here on the foyer
walls?" Laurie questioned while making a sweeping gesture.
"The name seems to be rather obvious."

"Guess we didn't see them," Ron said.

"Where's the body?" Laurie asked.

"I told you," Ron said. "It's in the kitchen." He pointed
toward the den.

Laurie walked ahead, avoiding the debris on the floor,
and stepped into the den. All the drawers to the desk were
open. The contents looked as if they'd been roughly gone
through.

"I suppose you were looking for identification in here as
well?" she said.

"That's right, Doc," Ron said.

Passing through the den, Laurie walked to the threshold
of the kitchen. There she stopped. The kitchen was as messy
as the other rooms. The entire refrigerator was emptied,
including its shelves. Laurie also noticed some clothing
scattered across the floor. The refrigerator's door was
slightly ajar. "Don't tell me you were looking for identifi-
cation in here as well?" she asked sarcastically.

"Hell, no!" Ron said. "The victim did this himself."

"Where's the body?" Laurie asked.

   174

"In the refrigerator," Ron said.

Laurie stepped to the refrigerator and opened the door.
Ron wasn't kidding. Stuart Morgan was wedged into the
refrigerator compartment. He was almost naked, clothed
only in Jockey shorts, a money belt, and socks. His face was
bone white. His right arm was raised, his hand balled Alto
a tight fist.

"I can't understand why he wanted to climb into the
refrigerator," Ron said. "Weirdest thing I've seen since I
joined the force."

"It's called hyperpyrexia," Laurie said, staring at Stuart
Morgan. "Cocaine can make people's temperature go sky
high. The users get a little crazy. They'd do anything to get
their temperature down. But this is the first one I've seen in
a refrigerator."

"If you'll release the body we can let the ambulance boys
take Stuart away," Ron said. "We're pretty much done
otherwise."

"Did you touch the body?" Laurie asked suddenly.

"What are you talking about'?" Ron said nervously.
"Just what I said. Did you or Pete touch the body?"

"Well . . ." Ron said. He didn't seem incline d to answer.

"It's a simple question."

"We had to find out if he were dead," Ron said. "But that
was pretty easy since he was cold as one of those cucumbers
on the floor."

"So you merely reached in and felt for a pulse?" Laurie
suggested.

"That's right," Ron said.

"Which pulse?" Laurie asked.

"The wrist," Ron said.

"The right wrist?" Laurie asked.

"Hey, you're getting too specific," Ron said. "I can't
remember which wrist."

"Let me tell you something," Laurie said as she removed

   175

the lens cap from her camera and started taking pictures of
the body in the refrigerator. "See that right arm in the air?"

"Yeah," Ron said.

"It's staying up in the air because of rigor mortis," Laurie
said. Her camera flashed as she took a photo.

"I've heard of that," Ron said.

"But rigor mortis develops after the arm has been flaccid
for a while," Laurie said. "Does that suggest something to
you about this body?" Laurie took another photo from a
different angle.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ron said.

"It suggests that the body was moved after death," Lau-
rie said. "Like perhaps out of the refrigerator and then
back. And it had to be several hours after death because it
takes about two hours for rigor mortis to set in."

"Well, isn't that interesting," Ron said. "Maybe Pete
should hear about this." Ron went to the door to the den
and yelled for Pete to come into the kitchen. When he did,
Ron explained what Laurie had told him.

"Maybe this guy's girlfriend pulled him out," Pete sug-
gested.

"This overdose was found by the deceased's girlfriend?"
Laurie asked. The torture drug abusers put their loved ones
through was horrible.

"That's right," Pete said. "The girlfriend called 911. So
maybe she pulled him out."

"And then stuffed him back in?" Laurie questioned with
skepticism. "Hardly likely."

"What do you think happened?" Ron asked.

For a moment Laurie stared at the two policemen, won-
dering what approach she should take.

"I don't know what to think," she said finally. She pulled
on her rubber gloves. "But for now I want to examine the
body, release it to the hospital people, and go home."

Laurie reached in and touched Stuart Morgan's body. It

   176

was hard, due to the rigor mortis, and cold. As she exam-
ined him, it was obvious that his other limbs were in unnat-
ural positions as well as the right arm. She noticed an IV site
in the antecubital fossa of the left arm. Except for the
refrigerator, the case certainly seemed uncannily similar to
the Duncan Andrews, Robert Evans, and Marion Over-
street overdoses.

Straightening up, Laurie turned to Ron. "Would you
mind helping me lift the body out of the refrigerator'?" she
asked.

"Pete, you help her," Ron said.

Pete made an expression of annoyance but accepted the
rubber gloves from Laurie and put them on. Together they
lifted Stuart Morgan from the refrigerator and laid him out
on the floor.

Laurie took several more photos. To her trained mind, it
was obvious from the attitude of the body that the rigor
mortis had taken place while the body had been in the
refrigerator. That much was clear. But it was also clear that
the position the body was in when she found it was n`:-,t the
position it had been in originally.

As she was photographing the body, Laurie noticed that
the money belt was partially open. Its zipper was caugh t on
some paper money. She moved in for a close-up.

Putting her camera aside, Laurie bent down to examine
the money belt more closely. With some difficulty, she
managed to work the zipper loose and open the pouch.
Inside were three single dollar bills with torn edges from
having been caught in the zipper.

Standing up, Laurie handed the three dollars to Ron.
"Evidence," she said.

"Evidence of what?" Ron said.

"I've heard of cases where police steal from the scenes of
accidents or homicides," Laurie said. "But I'd never ex-
pected to be confronted by such an obvious case."

   177

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ron demanded.

"The body can be moved, Sergeant Moore," Laurie said.
"And I am supposed to extend an invitation to you to come
and see the autopsy. Frankly, I hope I never see you again."

Laurie snapped off her rubber gloves, threw them in the
trash, grabbed her camera, and left the apartment.

"I can't eat another bite," Tony said as he pushed the
remains of a pizza away from him. He pulled the napkin
from his collar where he'd tucked it and wiped his mouth of
tomato stains. "What's the matter. You don't like pep-
peroni? You're eating like a bird."

Angelo sipped his San Pellegrino mineral water. Its fizz
tended to settle his stomach which was still churning from
the Spoletto Funeral Home visit. He'd tried several bites of
the pizza, but it hadn't appealed to him. In fact it made him
nauseated, so he'd been impatient for Tony to finish.

"You done?" Angelo asked Tony.

"Yeah," Tony said, sucking his teeth. "But I wouldn't
mind having a coffee."

They were sitting in a small all-night Italian pizza joint in
Elmhurst, not far from the Vesuvio. There was a handful of
customers sitting at widely spaced Formica tables despite
the fact it was three-thirty in the morning. An old-fashioned
juke box was playing favorites from the fifties and sixties.

Angelo had another mineral water while Tony had a
quick espresso.

"Ready?" Angelo asked when Tony's empty espresso cup
clanked against the saucer. Angelo was eager to get going,
but felt he owed it to Tony to relax for a while. After all,
they had been busy.

"Ready," Tony said with a final wipe with his napkin.
They stood up, tossed some bills on the table, and walked
out into the cold November night. Tucking their heads into
their coats, they dashed for the car. It had started drizzling.

   178

With the motor running to get the heater up to tempt ra-
ture, Angelo took the second list from the glove compart-
ment and scanned it. "Here's one in Kew Garden Hills,'' he
said. "That's nice and convenient, and it should be fast and
easy."

"This is going to be fun," Tony said eagerly. He burped.
"Love that pepperoni."

Angelo put the sheet back into the glove compartment.
As he pulled out into the deserted street, he said, "Work ing
at night sure makes it easier to get around town."

"The only problem is getting used to sleeping all day. '
Tony said. He pulled out his Beretta Bantam and screwed
the silencer on over the muzzle.

"Put that thing away until we get there," Angelo said.
"You make me nervous."

"Just getting ready," Tony said. He tried to jam the guts
back into the holster, but with its silencer it didn't quite fit.
The butt stuck out of his jacket. "I've been looking forward
to this part of the operation because we don t have to be sc,
careful pussyfooting around."

"We still have to be careful," Angelo snapped. "In that
we always have to be careful."

"Calm down," Tony said. "You know what I mean. We
won't have to worry about all that crazy stuff. Now it s
going to be fast and we leave. I mean, boom, it's over and
we're out the door." He pretended to shoot a pedestrian
with his index finger extended from his hand, sighting down
his knuckle.

It took them a while to find the house, a modest, two-
story affair made of stone and stucco with a slate roof. It
was situated on a quiet street that dead-ended into a ceme-
tery.

"Not bad," Tony said. "These people must have a few
bucks."

"And possibly an alarm system," Angelo said. He pulled

   179

over to the side of the road and parked. "Let's hope it's
nothing complicated. I don't want any complications."

"Who gets whacked?" Tony asked.

"I forgot," Angelo said. He reached over to the glove
compartment and took out the second list. "The woman,"
he said after locating the name. He returned the list to the
glove compartment. "And let's get this straight so there will
be no confusion: I'll do her. They'll probably be in bed, so
you cover the man. If he wakes up, whack him. You under-
stand?"

"Of course I understand," Tony said. "What do you
think I am? An imbecile? I understand perfectly. But you
know how much I enjoy this stuff, so how's about I do her
and you cover the man."

"Jesus H. Christ!" Angelo said. He took out his gun and
attached a silencer. "This is work, not some turkey shoot.
We're not here to have fun."

"What difference does it make if you whack her or I
whack her?" Tony asked.

"Ultimately, no difference at all," Angelo said. "But I'm
in charge, and I'm shooting the woman. I want to make sure
she's dead. I'm the one who has to answer to Cerino."

"So you think you can shoot someone better than me?"
Tony said. He seemed insulted.

"For Chrissake, Tony," Angelo said. "You can do the
next one. How about we take turns?"

"Okay, that's fair," Tony said. "Share and share alike."

"Glad you approve," Angelo said. Then, looking briefly
up at the ceiling of the car, he added: "I feel like I'm back
in kindergarten. All right, let's go!"

They climbed out of the car, crossed the street, and
melted into the dense, wet shrubbery surrounding the house
in question. Arriving at the back door, Angelo studied it
carefully, running his hand over the architrave, peering
through the cracks with a small flashlight, and inspecting
the hardware. He straightened up.

   180

"No alarm," Angelo said with amazement., "unless it's
something I haven't seen."

"You want to go through a window or a door?" Tony
asked.

"The door should be easy enough," Angel`.:\ said.

With his pocketknife Tony made short work of the caulk-
ing around one of the glass panes bordering the door. With
a pair of needle-nosed pliers, he pulled out the wire brads,
then lifted the pane out. Reaching inside, he unbolted the
door and turned the knob.

The door opened with only a minor squeak of protest.
No alarms sounded and no vicious dogs barked. Angelo
silently stepped inside, holding his gun up alongside of his
head. He let his eyes roam around the room. It seeme d to
be a family room with gingham-covered couches and a
large-screen television. He listened for a minute, then low-
ered his gun. After testing for alarms, he began to relax.
Everything seemed to be fine; the place was there for the
taking.

Motioning for Tony to follow, Angelo moved silently to
the front entrance hall. Together the two mien crept up a
grand circular staircase. The stairs led them to an upstairs
corridor with a half-dozen doors opening onto it. Each of
the doors was slightly ajar save for one. Trusting his in-
stincts, Angelo made his way straight for it. When he was

sure Tony was right behind him, he tried the door. It pushed
open at his touch.

Loud snores came from the bed against the far wall.
Angelo wasn't sure who was snoring, but once he was con-
vinced both were still sound asleep, he motioned for Tony
to follow him. Together they advanced to the: bed.

It was a king-sized bed covered with a down-filled com-
forter. In the bed were a man and a woman clef late middle
age. They were both on their backs, their arms at their sides.

Angelo veered to the right to be on the saline side as the
woman. Tony went to the opposite side. The victims did not

   181

stir. Angelo motioned for Tony's attention, pointing to-
ward his Walther in the half-light of the bedroom, indicat-
ing that he was about to dispatch the woman and that Tony
should keep his eye on the man.

Tony nodded. And as Angelo brought up his gun to bear
on the sleeping, female head, Tony did the same across the
bed. Angelo advanced the gun to the point where he'd be
unable to miss, aiming at the temple? just above and in front
of the ear. He wanted the bullet to penetrate into the base
of the brain, approximately where it would end up if he
were able to shoot her from behind.

The report was loud in relation to the silence that pre-
vailed in the room, but when compared with normal noise,
it was a soft, hissing thump, like a fist striking a pillow.

Hardly had Angelo recovered from the wince he made
after pulling the trigger when there was another similar
hissing thump. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the man's
head rebound off the pillow, then settle back. A dark stain
that looked black in the half-light began to spread.

"I couldn't help it," Tony said. "I heard you shoot and
I couldn't help pulling the trigger myself. I like it. It gives
me such a rush."

"You're a goddamn psychopath," Angelo said angrily.
"You weren't supposed to shoot the ~uv unless he moved.
That was the plan."

"What the hell difference does it make?" Tony said.

"The difference is that you have to learn to follow or-
clers," Angelo snapped.

"All right already," Tony said. "I'm sorry. I couldn't
help it. Next time I'll play exactly how you say."

"Let's get out of here," Angelo said. He started toward
the door.

"How about looking around for some cash or valu-
ables'?" Tony asked. "After all, we're here."

''I don't want to take the time," Angelo said. At the door

182

to the hall he turned. "Come on, Tony! We're not here to
turn a profit. Cerino's already paying us enough."

"But what Cerino doesn't know can't hurt him," Tony
said. He picked up a wallet on the night-table along \vith a
Rolex watch. "How about I take a souvenir?"

"Fine," Angelo said. "Now let's get out of here."

Three minutes later they were speeding away.

"Holy crap!" Tony exclaimed.

"What's the matter?"

"There's over five hundred big ones in here," Tony said,
waving the bills in the air. He already had the gold Rolex
watch on his wrist. "Add that to what Cerino is paying us
and we're doing okay."

"Just be sure to get rid of that wallet," Angelo said. "It
could finger us for sure."

"No problem," Tony said. "I'll drop it in the incinera-
tor."

Angelo pulled up to the curb and put the car in park.

"Now what?" asked Tony.

Angelo leaned over and took the list out of the glove
compartment. "I want to see if there's anybody else in this
area," he said. "Bingo," Angelo said after a brief perusal.

"Here's two in Forest Hills. That's right around the corner.
We can do both before dawn no problem. I'd say that'd
make it a pretty good night."

"I'd say it'd make it a fabulous night," T ony said. "I've
never made this kind of money."

"All right!" Angelo said, studying a map. "I know where
both of these houses are. Expensive part of town." He
placed the map and the list down on the center console, put
the car in gear, and drove off.

It took less than half an hour for Angelo to cruise past the
first house. It was a large white mansion set far back from
the street. Angelo guessed the house sat fain at least t,``o
acres. Several leafless elms lined a long, curving driveway.

   183

"Which one this time?" Tony asked as he gazed up at the
big house.

"The man," Angelo said. He was trying to decide where
to leave the car. In such a ritzy part of town there weren't
many vehicles parked on the street. In the end, he decided
to drive right up the driveway since it looped behind the
house. He could park so that the car wasn't visible from the
street. He turned his lights off as he came up the drive,
hoping the darkened car wouldn't attract any attention.

"Now remember," Tony said as they prepared to move
in. "This time it's my turn."

Angelo looked to the heavens as if to say, "Why me,
God?" Then he nodded and the two went to the house.

The white mansion proved more difficult than the more
modest stone house. The white mansion had several over-
lapping alarm systems that took Angelo some time to figure
out as well as neutralize. It was a half hour before they
broke out a whole sash in a window into a laundry room.

Angelo went in first to make sure there were no infrared
detectors or lasers. When he determined the coast was clear,
Tony climbed over the windowsill.

They stayed together and moved slowly through the
kitchen, where they could hear a TV playing in a nearby
room.

As carefully as possible they moved toward the sound. It
was coming from a room off the front hall. Angelo went
first and peered around the corner.

The room was a den with a wet bar built into one wall,
a giant rear-projection TV in another. In front of the TV
was a chintz-upholstered chesterfield. Asleep in the center
of the couch was an enormously overweight man, dressed in
a blue bathrobe. His stubby, surprisingly skinny legs stuck
out from beneath the corpulent mass of his abdomen and
were propped up on a hassock. On his feet were leather
slippers.

   184

Angelo pulled back to talk with Tony. "He's asleep find
alone. We'll have to assume the wife, if there is ones is
upstairs."

"What are we going to do?" Tony questioned.

"You wanted to whack him," Angelo said. "So go in find
do it. Just do it right. Then we'll check on the woman.

Tony smiled and stepped beyond Angelo. His gun with
the silencer in place was in his right hand.

Rounding the corner, Tony boldly strode into the den.
He went directly up to the man on the couch. Pointing the
gun at the man's temple just above the ear, he purposefully
bumped the man's thigh with his leg.

The man sputtered as his heavily ridded eyes struggled
up. "Gloria, dear?" he managed.

"No, honey, it's me Tony."

The hissing thump knocked the man over onto his right
side on the couch. Tony leaned over and placed the muzzle
of his silencer at the base of the skull and fired again. 1 he
man didn't move.

Tony straightened up and looked back at Angelo. Angelo
waved for him to follow him. Together they went up the
stairs. On the second floor they had to search through sev-
eral rooms before finding Gloria. She was fast asleep with
the lights on but with black eyeshades over her eyes and
earplugs in her ears.

"Looks like she thinks she's a movie star," Tony solid.
"This is going to be a snap."

"Let's go," Angelo said. He gave Tony's arm a tug.

"Aw, come on," Tony said. "She's like a sitting duck."

"I'm not going to argue," Angelo snarled. "We're getting
out of here."

Back in the car, Tony pouted while Angelo checked the
fastest route to the next house. Angelo didn't care how long
Tony brooded. At least it kept him quiet.

The final house was a two-story row house with a metal

   185

awning forming a carport in front of the single-car garage.
A small chain-link fence demarcated a postage-stamp-sized
lawn that contained two pink flamingo statues.

"The man or the woman?" Tony asked, breaking his
silence for the first time.

"The woman," Angelo said. "And you can do her if you
want." He was feeling magnanimous with the evening's
work drawing to a close.

Breaking into the final house was a breeze. They did it
from the alleyway, going through the back door. To their
surprise they found the husband sleeping on the couch with
an empty six-pack on the floor next to him.

Angelo told Tony to go upstairs by himself and that he'd
keep his eye on the man. Angelo could see Tony's eager
smile in the half-light, and he thought the kid's appetite for
"whacking" was insatiable.

Several minutes later Angelo could barely hear the si-
lenced report of Tony's gun, followed quickly by another
shot. At least the kid was thorough. A few minutes after
that Tony reappeared.

"The guy move?" Tony asked.

Angelo shook his head and motioned for them to leave.

"Too bad," Tony said. His eyes lingered a second on the
sleeping man before he turned to follow Angelo out the
door.

On the back stoop Angelo stretched and looked up at the
brightening sky. "Here comes the sun," he said. "How
about some breakfast?"

"Sounds great," Tony said. "What a night. It doesn't get
any better than this." As he walked to the car he unscrewed
his silencer from his gun.

   186

7

7:45 A.M., THURSDAY
MAN HATTAN

Although she hadn't slept much thanks to her late-flight
call, Laurie made it a point to arrive at work a little early
to compensate for having been late the day before. It was
only seven forty-five as she mounted the steps to the n~edi-
cal examiner's office.

Going directly to the ID office, she detected a mild elec-
tricity in the air. Several of the other associate medical
examiners who usually didn't come in until around eight-
thirty were already on the job. Kevin Southgate and Arnold
Besserman, two of the older examiners, were huddled
around the coffeepot in heated debate. Kevin, a liberal, and
Arnold, an arch-conservative, never agreed on anything.

"I'm telling you," Arnold was saying when Laurie
squeezed through to get herself some coffee, "if bile had
more police on the streets, this kind of thing wouldn ~ hap-
pen."

   187

"I disagree," Kevin said. "This kind of tragedyÄ"

"What happened now?" Laurie asked as she stirred her
coffee.

"A series of homicides in Queens," Arnold said. "Gun-
shot wounds to the head from close range."

"Small-caliber bullets?" Laurie asked.

Arnold looked at Kevin. "I don't know about that yet."

"The posts haven't been done yet," Kevin explained.

"Were they pulled out of the river?"

"No," Arnold said. "These people were asleep in their
own homes. Now, if we had more police presenceÄ"

"Come on, Arnold!" Kevin said.

Laurie left the two to their bickering and went over to
check the autopsy schedule. Sipping her coffee, she checked
at who was on autopsy besides herself and what cases were
assigned. After her own name were three cases, including
Stuart Morgan. She was pleased. Calvin was sticking by his
promise.

Noting that the other two cases were drug overdose/
toxicity cases as well, Laurie flipped through the investiga-
tor's reports. She was immediately dismayed to see that
profiles of the deceased resembled the previous suspicious
cases. Randall Thatcher, thirty years old, was a lawyer;
Valerie Abrams,thirty-three, was a stockbroker.

The day before she'd feared there'd be more cases, but
she'd hoped her fears wouldn't materialize. Obviously that
wasn't to be the case. Already there were three more. Over-
night her modest series had jumped one hundred percent.

Laurie walked through Communications on her way to
the medical forensic investigative department. Spotting the
police liaison office, she wondered what she should do
about the suspected thievery at the Morgan apartment. For
the moment she decided to let it go. If she saw Lou she
might discuss the matter with him.

Laurie found Cheryl Myers in her tiny windowless office.

188

"No luck so far on that Duncan Andrews case," CherN I
told her before she could say a word.

"That's not why I stopped by," Laurie sarici. "I left word
last evening with Bart that I wanted to be called if an\!
upscale drug overdose cases came in like Duncan Ancire\vs
or Marion Overstreet. I was called last night tor one. But
this morning I discovered there were two others that 1
wasn't called on. Have you any idea why I wasn't called'?"

"No," Cheryl said. "Ted was on last night. We'll have to
ask him this evening. Was there a problem?"

"Not really," Laurie admitted. "I'm just curious. Actu-
ally I probably couldn't have gone to all three scenes. And
I will be handling the autopsies. By the way, did you check
with the hospital about the Marion Overstreet case?"

"Sure did," Cheryl said. "I spoke with a Dr. Murray and
he said that they were just following policy orders from
you."

"That's what I figured," Laurie said. "But it was worth
a check. Also, I have something else I'd like to ask you to
do. Would you see what kind of medical records you can
get, particularly surgical, on a woman by the name of Mar-
sha Schulman. I'd love to get some X-rays. I believe she

lived in Bayside, Queens. I'm not sure of her age. Let s say
around forty." Ever since Jordan had told [ aurie about his
secretary's husband's shady dealings and arrest record,
she'd had a bad feeling about the woman's disappearance,
particularly in view of the odd break-in at Jordan's oflicc.

Cheryl wrote the information down on a pad on her desk.
"I'll get right on it."

Next Laurie sought out John DeVries. As she'd feared,
he was less than cordial.

"I told you I'd call you," John snapped when l aurie
asked about a contaminant. "I've got hundreds of cases
besides yours."

"I know you're busy," Laurie said, "but this morning [

   189

have three more overdoses like the three I had before. That
brings the body count to a total of six young, affluent,
well-educated career people. Something has to be in that
cocaine, and we have to find it."

"You're welcome to come up here and run the tests your-
self," John said. "But I want you to leave me alone. If you
don't, I'll have to speak to Dr. gingham."

"Why are you acting this way?" Laurie asked. "I've tried
to be nice about this."

"You're being a pain in the neck," John said.

"Fine," Laurie said. "It's wonderful to know we have a
nice cooperative atmosphere around here."

Exasperated, Laurie stalked out of the lab, grumbling
under her breath. She felt a hand grip her arm and she spun
around, ready to slap John DeVries for having the nerve to
touch her. But it wasn't John. It was one of his young
assistants, Peter Letterman.

"Could I talk to you a moment?" Peter said. He glanced
warily over his shoulder.

"Of course," Laurie said.

' Come into my cubbyhole," Peter said. He motioned for
Laurie to follow him. They entered what had originally
been designed as a broom closet. There was barely enough
room there for a desk, a computer terminal, a file cabinet,
and two chairs. Peter closed the door behind them.

Peter was a thin, blond fellow with delicate features. To
Laurie he appeared as the quintessential graduate student,
with a marked intensity to his eyes and demeanor. Under
his white lab coat was an open-necked flannel shirt.

"John is a little hard to get along with," he said.

"That's an understatement," Laurie answered.

"Lots of artists are like that," Peter continued. "And
John is an artist of sorts. When it comes to chemistry and
toxicology in particular, he's amazing. But I couldn't help
overhearing your conversations with him. I think one of the
reasons he's giving you a hard time is to make a point with

   190

the administration that he needs more funding. He's slow-
ing up a lot of reports, and for the most part it makes little
difference. I mean the people are dead. But if your suspi-
cions are right it sounds like we could be in the lifesaving
business for a change. So I'd like to help. I'll see what I can
do for you even if I have to put in some overtime."

"I'd be grateful, Peter7" Laurie said. "And you're right."

Peter smiled self-consciously. "We went to the same
school," he said.

"Really?" Laurie said. "Where?"

"Wesleyan," Peter said. "I was two years behind you, but
we shared a class. Physical chemistry."

"I'm sorry but I don't remember you," Laurie said.

"Well, I was Linda a nerd then. Anyway, I'll let you know
what I come up with."

Laurie returned to her office feeling considerably more
optimistic about mankind with Peter's generous offer to
help. Going through the day's autopsy folders, she came up
with only a few questions on two of the cases similar to her
question about Marion Overstreet. Just to be thorough she
called Cheryl to ask her to check them out.

After changing in her office, Laurie went down to the
autopsy room. Vinnie had Stuart Morgan "up" and was

well prepared for her arrival. They started work immedi-
ately.

The autopsy went smoothly. As they were finishing the
internal portion, Cheryl Myers came in holding a mask l:o
her face. Laurie glanced around to make sure Calvin wasn't
in sight to complain that Cheryl had not put on scrubs.
Happily he wasn't in the room.

"I had some luck with Marsha Schulman," she said,
waving a set of X-rays. "She'd been treated at Manhattan
General because she worked for a doctor on the staff. They
had recent chest film which they sent right over. Want me
to put it up?"

"Please," Laurie said. She wiped her hands on her apron

   191

and followed Cheryl over to the X-ray view box. Cheryl
stuck the X-rays into the holder and stepped to the side.

"They want them back right away," Cheryl explained.
"The tech in X-ray was doing me a favor by letting them out
without authorization."

Laurie scanned the X-rays. They were an APand lateral
of the chest taken two years before. The lung fields were
clear and normal. The heart silhouette looked normal as
well. Disappointed, Laurie was about to tell Cheryl to re-
move the films when she looked at the clavicles, or collar-
bones. The one on the right had a slight angle to it
two-thirds along its length, associated with a slight increase
in radiopacity. Marsha Schulman had broken her collar-
bone sometime in the past. Though well healed, there had
definitely been a fracture.

"Vinnie," Laurie called out. "Get someone to bring the
X-ray we took on the headless floater."

"See something?" Cheryl asked.

Laurie pointed out the fracture, explaining to Cheryl why
it appeared as it did. Vinnie brought the requested X-ray
over to the view box. He snapped the new film up next to
Marsha Schulman's.

"Well, look at that!" Laurie cried. She pointed to the
fractured clavicle. They were identical on both films. "I
think we're looking at the same person," she said.

"Who is it?" Vinnie asked.

"The name is Marsha Schulman," Laurie said, pulling
down the X-rays from the Manhattan General and handing
them to Cheryl. Then she asked Cheryl to check if Marsha
Schulman had had a cholecystectomy and a hysterectomy.
She told her it was important and asked her to do it immedi-
ately.

Pleased with this discovery, Laurie started her second
case, Randall Thatcher. As with her first case of the day,
there was essentially no pathology. The autopsy went

   192

quickly and smoothly. Again Laurie was able to document
with reasonable certainty that the cocaine had been taken
IV. By the time they were sewing up the body, Cheryl was
back in with the news that Marsha Schulman had indeed
had both operations in question. In fact, both had been
performed at Manhattan General.

Thrilled by this additional confirmation, Laurie finished
up and went to her office to dictate the first two cases and
to make several calls. First she tried Jordan's office, only to
learn that Dr. Scheffield was in surgery.

"Again?" Laurie sighed. She was disappointed not to get
him right away.

"He's been doing a lot of transplants lately," Jordan9s
nurse explained. "He always does quite a bit of surgery, but
lately he's been doing even more."

Laurie left word for Jordan to call back when he could.
Then she called police headquarters and asked for Lou.

To Laurie's chagrin, Lou was unavailable. Laurie left
her number and asked that he return her call when he
could.

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 gingham might be willing to change his mind about mak-
ing 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 faults" 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.

   193

"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 secre-
tary."

"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 restau-
rant in Bayside?" he asked.

"That's the one," Laurie said. "Apparently he's had sev-
eral 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.

  194

"That's an understatement," Lou said. "And speaking of
nasty business, have you gotten any results on l~rankie
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 hap-
pen 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. What-
ever 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 some-
thing? 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

  195

people doing themselves in trying to get high. In fact I
couldn't care less about druggies of any sort ODing, be-
cause 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 grow-
ing coca leaves. If the druggies knock themselves off, all the
better. With each death there is that much less demand."

"I can't believe I'm hearing you correctly," Laurie
snapped. "These are productive members of society that we
are losing. People on whom society has spent time and
money educating. And why are they dying? Because some
bastard put a contaminant in the drug or cut it with some-
thing lethal. Stopping these unnecessary deaths is a lot more
important than stopping a bunch of gangsters from killing
each other. Hell, they're the ones who are doing a service to
society."

"But not only gangsters get hurt when crime wars break
out," Lou yelled. "Besides, organized crime reaches way
down into our lives. In a city like New York it is all around
us. Take trash collectionÄ"

"I don't care about trash collection!" Laurie yelled.
"That's the most stupid comment that IÄ

All of a sudden Laurie stopped in midsentence. She real-
ized she'd become angry, and that getting angry at Lou was
ridiculous.

"I'm sorry for raising my voice," Laurie said. "I sound
like I'm mad at you, but I'm not. I'm just frustrated. I can't
get anyone else to share my concern about these particular
overdose deathsÄnot even youÄand I think future deaths
are preventable. But at the rate I'm going we're like to have
forty more ODs before anybody blinks about them."

"And I'm sorry for raising my voice," Lou said. "I sup-
pose I'm frustrated too. I need some kind of break. Plus I
have the police commissioner breathing down my back. I've

   196

only been a lieutenant on homicide for a year. I want to save
lives, but I also want to save my job. I like being a police-
man. I can't imagine doing anything else."

"Speaking of police," Laurie said, changing the subject,
"I had a little shock last night I wanted to share with you.
I'd like your advice."

Laurie described the experience she'd had the night
before at Stuart Morgan's apartment. She tried to be as
objective as possible since there had been no hard evidence.
Yet as she told the story, especially with the three dollars
remaining in the money belt, she became even more con-
vinced that the uniformed patrolmen had stolen thing, from
the Stuart Morgan apartment.

"That's too bad," Lou said dejectedly.

There was a pause. Laurie looked at Lou expectantly.

"Is that all you can say?" Laurie questioned finally.

"What else can I say? I hate to hear stories like that, but
it happens. What can you do?"

"I thought you'd demand to know the names of the
officers involved so that you could reprimand them and -"

"And what?" Lou asked. "Get them fired? I'm not going
to do that. You have to expect a little thievery once in a
while with the kind of money the typical uniformed patrol-
man pulls down. A few bucks here and there. It's like incen-
tive pay. Remember, police work is Godawful frustrating as
well as dangerous. So it's not so surprising. Not that I
personally condone it, but you have to expect some "

"That sounds like convenient morality," Laurie said.
"When you start allowing the 'good guys' to break the law,
where do you stop? And not only is this kind of thievery
morally objectionable, it's also a disaster from a medical-
legal point of view. These guys mucked around with a
scene, distorting and destroying evidence."

"It's bad and it's wrong, but I'm not about to make an
issue about this kind of illicit behavior at a drug overdose

   197

scene. I'd feel differently if it had been a homicide. I'm sure
the officers would too."

"I can't believe what a double standard you have! Any
drug user can drop dead as far as you're concerned, and if
cops steal from a victim before the M.E. arrives, so much
the better."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you," Lou said, "but this is just
the way I feel. You asked me how I felt, I've told you. If you
want to pursue the matter, I suggest you call Internal Af-
fairs at police headquarters and tell the story to them. Me,
I'd rather concentrate on serious bad guys."

"Once again I can't believe I'm hearing you correctly,"
Laurie said. "I'm floored. What am I, too naive?"

"I take the fifth amendment," Lou said, trying to lighten
the atmosphere. "But I tell you what. Why don't we discuss
it further this evening. How about dinner tonight?"

"I have plans," Laurie said.

"Of course," Lou said. "How silly of me to think you
might be available. I suppose it is Dr. Roses again. But
don't tell me. What's left of my ego couldn't take it. With
his limo and all, he's probably taking you to those places
where I couldn't afford to check my coat. Like I said yester-
day, let me know if your lab decides to do any of the tests
that might show anything. Ciao!"

With that, Lou got up and left the room. Laurie was
happy to see him go. He could be so irritating. If he wanted
to take personally her turning him down for that evening,
he was welcome to. What did he expect her to do? Drop
everything?

She was about to call Internal Affairs as Lou had face-
tiously suggested, but before she could pick up the receiver,
the phone rang. It was Jordan returning her call.

"I hope you didn't call to cancel for tonight," he said.

"Nothing like that," Laurie said. "It's about your secre-
tary, Marsha Schulman."

   198

"You mean my former secretary," Jordan said. "She
didn't show up or call this morning either, so I'm in the
process of replacing her. I already have a temp."

"I'm afraid she's dead," Laurie said.

"Oh, no!" Jordan said. "Are you seric>us?"

Laurie explained how she had made the identification of
the headless corpse with the chest X-ray, and the fact of the
two surgeries.

"The forensic medical investigators are following up to
make the identification even more certain," Laurie said,
"but with what we have already, I think we can be quite
confident."

"I wonder if that bastard husband was involved," Jordan
wondered aloud.

"I'm sure the police will be looking into the possibility,''
Laurie said. "Anyway, I thought you should know."

"I'm not sure I want to know," Jordan said. "What
horrible news."

"Sorry to be the bearer of sad tidings," Laurie said.

"It's not your fault," Jordan said. "And I had to be told.
Anyway, I'll still see you at eight."

"Eight it is."
Laurie hung up and dialed Internal Affairs. She spoke to
a disinterested secretary who took down the details of her
story, promising to pass them along to her boss.

Laurie sat at her desk to compose her thoughts before
returning to the autopsy room for her last case. She was
beginning to feel overwhelmed. It felt as if every aspect of
her life personal, professional, ethicalÄ-was spinning out
of control.

"I'm Lieutenant Lou Soldano," Lou said politely. He
passed his credentials to the bright-eyed secretary at the
reception desk.

"Homicide?" she asked.

   199

"That's right," Lou said. "I'd like to speak with the
doctor. I only need a few minutes of his time."

"If you'll have a seat in the waiting room, I'll let him
know you're here."

Lou sat down and idly flipped through a recent edition of
The Neu'Yorker. He noticed the drawings on the walls,
especially one that was blatantly pornographic. He won-
dered if someone had actually chosen them or if they had
come with the office. Either way, thought Lou, there was no
accounting for some people's taste.

Other than the drawings, Lou was impressed with the
waiting room. The walls were paneled with mahogany. A
tasteful, inch-thick oriental carpet covered the floor. But
then Lou already knew the good doctor did quite well for
himself.

Lou looked at the faces of the patients who paid for this
opulence, plus the limo and the roses. There were about ten
in the waiting room, some with eyepatches, some who
looked totally healthy, including one middle-aged woman
draped in jewels. Lou would have loved to ask her what she
was there for, just to get an idea, but he didn't dare.

Time passed slowly as one by one the patients disap-
peared into the depths of the office. Lou tried to contain his
impatience, but after three-quarters of an hour, he began to
get irritated. He began to think it was a deliberate snub on
Jordan Scheffield's part. Although Lou didn't have an ap-
pointment, he'd expected to be seen relatively quickly, per-
haps to schedule a future visit if it were needed. It wasn't
every day a detective lieutenant from Homicide dropped by
someone's office. Besides, Lou hadn't planned on taking
much of the doctor's time.

Lou's reason for the visit was twofold. He wanted to find
out more about Marsha Schulman, but he also wanted to
talk about Paul Cerino. It was a kind of fishing trip; the
doctor might be able to fill him in on some details he didn't

   200

yet know. He resisted the nagging thought at the back ot fls
mind: he was really there to check out the guy who visas
seeing Doctor Laurie Montgomery every night for dinner.

"Mr. Soldano," the secretary said at last, "Dr. Scheffield
will see you now."

"It's about time," Lou mumbled as he got to his feet and
tossed his magazine aside. He walked toward the clcor
being held open by the secretary. It wasn't the same clcor
that all the patients had disappeared into.

After a short hall, Lou was shown into Jordan's private
office. He strode into the center of the room. Behind him lee
heard the door close.

Lou looked at the top of Jordan's blond head. The docl or
was writing in a record.

"Sit down," Jordan said without looking up.

Lou debated what he wanted to do. The idea of dis e-
garding what sounded more like a command than an of er
appealed to him, so he stayed where he was. His Cal es
roamed the office. He was impressed and couldn't help
compare the environment with his own utilitarian, met ~l-
desked, peeling-walled rathole. Who said life was fair" L flu
mused.

Redirecting his attention to the doctor, Lou couldn t tell
much other than that the man was well groomed. He \A as
dressed in a typical doctor white coat that appeared to be
whiter than white and starched to boardlike stiffness. On his
ring finger he wore a large gold signet ring, probably f rim
some fancy school.
Jordan finished his writing and meticulously organized
the pages of the record before folding over its cover. I hen
he looked up. He appeared genuinely surprised that L flu
was still standing in the middle of his office, hat in hand.

"Please," Jordan said. He got to his feet and gestured
toward one of the two chairs facing his desk. "Sit don n.
Sorry to have made you wait, but I'm tremendously busy

   201

these days. Lots of surgery. What can I do for you? I
suppose you are here about my secretary, Marsha Schul-
man. Tragic situation. I hope you people are planning on
looking into her husband's probable involvement."

Lou's eyes traveled up to Jordan's face. He was dismayed
the man was so tall. It made him feel short by comparison,
although he was almost six feet himself.

"What do you know about Mr. Schulman?" Lou asked.
With Jordan's more cordial offer, Lou sat down. Jordan did
the same. Lou listened while Jordan told all he knew about
Marsha's husband. Since Lou already knew considerably
more than Jordan, he took the time to observe the "good"
doctor, noticing things like a mild yet probably fake English
accent. Before Jordan had even finished talking about
Danny Schulman, Lou had decided that Jordan was a
pompous, affected, arrogant creep. Lou couldn't under-
stand what a down-to-earth girl like Laurie could see in
him.

Lou decided it was time to change the subject. "What
about Paul Cerino?" he asked.

Jordan hesitated for a moment. He was surprised at the
mention of Paul's name. "Pardon me for asking," he said,
"but what does Mr. Cerino have to do with anything?"

Lou was glad to see Jordan squirm. "I'd appreciate your
telling me all you know about Mr. Cerino."

"Mr. Cerino is a patient," Jordan said stiffly.

"I already know that," Lou said. "I'd like to hear how his
treatment is coming along."

"I don't talk about my patients," Jordan said coldly.

"Really?" Lou asked, raising his eyebrows. "That's not
what I've heard. In fact, I have it from a reliable source that
you've been discussing Mr. Cerino's case in detail."

Jordan's lips narrowed some.

"But we can leave that subject for the moment," Lou
said. "I also wanted to ask if you or any of your staff had
been the subject of any extortion attempt.'

   202

"Absolutely not," Jordan said. He laughed nervously.
"Why would anyone threaten me?"

"When you start involving yourself with people like
Cerino, things like extortion have a way of happening.
Could your secretary have been threatened in some way'?"

"For what?"

"I don't know," Lou said. "You tell me."

"Cerino wouldn't want to extort me or any of my em-
ployees. I'm taking care of the man. I'm helping him."

"These organized-crime people think differently than
normal people," Lou said. "They consider themselves spe-
cial and above the law: in fact above everything. If they
don't get exactly what they want, they kill you. If they do
get what they want but decide they don't like you or they
owe you too much money, they kill you."

"Well, I'm certainly giving them what they want."

"Whatever you say, Doc. I'm just trying to explore all the
angles. You've got one dead secretary and somebody
whacked her rather brutally. And whoever did it didn't
want anyone finding out who she was anytime soon. I want
to know why."

"Well, all I can tell you is I'm quite certain Marsha's

disappearance, or death, hasn't anything to do with Mr.
Cerino. Now if you'll kindly excuse me, I have patients to
attend to. If you have any additional questions, perhaps
you should contact me through my attorney."

"Sure, Doc, sure," Lou said. "I'll be on my way. But a
word to the wise: I'd be very careful where Paul Cerino is
concerned. The Mafia may seem glamorous when you read
about them or see them in the movies, but I think you'd
develop a different point of view if you got a glimpse of
what Mrs. Schulman looks like now. And one last piece, of
advice. I'd be careful about sending him a bill. Thank you
for your time, Doctor."

Lou walked out of the building, embarrassed to an extent
that he had come. It had been a worthless encounter that

   203

had only annoyed him. He couldn't pompous silver-
spoon-fed fools like Jordan Scheffield. If he got into trouble
with Paul Cerino, it was his own fault. He was so full of his
own self-importance that he couldn't see the danger.

Half an hour later Lou arrived at his office at police
headquarters. For a moment he stood on the threshold,
surveying the mess within. His digs were a far cry from
Jordan Scheffield's posh surroundings. The furniture was
the usual gray metal, city issue with the burns from innu-
merable cigarettes left on the edges and with stains from
spilled coffee. The floor was dried and cracked linoleum.
The walls had been painted years previously in a pale green
that had blistered from a water leak from the floor above.
Papers and reports were stacked on every horizontal sur-
face, since the file cabinets were full.

Lou had never thought much about his office, but today
it seemed oppressively dingy. It was irrational, he knew, but
he got mad at the smug doctor all over again.

Just then Harvey Lawson, another detective lieutenant
on the force, interrupted Lou's thoughts. "Hey, Lou," Har-
vey called, "you know that broad you were talking about
yesterday? The one from the medical examiner's office?"

"Yeah?"

"I just heard she called Internal Affairs. Made some beef
about two uniformed guys stealing from an overdose scene.
What do you think of that?"

Tony and Angelo were back in Angelo's Town Car. They
were parked across the street from the Greenblatt Pavilion
of Manhattan General Hospital. The Greenblatt Pavilion
was the fancy part of the hospital where pampered, wealthy
patients could order from special menus that included
amenities such as wine, provided their doctors permitted
such treats as part of their diet.

It was 2:48 in the afternoon and Tony and Angelo were

   204

exhausted. They'd hoped to sleep after their busy night, but
Paul Cerino had other plans for them.

"What time did Doc Travino say we should pull this oil?"
Tony asked.

"Three o'clock," Angelo said. "Supposedly that's the
time there's most confusion in the hospital. That's when the
day shift of nurses are getting ready to leave and the evening
shift is just coming on."

"If that's what the doc says, it's good enough for me."

"I don't like it," Angelo said. "I still think it's too risky."
He surveyed the vicinity with wary eyes. There was a lot of
activity and plenty of cops. In the ten minutes they'd been
parked there, Angelo had spotted three squad cars cruising
by.

"Think of it as a challenge," Tony suggested. "And think
about all the money we're getting."

"I like working at night better," Angelo said. ' And I
don't need any challenges at this point of my life. Besides,
I should be sleeping right this minute. I shouldn't be work-
ing when I'm so tired. I might make a mistake."

"Lighten up," Tony said. "This should be fun."

But Angelo wouldn't let it go. "I got a bad feeling about
this job," he said. "Maybe we should just go home and
sleep. We got another big night ahead of us tonight.

"Why don't you wait here and I'll go in by myself. I'll still
split the money with you."

Angelo bit his lip. It was tempting to send the kid into the
hospital alone, but if anything went wrong he knew Cerino
would be furious. And even under the best circumstances,
if Tony went in by himself, there was a good chance things
would go awry. Reluctantly, Angelo came to the conclusion
that he really didn't have a choice.

"Thanks for the offer," Angelo said, scanning the neigh-
borhood once more, "but I think we should do His to-
gether." It was then that Angelo turned to Tony and saw,

205

to his horror, that Tony had his gun out. He was checking
the magazine.

"For Chrissake!" Angelo shouted. "Put your goddamn
gun away. What if someone was to walk by the car and see
you monkeying around with that thing? There's cops all
over this place."

"All right already," Tony exclaimed. He clicked the mag-
azine back into his gun and slipped the gun into its holster.
"You are in one hell of a bad mood. I looked around before
I took my piece out. What do you think I am, a moron?
There's nobody anywhere near this car."

Angelo closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. His
headache was getting worse. His nerves were frayed. He
hated being so tired.

"It's getting close to three," Tony said.

"All right," Angelo said. "You remember the plan of
what we're going to do when we get inside the hospital?"

"I remember what we're supposed to do," Tony re-
peated. "No problem."

"All right," Angelo said again. "Let's do it."

They got out of the car. Angelo gave one more glance
around the immediate area. Satisfied, he led Tony across
the street and into the lobby of bustling Manhattan General
Hospital.

Their first stop was the hospitality shop, where Angelo
purchased two bunches of cut flowers. Handing one to
Tony, Angelo carried the other. Taking the flowers back to
the entrance area, they waited in line for information.

"Mary O'Connor," Angelo said politely once it was his
turn.

"Five zero seven," the desk attendant told him after con-
sulting her computer screen.

Joining the crowd at the elevators, Tony leaned toward
Angelo and whispered: "So far so good."

Angelo glowered at Tony again, but said nothing. Nurses

   206

just coming on duty had them surrounded. It was no time
for a reprimand. At the fifth floor Angelo and Tony got off
the elevator along with three nurses.

Angelo waited to see which way the nurses went, then
chose the opposite direction. He immediately saw that
room 507 was the other way, but he walked until the n urses
had reached the busy nurses' station before retracing his
steps.

Angelo behaved as if he knew exactly where he was
going. He sauntered past the nurses' station without so
much as a glance in its direction.

Once beyond the nurses' station, it was easy to find 5()7.
Slowing down, Angelo glanced inside. Satisfied that no staff
was in the room, he stepped over the threshold and looked
at the woman in the bed. She was watching a TV mounted
on a mechanical arm attached to the bed frame.

The woman had an eyepatch over one eye. Her un-
protected eye switched its attention from the TV to Angelo.
She gave him a questioning look.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. O'Connor," Angelo said affably.
"You have a visitor."

Angelo waved for Tony to come into the room.

"Who are you?" Mrs. O'Connor asked.

Tony came smiling into the room with his bouquet of
flowers out in front of him. Mrs. O'Connor's eyes went
from Angelo to Tony. She smiled.

"I think you must have the wrong room," she said.
"Maybe the wrong O'Connor."

"Oh?" Angelo questioned. "Aren't you the O'Connor
who's scheduled for surgery later today?"

"Yes," Mrs. O'Connor said, "but I don't know either of
you. Do 1?"

"I can't imagine you do," Angelo said. He stepped back
to the door and looked up and down the hall. The nurses'
station was still a flurry of activity. No one was coming the

   207

other way. "I think it's time for Mrs. O'Connor's treat-
ment."

Tony's smile broadened. He laid his flowers on the night
table.

"What treatment?" Mrs. O'Connor asked.

"Relaxation therapy," Tony said. "Let me take your
pillow."

"Did Dr. Scheffield order this?" Although she was suspi-
cious, Mrs. O'Connor did not resist as Tony pulled the
pillow from beneath her head. She wasn't accustomed to
second-guessing her physicians.

"Not exactly," Tony said.

The confession emboldened Mrs. O'Connor. "I'd like to
speak with Nurse Lang," she began to say. But she didn't
get a chance to finish. Tony crammed the pillow down over
her face, then sat on her chest.

A few muffled sounds followed, but Mrs. O'Connor
didn't struggle for long. She kicked several times, but the
move seemed less defensive than an uncontrollable reaction
to being deprived of air.

Angelo acted as lookout throughout. He kept his eyes on
the nurses' station. No problem there. The nurses were
engrossed in conversation. Angelo looked down the hall in
the other direction. His heart missed a beat when he spotted
a middle-aged woman approaching 507 pushing a cartful of
water pitchers. She was only fifteen feet away.

Stepping back into the room, Angelo closed the door.
Tony hadn't quite finished dispensing his "treatment." He
was still sitting on top of Mrs. O'Connor.

"Someone's coming!" Angelo warned him. He pulled his
gun from his pocket and fumbled with the silencer.

Tony kept pressure on the pillow. There was a knock at
the door.

Angelo motioned toward the bathroom. "Come on," he
urged in a whisper when Tony failed to follow him in. After
another ten seconds there was a second knock. Tony reluc-

   208

tantly lifted the pillow. Mary O'Connor was blue and mo-
tionless. Her unpatched eye stared blankly at the ceiling.

Frantically Angelo motioned for Tony to join him in the
bathroom as a third knock sounded. Then, as the door to
the hall opened, Tony pushed off the bed and crowded into
the bathroom, forcing Angelo to straddle the toilet. Tony
pulled the bathroom door partially closed as the woman
with the cart of water pitchers entered the room.

Angelo had his gun ready. The silencer was in place. He
did not like the idea of using it, but he was afraid he didn't
have any choice. With the bathroom door open a fraction
of an inch, he was able to watch as the woman switched
O'Connor's water pitcher for a fresh one. He held his
breath. The woman was only a few feet away. His plan was
to wait for her to spot Mrs. O'Connor before he made his
move. To his surprise, the woman disappeared from view
without so much as a glance in Mrs. O'Connor's direction.

After waiting for a full minute, Angelo told Tony to take
a careful peek.

Slowly Tony opened the bathroom door enough so tl-~at
he could get his head around the door.

"She's gone," Tony said.

"Let's get out of here," Angelo said.

Exiting the bathroom, Tony paused at the bedside. "You
think she's dead?" he questioned.

"You can't be that blue and still be alive," Angelo said.
"Come on. Grab your flowers. I want to be long gone
before they find her."

They made it to the car without incident. Angelo was
thinking it was a good thing he'd gone in. Trigger-happy
Tony would have left a trail of bodies in his wake.

Angelo was just pulling away from the curb when Tony
confided in him. "Smothering wasn't bad. But I still like
shooting them better. It's surer, quicker, and definitely
more satisfying."

   209

Lou took out a cigarette and lit up. He didn't even feel
like smoking particularly. He was just interested in killing
time. The meeting was to have started half an hour earlier
but officers were still drifting in. The subject was the three
gangland-style executions that had occurred in Queens
overnight. Lou had thought the cases would have inspired
a sense of urgency in the department, but three detectives
were m1ssmg.

"Screw them," Lou said finally, referring to the missing
officers. He motioned to Norman Carver, a detective ser-
geant, to start. Norman was nominally in charge of the
investigation, although in point of fact the three units cov-
ering the cases were acting independently.

"I'm afraid we don't have much," Norman said. "The
only link we've established between the three cases, other
than the manner of murder, is that each of the men was
involved in the restaurant business in one way or another,
either as an owner, partner, or supplier."

"That's not much of an association," Lou commented.
"Let's review each case."

"The first one was the Goldburgs in Kew Gardens,"
Norman said. "Both Harry and Martha Goldburg were
shot dead in their sleep. The preliminary report suggests
two guns were involved."

"And Harry's occupation?" Lou asked.

"Owned a successful restaurant here in Manhattan,"
Norman said. "Place is called La Dolce Vita. East side.
Fifty-fourth. He was partners with an Anthony DeBartollo.
So far we've come up with no problems, financial or per-
sonal, involving the partnership or the restaurant."

"Next," Lou said.

"Steven Vivonetto of Forest Hills," Norman said.
"Owned a chain of fast-food joints all over Nassau County
called Pasta Pronto. Again no financial problems that we've
come across, but these are all just preliminaries."

"And finally."

   210

"Janice Singleton, also of Forest Hills," Norman saicl.
"Married to Chester Singleton. He has a restaurant-pur-
veyor business and was recently picked up by the Vivonetto
chain as a supplier. Again, no financial problems. In fact
things had been looking up with the Pasta Pronto account."

"Who'd been supplying the Pasta Pronto before Single-
ton?" Lou asked.

"Don't know that yet," Norman said.

"I think we should find that out," Lou said. "Did the
Singletons and the Vivonettos know each other person-
ally?"

"We haven't established that yet," Norman said. "But we
will."

"What about any organized-crime associations?" Lou
asked. "The way these people were killed certainly suggests
as much."

"That's what we thought when we started," Norman
said. He glanced around at the five other men in the room.
They all nodded. "But we've found almost nothing. A cou-
ple of the restaurants that Singleton supplied have some
loose association, but nothing major."

Lou sighed. "There's got to be some connection linking
the three."

"I agree," Norman said. "The slugs we got from the
medical examiners suggest that Harry Goldburg, Steven
Vivonetto, and Janice Singleton were shot with the same
gun, Martha Goldburg from another. But that's not the
ballistics report. It's just from preliminary examination. But
they were all the same caliber. So we have a strong suspicion
the same people were behind all three murders."

"What about burglary?" Lou asked.

"Relatives of the Goldburgs say that Harry had a big
gold Rolex. We haven't found it. Also his wallet could not
be located. But at the other scenes, nothing seems to have
been taken."

"Seems that the answer has to be in the restaurant con

   211

nection," Lou said. "Get detailed financial statements on
all the operations. Also try to find out if these guys had been
subjected to extortion or other threats. And do it sooner
rather than later. The commissioner is on my back."

"We've got people working around the clock," Norman
said.

Lou nodded.

Norman handed a typewritten sheet to Lou. "Here's a
summary of what I just told you. Sorry for the typos."

Lou read it over quickly. He took a thoughtful drag on
his cigarette. Something big and bad was going on in
Queens. There was no doubt about it. He wondered if these
murders could have had anything to do with Paul Cerino.
It seemed unlikely. But then Lou thought of Marsha Schul-
man. He wondered if any of the deceased were acquainted
with her husband, Danny. It was a long shot, but there was
a chance he was the connecting thread.

212

8

3:00 P.M., THURSDAY
MANHATTAN

After getting a cup of coffee from the ID office that looked
more like sludge than coffee by that time of the day, Laurie
pushed her way into the Thursday afternoon conference
which was held in the conference room connected to Bing-
ham's office. This was the one opportunity for all the city's
medical examiners to get together and share cases and dis-
cuss diagnostic problems. Although the office of the chief
medical examiner handled deaths in the Bronx as well as
Manhattan, the boroughs of Queens, Brooklyn, and Staten
Island had their own offices. Thursday was the day they all
got together. Coming to the conference was not an option.
As far as gingham was concerned, it was a command per-
formance.

As usual, Laurie took a seat near to the door. When the
discussions became too administrative or political for her
taste, she liked to slip away.

213

The most interesting part of these weekly conferences
usually occurred before the meeting was called to order. It
was in these casual conversations beforehand that Laurie
was able to pick up interesting tidbits and details of particu-
larly baffling or gruesome cases. In that respect, this Thurs-
day's meeting proved no different.

"I'd thought I'd seen it all," Dick Katzenburg told Paul
Plodgett and Kevin Southgate. Dick was a senior medical
examiner assigned to the Queens office. Laurie's ears perked
up.

"It was the weirdest homicide I'd seen," Dick continued.
"And God knows I've seen some strange ones."

"Are you going to tell us or do we have to beg?" Kevin
asked, obviously as eager for the story. Medical examiners
loved to swap "war stories" that were either intellectually
stimulating or grotesquely bizarre.

"It was a young guy," Dick said. "Done in a funeral
home with the aspirator that they use for embalming."

"He was bludgeoned to death?" Kevin asked. So far he
was unimpressed.

"No!" Dick said. "With the trocar. The aspirator was
running. It was as if the kid was embalmed alive."

"Ugh," Paul said, obviously impressed. "That is weird. It
reminds me of the case "

"Dr. Montgomery," a voice called.

Laurie turned. Dr. gingham stood before her. "I'm
afraid there is something else I have to discuss with you,"
he said.

Laurie felt queasy. She wondered what she'd done now.

"Dr. DeVries came to see me," gingham said. "He
complained that you have been coming in his lab bother-
ing him about some test results. Now I know that you are
eager for those results, but you're not the only one wait-
ing. Dr. DeVries is swamped right now. I don't think I
have to tell you. But don't expect special treatment.

   214

You're going to have to wait like everyone else. I'll thank
you not to harass Dr. DeVries any further. Do I make
myself clear?"

Laurie was tempted to say something like DeVries had a
hell of a way of going after more funding, but gingham
turned away. Before Laurie had a chance to dwell on this,
her third reprimand in four days, gingham called the meet-
ing to order.

gingham began the conference, as usual, by summarizing
the statistics for the previous week. Then he gave a short
report on the status of the Central Park murder case since
it had been so much in the news. He again rebutted the
media's charges of mismanagement of the case on the part
of the medical examiner's office. He concluded by advising
everyone not to offer any personal opinions.

Laurie was certain that last remark was directed at her.
Who else had been offering opinions from within the medi-
cal examiner's ranks?

Following gingham's talk, Calvin spoke about adminis-
trative issues, particularly concerning how reduced city
funding was affecting operations. Every other week one
service or supply was being curtailed or eliminated.

Following Calvin's talk, each of the deputy medical ex-
aminers from the other borough offices gave summaries.
Some of the people present yawned, others nodded off.

When the borough chiefs were finished, the floor was
opened up for general discussion. Dick Katzenburg de-
scribed a few cases, including the rather grisly one at the
Queens funeral home.

Once he was through, Laurie cleared her throat and
began to address the group. She presented her six overdose
cases as succinctly as possible, careful to delineate the de-
mographic differences that set them apart from usual over-
doses. Laurie described the deceased as single yuppies
whose drug use came as a surprise to friends and family. She

   215

explained the cocaine was mainlined although not mixed
with heroin.

"My concern," Laurie said, avoiding looking at Bing-
ham, "is that we are seeing the beginning of a series of
unusual overdose deaths. I suspect a contaminant in the
drug is to blame, but so far none has been found. What I'd
like to request is that if anybody sees any cases similar to the
ones I've described, please send them to me."

"I've seen four myself over the last several weeks," Dick
said once Laurie was through. "Since we see so many over-
dose/toxicity cases I didn't give the demographics much
thought. But now that you mention it, all four seemed like
overachievers. In fact, two were professionals. And three of
the four took the cocaine intravenously, the fourth orally."

"Orally?" someone echoed with surprise. "An oral co-
caine overdose? That's pretty uncommon. You usually only
see that in drug-smuggling 'mules' coming from South
America whose condoms break."

"I'm never surprised what druggies do," Dick said. "One
of the cases that I had was found wedged in the refrigerator.
Apparently he got so hot, he had to crawl into the ice box
for relief."

"One of mine climbed into a refrigerator, too," Laurie
said.

"I had one also," Jim Bennett said. He was the chief at
the Brooklyn office. "And now that I think about it, I had
another who ran out into the street stark naked before he
had a terminal seizure. He'd taken the drug orally but only
after attempting to take it IV."

"Did these two cases have the same unlikely demograph-
ics for a drug overdose?" Laurie asked Jim.

"Sure did," Jim said. "The man who ran out in the street
was a successful lawyer. And the families in both cases
swore up and down that the deceased didn't do drugs."

Laurie looked to Margaret Hauptman, who headed the

   216

Staten Island office. "Have you seen any similar cases?" she
asked.

Margaret shook her head.

Laurie asked Dick and Jim if they would mind faxing
over the records on the cases they'd described. They imme-
diately said that they would.

"One thing I have to mention," Dick said. "In three out
of four I've had a lot of pressure from the involved families
to sign the case out as natural."

"That's a point I want to underline," gingham said,
speaking for the first time since the beginning of the discus-
sion. "With upscale overdose deaths like these the families
will certainly want to keep the whole episode low profile. I
think we should cooperate in this regard. Politically we
cannot afford to alienate this constituency."

"I don't know what to make of this refrigerator aspect,"
Laurie said. "Although it brings me back to the contami-
nant idea. Perhaps there is some chemical that has a syner-
gistic effect with cocaine vis-a-vis causing hyperpyrexia. At
any rate I'm concerned that all these deaths are coming
from the same source of the drug. Now that we have this
many cases we ought to be able to prove it by comparing the
percentages of its natural hydrolysates. Of course we refill
need the lab to cooperate."

Laurie looked nervously at gingham to see if his expres-
sion changed with her reference to the lab. It didn't.

"I don't think a contaminant is a given," Dick said.
"Cocaine is fully capable of causing these deaths all by
itself. On the four cases I've seen, the serum level was
high. Very high. These people took big doses. Maybe the
cocaine wasn't cut with anything; maybe it was one-hun-
dred-percent pure. We've all seen that kind of death with
heroin."

"I still think a contaminant is involved," Laurie said.
"With the general intelligence of this group of victims it's

   217

hard for me to believe that so many would mess up if it were
purely dose related."

Dick shrugged. "You may be right," he admitted. "All
I'm saying is let's not jump to hasty conclusions."

Leaving the conference, Laurie felt a strange and disturb-
ing mixture of excitement, yet a renewed frustration and
anxiety. Within a couple of hours her "series" had doubled
from six cases to twelve. That was ominous. Her intuition
about the number of cases increasing was already coming to
pass, and at an alarming rate.

Now, even more than before, Laurie felt that the public
had to be warned, especially this group of yuppie types. The
problem was how to do it. Certainly she dared not go back
to gingham. But she had to do something.

Suddenly she thought of Lou. The police had a whole
division devoted to drugs and vice. Perhaps that division
had a way of putting out the word that a certain drug was
particularly dangerous. With growing resolve, she went to
her office and dialed Lou immediately. When he answered,
she felt relieved.

"I'm so glad you're still there," she said with a sigh.

"You are?" Lou asked.

"I want to come right down and talk to you," Laurie
said.

"You do?"

"Will you wait for me?" Laurie demanded.

"Sure," Lou said. He was puzzled and elated at the same
time. "Come on down."

Laurie hung up the phone, grabbed her briefcase, opened
it, threw in some half-finished records, snapped it shut,
snatched her coat, and literally ran down to the elevator.

A slight rain was falling as she stepped out onto First
Avenue. She despaired of catching a cab, but as luck would
have it, one pulled up to the curb and let off a passenger
right in front of her. Laurie got in before the passenger had
a chance to close the door.

   218

Never having been to New York City police headcluar-
ters, Laurie was surprised to find it a relatively modern
brick structure. Entering the front entrance, she had to sign
in while a security person called up to Lou to make sure she
was expected. Then they went through her briefcase. Armed
with a visitor's pass and directions, she found his office.
Like the entire building, it reeked of cigarette smoke.

"Can I take your coat?" Lou asked as she stepped iriside.
Lou took the coat and hung it on a coatrack. While he was
doing so he caught Harvey Lawson giving him a dirty look
from across the hall. Lou closed his office door.

"You sounded excited on the phone," Lou commented as
he went around behind his desk. Laurie had taken one of
the two straight-backed chairs. Her briefcase was on the
floor next to her.

"I need your help," Laurie said. She was intense and
obviously nervous, clutching her hands in her lap.

"Oh, really?" Lou commented. "I was hoping this excite-
ment had something to do with dinner tonight, like you had
changed your mind." He couldn't keep the sarcasm Tom
his voice. He was obviously disappointed.

"My 'series' has doubled," Laurie said. "There are flow
twelve cases, not six."
"That's interesting," Lou said flatly.

"I was hoping that you might know some way we can
warn the public," Laurie said. "I think we're about to see
a flood of these cases unless something is done, and done
soon."

"What would you have me do?" Lou asked. "Have an ad
posted in The Wall Street Journal: 'Yuppies, Just Say loo'?"

"Lou, I'm serious," Laurie said. "I'm truly worried
about this."

Lou sighed. He took out a cigarette and lit up.

"Must you smoke?" Laurie asked him. "I'll only be here
a few moments."

"Jesus Christ," Lou snapped. "It's my office.

   219

"Then try to blow the smoke away, please," Laurie said.
"I'll ask you again," Lou said. "What do you want me to
do? You must have had something in mind if you bothered
coming all the way down here."

"No, nothing specific," Laurie admitted. "I just thought
the police narcotics squad might have some way of warning
the public. Couldn't they make some kind of announcement
to the press?"

"Why doesn't the medical examiner's office do it?" Lou
asked. "The police are around to arrest people with drugs,
not help them."

"The chief refuses to take a public stand so far. I'm sure
he'll come around, but in the meantime lives are being lost."

Lou took a drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke over
his shoulder. "What about the other medical examiners?
Are they as convinced as you about this thing exploding
into a glut of dead puppies?"

"I haven't polled them," Laurie said.

"Don't you think you might be a little overly sensitive
about these deaths because of your brother?" Lou offered.

Laurie became enraged. "I didn't come down here for
you to play amateur psychologist. But while we're on the
subject, sure, I'm sensitive. I know how it feels to lose a
loved one to drugs. But I would say that kind of empathy
is a boon to my work. Maybe if a few more jaded policemen
like yourself had a little more empathy, we civil servants
would be in the business of saving lives instead of picking
corpses' pockets."

Lou held his temper. "Frankly, Dr. Montgomery, I'd
love to be in the lifesaving business. In fact, I already con-
sider myself to be in the lifesaving business. But unless you
furnish me with more proof as to this grand contaminant
theory of yours, I'm afraid Narcotics won't do anything
more than laugh me back to Homicide."

"Isn't there anything you can do?"

   220

"Me? A detective lieutenant in Homicide?" Lou was ex-
asperated but he knew Laurie was genuinely concerned.
"Can't you go to the media?"

"I can't," Laurie said. "If I go to the media behind Dr.
gingham's back, I'll be looking for work. That much I
know. We already had a run-in about that. How about
you?"

"Me?" Lou questioned with surprise. "A homicide lieu-
tenant suddenly involved with drug overdoses! They'd want
names and where I got them, and I'd have to say I got them
from you. Besides my bosses would wonder why I was
worried about druggies and not solving the problem with
the gangland slayings. No, I can't go either. If I went to the
media I'd probably be out looking for work as well."

"Won't you try talking with the narcotics division?" Lau-
rie asked.

"I got an idea," Lou said. "What about your boyfriend,
the doctor. It's sorta natural that a doctor would be inter-
ested in this kind of problem. Besides he seems to be pretty
high profile with a limo and that posh office."

"Jordan is not my boyfriend," Laurie said. "He's a male
acquaintance. And how do you know about his office?"

"I went to see him this afternoon," Lou said.

"Why?" Laurie asked.

"You want the truth or what I told myself?" Lou said.
"How about both," Laurie said.

"I wanted to ask him about his patient Paul Cerino,"
Lou said. "And also about his secretary now that she is a
homicide victim. But I was also curious to meet the guy.
And if you want my opinion, he's a creep."

"I don't want your opinion," Laurie snapped.

"What I don't understand," Lou persisted, "is why
you'd be interested in such a fake, pompous, ostentatious
bum. I've never seen such an office for a doctor. And a
limo . . . please! The guy must be robbing his patients

  221

blind. Excuse the pun! What is it that attracts you? His
money?"

"No!" Laurie said indignantly. "And as long as you are
bringing up money, I called your Internal Affairs depart-
mentÄ"

"So I heard," Lou interrupted. "Well, I hope you sleep
better now that you've probably gotten some poor patrol-
man in hot water while he's trying to send his kids to
college. Bravo for your strict morality. Now if you'll excuse
me, I've got to go out to Forest Hills and try to solve some
real crime." Lou stubbed out his cigarette and got to his
feet.

"So you won't talk to your drug division?" Laurie asked,
trying one more time.

Lou leaned over his desk. "No, I don't think so," he said.
"I believe I'll just let you rich people look after yourselves."

Having reined in her anger over the last few minutes,
Laurie now gave in to it. "Thanks for nothing, Lieutenant,"
she said superciliously. Getting up, she got her coat, picked
up her briefcase, and stalked out of Lou's office. Down-
stairs she threw her visitors pass on the Security table and
walked out.

Catching a cab was easy as they came in from the Brook-
lyn Bridge. With just about a straight shot up First Avenue,
she was home in no time. Getting off the elevator on her
floor, she glared at Debra Engler, then slammed her door.

"And at one point you thought he was charming," she
said out loud, ridiculing herself as she stripped down and
got into the shower. She couldn't believe that she had al-
lowed herself to sit for as long as she had in Lou Sol-
dano's office absorbing all that abuse in the futile hopes
that he might deign to help her. It had been a degrading
experience.

Ensconced in a white terry robe, Laurie went to her an-
swering machine and listened to her messages while a hun-

   222

gry Tom rubbed across her legs and purred. One was from
her mother and the other was from Jordan. Both asked her
to call when she got home. Jordan had left a number differ-
ent from his home number with an extension.

When she called Jordan at the number he'd left, she was
told that he was in surgery but that she should hold on.

"Sorry," said Jordan once he picked up a few minutes
later. "I'm still in surgery. But I insisted on being told when
you called."

"You're in the middle of an operation right now?" Laurie
couldn't believe it.

"It doesn't matter," Jordan said. "I can break scrub for
a few minutes. I wanted to ask if we could make dinner
tonight a bit later. I don't want to keep you waiting again,
but I have another case to go."

"Maybe it would be just as well if we took a raincheck.

"No, please!" Jordan said. "It's been a hell of a day and
I've been looking forward to seeing you. Remember, you
took a raincheck last night."

"Won't you be tired? Especially if you have another
case."

Laurie herself felt exhausted. The idea of going straight
to bed sounded wonderful to her.

"I'll get a second wind," Jordan said. "We can make it an
early evening."

"What time can you meet for dinner?"

"Nine o'clock," Jordan said. "I'll send Thomas around
then."

Reluctantly, Laurie agreed. After she hung up, she called
Calvin Washington at home.

"What is it, Montgomery?" Calvin demanded once his
wife called him to the phone. He sounded grumpy.

"Sorry to bother you at home," Laurie said. "But now
that I have twelve cases in my series, I'd like to ask that I
be assigned any more that might come in tomorrow."

   223

"You're not on autopsy tomorrow. It's a paper day for
you."

"I know. That's why I'm calling. I'm not on call this
weekend so I can catch up with my paperwork then."

"Montgomery, I think you ought to cool it. You're get-
ting much too carried away with all this. You're too emo-
tionally involved; you're losing your objectivity. I'm sorry,
but tomorrow is a paper day for you no matter what comes
through the door feetfirst."

Laurie hung up the phone. She felt depressed. At the
same time she knew there was a certain amount of truth in
what Calvin had said. She was emotionally involved in the
ssue.

Sitting by the phone, Laurie thought about returning her
mother's call. The last thing she wanted to go through was
the third degree about her budding relationship with Jordan
Scheffield. Besides, she hadn't quite decided what she
thought of him herself. She decided to wait on calling back
her mother.

As Lou drove through the Midtown Tunnel and out the
Long Island Expressway, he wondered why he insisted on
continually bashing his head up against a brick wall. There
was no way a woman like Laurie Montgomery would look
at someone like himself other than as a city servant. Why
did he keep entertaining delusions of grandeur in which
Laurie would suddenly say: "Oh, Lou, I've always wanted
to meet a police detective who's gone to a community col-
lege"?

Lou slapped the steering wheel in embarrassed anger.
When Laurie had suddenly called and insisted on coming
down to his office, he'd believed she'd wanted to see him for
personal reasons, not some harebrained idea of using him
to publicize a yuppie cocaine epidemic.

Lou exited the Long Island Expressway and got onto
Woodhaven Boulevard, heading to Forest Hills. Feeling the

   224

need to do something rather than play with paper clips at
his desk, he'd decided to go out and do a little gumshoeing
on his own by visiting the surviving spouses. It was also
better than going back to his miserable apartment on Prince
Street in SoHo and watching TV.

Pulling up the Vivonettos' long, curved driveway, 1 ou
couldn't help but be awed. The house was a mansion with
white columns. Right away, lights went off in Lou's head.
This kind of opulence suggested serious money. And Lou
had a hard time believing a simple restaurateur could make
that kind of dough unless he had organized-crime connec-
tions.

Lou parked the car by the front door. He'd called ahead
so Mrs. Vivonetto was expecting him. When he rang the
bell, a woman wearing a ton of makeup came to the door.
She was wearing a white, off-the-shoulder wool dress. There
was not much suggestion of aggrieved mourning.

"You must be Lieutenant Soldano," she said. "Do come
in. My name is Gloria Vivonetto. Can I offer you a drink?"

Lou said that just water would be fine for him. "You
know, on duty," he muttered by way of explanation. Gloria
poured him a glass at the bar in the living room. She fixed
herself a vodka gimlet.

'`I'm sorry about your husband," Lou said. It was his
standard intro for occasions like this.

"It was just like him," Gloria said. "I'd told him time and
time again he shouldn't stay up and watch television. And
now he goes and gets himself shot. I don't know anything
about running a business. I'm sure people are going to rob
me blind."

"Was there anyone that you know of who would have
wanted your husband dead?" Lou asked. It was the first
question in the standard protocol.

"I've been all over this with the other detectives. Do we
have to go through it again?"

"Perhaps not," Lou said. 'Let me be frank with you'

   225

Mrs. Vivonetto. The way your husband was killed suggests
an organized-crime involvement. Do you know what I'm
saying?"

"You mean Mafia?"

"Well, there's more to organized crime than the Mafia,"
Lou said. "But that's the general idea. Is there any reason
that you can think of why people like the Mafia would want
your husband killed?"

"Ha!" Gloria laughed. "My husband was never involved
with anything as colorful as the Mafia."

"What about his business?" Lou persisted. "Did Pasta
Pronto have any connection whatsoever with organized
crime?"

"No," Gloria said.

"Are you sure?" Lou questioned.

"Well, no, I guess I'm not sure," Gloria answered. "I
wasn't involved with the business. But I can't imagine he
ever had anything to do with the Mafia. And anyway, my
husband was not a well man. He wasn't going to be around
much longer anyway. If someone wanted him out of the
way they could have waited for him to keel over naturally."

"How was your husband sick?" Lou asked.

"In what ways wasn't he sick?" Gloria shot back. "Ev-
erything was falling apart. He had bad heart problems and
had had two bypass operations. His kidneys weren't great.
He was supposed to have his gallbladder removed but they
kept putting it off, saying his heart wouldn't take it. He was
going to have an eye operation. And his prostate was
messed up. I'm not sure what was wrong with that, but his
whole lower half didn't work anymore. Hadn't for years."

"I'm sorry," Lou said, unsure of what else to say. "I
suppose he suffered a lot."

Gloria shrugged her shoulders. "He never took care of
himself. He was overweight, drank a ton, and he smoked
like a chimney. The doctors told me he might not last a year

   226

unless he changed his ways, which wasn't something he ~ as
about to do."

Lou decided there wasn't much more he'd learn from the
not-so-aggrieved widow. "Well," he said, standing u p,
"thank you for your time, Mrs. Vivonetto. If you think of
anything else that might seem important, please give me a
call." He handed her one of his business cards.

Next Lou headed for the Singleton residence. The place
was a simple, two-story, brick row house with two pink
flamingos stuck in the front lawn. The street reminded him
of his old neighborhood only a half dozen blocks away in
Rego Park. He felt a stab of nostalgia for the evenings in ~ he
alleyway, playing stickball.

Mr. Chester Singleton opened the door. He was a big
man, middle-aged and quite balding. He had a hounddog
look thanks to his beefy jowls. His eyes were red and
streaked. The instant Lou saw him he knew he was in Ihe
presence of true grief.

"Detective Soldano?"

Lou nodded and was immediately invited inside.

Inside, the furniture was plain but solid. A crocheted
comforter was folded over the back of a plaid, well-wc,rn
couch. Dozens of framed photos lined the walls, most of
them black and white.
"I'm very sorry about your wife," Lou said.

Chester nodded, took a deep breath, and bit his lower
lip.

'I know that other people have been by," Lou continu d.
He decided to go right to the heart of the matter. "I wan ed
to ask you flat-out why a professional gunman would cone
into your home to shoot your wife."

"I don't know," Chester said. His voice quavered with
emotion.

"Your restaurant-supply business supplied some restau-
rants with organized-crime connections. Do any of the r es-

   227

taurants you supply have any complaints with your ser-
vice?"

"Never," Chester said. 'And I don't know anything
about any organized crime. Sure, I heard rumors. But I
never met anyone or saw anyone I would call a mobster
type."

"What about Pasta Pronto?" Lou asked. "I understand
you had new business there."

'`l recently got some of their business, that's true. But
only a piece of it. I think they were just trying me out. I
hoped to get more of their business eventually."

"Did you know Steven Vivonetto?" Lou asked.

"Yes, but not well. He was a wealthy man."

"You know he got shot last night as well?" Lou said.

"I know. I read about it in the paper."

"Had you received any threats lately?" Lou asked. "Any
attempts at extortion? Any kind of protection racket
knocking on your door?"

Chester shook his head.

"Can you think of any reason your wife and Steven
Vivonetto should have been killed during the same night,
possibly by the same person?"

"No," Chester said. "1 can't think of any reason why
anyone would have wanted to kill Janice. Everyone loved
Janice. She was the warmest, nicest person in the world.
And on top of that, she was ill."

"What was wrong with her?" Lou asked.

"Cancer. Unfortunately it had spread before they found
it. She never liked to go to the doctor. If only she'd gone
sooner, they might have been able to do more. As it was, she
only had chemotherapy. She seemed okay for a while, but
then she got this awful rash on her face. Herpes zoster they
call it. It even got into one of her eyes and blinded it so that
she needed to have an operation."

"Did the doctors hold out much hope for her?" Lou
asked.

   228

"I'm afraid not," Chester said. "They told me that they
couldn't say for sure, but they thought that it might be only
a year or so, and shorter if the cancer came back quicken."

"I'm so sorry to hear all this," Lou said.

"Well, maybe what happened was just as well. Maybe it
saved her a lot of suffering. But I miss her so. We Are
married for thirty-one years."

After offering additional condolences and his business
card, Lou bade farewell to Mr. Singleton. Driving back to
Manhattan, he reviewed what little he'd learned. The or~a-
nized-crime connection to either case was at best tenuous.
He'd been surprised to learn that both victims were ter~:~i-
nally ill. He wondered if their killers had known.

By reflex he reached into his jacket pocket and took cut
a cigarette. He pushed in the lighter. Then he thought about
Laurie. Rolling down the window, he tossed the unlit ciga-
rette into the street just as the lighter popped out. Ile
sighed, wondering where that pompous Jordan Scheffit Id
was taking her for dinner.

Vinnie Dominick came into the locker room at St. Ma r I's
and sat wearily on the bench. He was perspiring heavily. I-le
was bleeding slightly from a small scratch on his cheek
"You're bleeding, boss," Freddie Capuso said.

"Get out of my face," Vinnie snapped. "I know I'm
bleeding. But you know what bugs me? That bum Jeff
Young said he never touched me and whined for ten nfln-
utes when I called a foul."

Vinnie had just finished an hour's worth of pickup thr ee-
on-three basketball. His team had lost and he was in a ~ soul
mood. His mood got even worse when his most trusted
lieutenant, Franco Ponti, came in with a long face.

"Don't tell me it's true?" Vinnie asked.

Franco came over to the bench. He put one foot on it find
leaned on his knee. His nickname since high school lurid
been "falcon," mostly because of his face. With a narrow

   229

hooked nose, thin lips, and beady eyes he resembled a bird
of prey.

"It's true," Franco said. He spoke in a monotone.
"Jimmy Lanso got whacked last night in his cousin's fu-
neral home."

Vinnie bolted off the bench and hammered one of the
metal lockers. The crashing noise reverberated around the
small locker room like a clap of thunder. Everyone winced
except Franco.

"Christ!" Vinnie cried. He began pacing. Freddie Capuso
got out of his way.

"What am I going to tell my wife?" Vinnie cried. "What
am I going to tell my wife?" he repeated, raising his voice.
"I promised her I'd take care of it." He pounded one of the
lockers again. Perspiration flew off his face.

"Tell her that you made a mistake trusting Cerino,"
Franco suggested.

Vinnie stopped in his tracks. "It's true," he snarled. "I
thought Cerino was a civilized man. But now I know other-
wise."

"And there's more," Franco said. "Cerino's men have
been busy whacking all sorts of people besides Jimmy
Lanso. Last night they hit two in Kew Gardens and two in
Forest Hills."

"I saw that on the news." Vinnie was astounded. "That
was Cerino's people?"

"Yup," Franco said.

"Why?" Vinnie asked. "I didn't recognize any of the
names."

"Nobody knows." Franco shrugged his shoulders.

"There must be some reason."

"For sure," Franco said. "I just don't know what it is."

"Well, find out!" Vinnie ordered. "It's one thing putting
up with Cerino and his bums as business rivals, but it's quite
another to sit around watching them ruin things for every-
one."

230

"There are cops crawling all over Queens," Franco
agreed.

"That's just what we don't need," Vinnie said. "With the
authorities up in arms, we'll have to suspend a significant
part of our operations. You have to find out what Cerino
is up to. Franco, I'm depending on you."

Franco nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

"You're not eating much," Jordan said.

Laurie looked up from her plate. They were dining al a
restaurant called Palio. Although the food was Italian, the
decor was a relaxing meld of oriental and modern. Before
her was a delicious seafood risotto. Her wineglass was filled
with a crisp Pinot Grigio. But Jordan was right; she wasn't
eating much. Although she hadn't eaten much that day, she
just wasn't hungry.

"You don't like the food?" Jordan asked. "I thought you
said you liked Italian." His dress was as casually elegant as
ever; he had on a black velvet blazer with a silk shirt open
at the neck. He was not wearing a tie.

The logistics had worked much better this evening. As
Jordan had promised, he'd called just before nine when he
was leaving surgery, saying that Thomas was on his way to
pick her up while he went back to his apartment to change.

By the time Thomas and Laurie got back to the Tmmp
Tower, Jordan was waiting curbside. From there it had
been a short ride over to West Fifty-first Street.

"I love the food," Laurie said. "I guess I'm just not that
hungry. It's been a long day."

"I've been avoiding talking about the day," Jordan ad-
mitted. "I thought it better to get a bit of wine under our
belts. As I mentioned on the phone, my day was atrocious.
That's the only word for it, starting from your phone call
about poor Marsha Schulman. Every time I think alyout
her, I get this sick feeling. I even feel guilty about being so
angry with her for not showing up to work, and here she

 231

was a headless corpse floating in the East River. Oh, God!"
Jordan couldn't continue. He buried his face in his hands
and shook his head slowly. Laurie reached across the table
and put a hand on Jordan's arm. She felt for him but was
also relieved to see this display of emotion. Up until this
moment she'd felt he'd been incapable of such demonstra-
tiveness and rather dispassionate about his secretary's mur-
der. He suddenly seemed a lot more human.

Jordan pulled himself together. "And there's more," he
said sadly. "I lost a patient today. Part of the reason I went
into ophthalmology was because I knew I'd have a hard
time dealing with death, yet I still wanted to do surgery.
Ophthalmology seemed an ideal compromise, until today. I
lost a preop by the name of Mary O'Connor."

"I'm sorry," Laurie said. "I understand how you feel.
Dealing with dying patients was hard for me too. I suppose
it's one of the reasons I went into pathology, especially
forensics. My patients are already dead."

Jordan smiled weakly. "Mary was a wonderful woman
and such an appreciative patient," he said. "I'd already
operated on one eye and was about to do the other this
afternoon. She was a healthy lady with no known heart
trouble, yet she was found dead in her bed. She'd died
watching television."

"What a terrible experience for you," Laurie sympa-
thized. "But you have to remember that occult medical
problems are always found in such cases. I imagine we'll be
seeing Mrs. O'Connor tomorrow, and I'll be sure to let you
know what it was. Sometimes knowing the pathology
makes it easier to deal with the death."

"I'd appreciate that," Jordan said.

"I suppose my day wasn't as bad as yours," Laurie said.
"But I'm beginning to understand how Cassandra felt when
Apollo made sure that she was not to be heeded."

Laurie told Jordan all about her overdose series and that

   232

she was sure there would be more cases if no appropriate
warnings were issued. She told him how upsetting it had
been that she'd been unable to convince the chief medical
examiner to go public with the story. Then she told him
she'd gone to the police, and even they refused to help.

"Sounds frustrating," Jordan said. "There was one good
thing about my day," he said, changing the subject. "I did
a lot of surgery, and that makes me and my accountant very
happy. Over the last couple of weeks I've been doing double
my normal number of cases."

"I'm glad," Laurie said. She couldn't help but notice
Jordan's propensity for turning the conversation to himself.

"I just hope it keeps up," he said. "There are always
fluctuations. I can accept that. But I'm getting spoiled at the
current rate."

Once they had finished their meal and their places were
cleared, the waiter rolled a tempting dessert trolley to their
table. Jordan selected a chocolate cake. Laurie chose ber-
ries. Jordan had an espresso, Laurie a decaf. As she stirred
her coffee, she discreetly glanced at her watch.

"I saw that," Jordan said. "I know it's getting late. I also
know it's a 'school night.' I'll get you home in a half hour
if we can make the same deal we made last night. Let's have
dinner again tomorrow night."

"Again?" Laurie asked. "Jordan, you're sure to get sick
of me."

"Nonsense," Jordan said. "I'm enjoying every minute. I
just wish it weren't so rushed, and tomorrow is Friday. IL'S
the weekend. Maybe you'll even have some news about
Mary O'Connor. Please, Laurie."

Laurie couldn't believe she was being asked to dinner for
a third night in a row. It was certainly flattering. ' AII
right," she said at last. "You have yourself a date."

"Wonderful," Jordan said. "Have any suggestions for a
restaurant?"

   233

"I think you have a lot more experience," Laurie said.
"You pick."

"Okay, I will. Shall we say nine o'clock again?"

Laurie nodded as she sipped her decaf. Looking into
Jordan's clear eyes, she thought of Lou's negative descrip-
tion of the man. For a second Laurie was tempted to ask
how the meeting with the detective lieutenant had gone, but
decided against it. Some things were better left unsaid.

234

9

 I1:50 P.M. THURSDAY
  MANHATTAN

"Not bad," Tony said. He and Angelo were just leaving an
all-night pizza joint on Forty-second Street near Times
Square. "I was surprised. The place looked like such a
dump "

Angelo didn't answer. His mind was already on the job
that lay ahead.

When they arrived at the parking garage, Angelo nodded
toward his Town Car. The garage owner, Lenny Helman,
paid money to Cerino. Since Angelo usually collected il. he
parked for free.

"Better not have scratched the car," Angelo said after the
attendant drove the car up to the curb. Once he was satis-
fied there wasn't a mark on its highly polished surface,
Angelo got in. Tony did the same. They pulled out onto
Forty-second Street.

  235

"What's next?" Tony asked, sitting sideways so he could
look directly at Angelo. The light from the glittering neon
marquees of the neighborhood movie theaters played over
Angelo's gaunt face, making him look like an unraveled
mummy in a museum.

"We're going to switch to the 'demand' list," Angelo told

him.

"Great," Tony said with enthusiasm. "I'm getting tired
of the other. Where to?"

"Eighty-sixth," Angelo said. "Near the Metropolitan
Museum."

"Good neighborhood," Tony said. "I'll bet there'll be
souvenirs for the taking."

"I don't feel good about it," Angelo said. "Wealthy
neighborhood means fancy alarms."

"You handle all that stuff like a breeze," Tony said.

"Things have been going a little too well," Angelo said.
"I'm starting to get concerned."

"You worry too much," Tony said with a laugh. "The
reason things have been going so well is because we know
what we're doing. And the more we do it, the better we get.
It's the same thing with everything."

"Screw-ups happen," Angelo said. "No matter how
much you prepare. We have to expect it. And be able to
handle it when it does."

"Ah, you're just a pessimist," Tony said.

Engrossed in their banter, neither Tony nor Angelo took
note of a black Cadillac cruising two cars behind them. At
the wheel, a relaxed Franco Ponti was enjoying a tape of
Aida. Thanks to a tip from a contact in the Times Square
area, Franco had been tailing Angelo and Tony since their
stop at the pizza place.

"Which one are we doing?" Tony asked.

"The woman," Angelo said.

"Whose turn?" Tony asked. He knew Angelo was due
but hoped he might have forgotten.

   236

"I don't give a damn," Angelo said. "You can do her. I'll
watch the man."

Angelo drove by the brownstone several times before
parking. It was five stories tall with a double door at the top
of a short flight of granite steps. Beneath the stoop at the
ground level was another door.

"The service entrance is probably the way to go," Angelo
said. "We'll be a little shielded by the stoop. I can see there's
an alarm, but if it's the kind I think it is, it won't be a
problem."

"You're the boss," Tony said. He took his gun out and
attached the silencer.

They parked almost a block away and walked back. An-
gelo carried a small flight bag full of tools. When they got
to the house, Angelo told Tony to wait on the sidewalk and
let him know if anyone was coming. Angelo descended the
few steps to the service entrance door.

Tony kept an eye out, but the street was quiet. No one
was in sight. What Tony didn't see was Franco Ponti
parked only a few doors down, blocking a driveway.

"All right," Angelo whispered from the shadows of the
service entrance. "Come on."

They entered a long hallway, moving quickly to the
stairs. There was an elevator but they knew better than to
use it. Taking two steps at a time, they climbed to the first
floor and listened. Save for a large antique clock ticking
loudly in the dark, the house was quiet.

"Can you imagine living in a place like this?" Tony whis-
pered. "It's like a palace."

"Shut up," Angelo snapped.

They continued upstairs, climbing a curving, double
staircase that circled a chandelier Tony guessed was six feet
across. On the second floor they peered into a series of
sitting rooms, a library, and a den. On the third floor they
hit pay dirt: the master bedroom.

Angelo stood to one side of the double doors that no

   237

doubt led to the master suite. Tony took the other side.
Both men had their guns drawn. Their silencers were at-
tached.

Angelo slowly turned the door handle and pushed the
door in. The room was larger than any bedroom either of
them had ever seen. On the far wallÄwhich seemed very far
to AngeloÄstood a massive canopied bed.

Angelo stepped into the room, motioning for Tony to
follow. He went to the right side of the bed, where the man
was sleeping. Tony went to the other side. Angelo nodded.
Tony extended his gun while Angelo did the same.

Tony's gun went off with its familiar hissing thump and
the woman recoiled. The man must have been a light
sleeper. No sooner had the shot gone off than he sat bolt
upright, eyes wide. Angelo shot him before he had a chance
to say a word. He toppled over toward his wife.

"Oh, no!" Angelo said out loud.

"What's the matter?" Tony questioned.

Using the tip of the silencer, Angelo reached over and
separated the fingers of the dying man. Clutched in his hand
was a small plastic device with a button.

"He had a goddamn alarm," Angelo said.

"What does that mean?" Tony asked.

"It means we have to get the hell out of here," Angelo
said. "Come on."

Moving as quickly as they could in the semidarkness,
they ran down the stairs. Rounding the bend onto the first
floor, they practically ran into a housekeeper who was on
her way up.

The housekeeper screamed, turned, and fled back down
the way she'd come. Tony fired his Bantam, but at distances
greater than six feet, his gun wasn't accurate. The slug
missed the housekeeper, shattering a large gold-framed mir-
ror instead.

"We have to get her," Angelo said, knowing that the

   238

woman had gotten a good look at them. He threw himself
down the stairs, the flight bag bouncing its shoulder straps.
Reaching the bottom, he skidded on the marble strewn w ith
shards of mirror. Regaining his footing, he hurled himself
down the first-floor hallway toward the back of the house.
Ahead he could see the woman struggling to open a pair of
French doors leading to the backyard.

Before he could catch her, she was out the door, pulling
it closed behind her. Angelo got there just seconds behind
her. Tony was right behind him. They ran out alter her only
to trip on a pair of garden chairs they couldn't see in the
dark.

Angelo peered into the darkness. The backyard could
have passed for a public park. There was a rectangular
reflecting pool in the center of the space. To the right was
an ivy-covered gazebo that was lost in shadow. A thick oak
had a swing hanging from a broad branch. Nowhere could
Angelo spot the woman.

"Where did she go?" Tony whispered.

"If I knew would I be standing here?" Angelo said. 'You
go that way and I'll go this way." He pointed to either side
of the pool.

The two men groped their way around the garden. They
strained to look into the dark recesses of the ferns and
shrubbery.
"There she is!" Tony said, pointing back at the house.

Angelo fired two shots at the fleeing woman. The first
bullet shattered the glass of the French doors. After the
second, he saw the woman stumble and fall.

"You got her!" Tony cried.

"Let's get out of here," Angelo said. He could hear sirens
in the distance. It was hard to be sure, but they seemed to
be approaching.

Not wanting to risk coming out of the front of the house,
Angelo turned to the back wall of the garden. Spotting, a

   239

door on the far side of the pond, he yelled, "Come one' to
Tony. Angelo reached the door first. He unbolted the dead
bolt securing the door and rushed into a debris-strewn al-
leyway. They made their way down the darkened path,
trying each garden door they passed. Tony finally found
one with nearly rotten planking and broke through.

The garden they found themselves in seemed as neglected
as the door.

"Now what?" Tony said.

"That way," Angelo said. He pointed to a dark passage-
way leading toward the front of the house. At the end of the
passageway they came to a bolted door, but it was bolted
from the inside. Passing through it, they found themselves
on Eighty-fifth Street.

Angelo brushed off his clothes. Tony followed his ex-
ample. "Okay," said Angelo. "Now be cool, confident,
relaxed."

The pair walked slowly down the street and around the
corner as if they called the neighborhood home. Slowly they
made their way to Angelo's car. The sirens had indeed been
heading for the brownstone they'd just left. Ahead they
could see three squad cars with emergency lights flashing,
blocking the street in front of the house where they'd made
the hit.

Angelo unlocked his car doors with a remote control and
the two men climbed in.

"That was awesome!" Tony said excitedly once they were
a half dozen blocks away. "That was the coolest thing I've
ever seen."

Angelo scowled at him. "It was a disaster," he said.

"What do you mean?" Tony questioned. "We got away.
No problem. And you got the housekeeper. You dropped
her right in her tracks."

"But we didn't check her," Angelo said. "How do I know
if I really got her or just winged her? We should have
checked her. She looked directly at both of us."

   240

"She dropped quickly," Tony said. "I think you hit her
real good."

"This is what I mean: screw-ups happen. How would we
have guessed the guy would sleep holding a panic-button
alarm?" Angelo was glad he had the wheel to grip; his hands
were shaking.

"Okay, so we got the 'bad luck' hit out of the way," Tony
said. "Now you can't say that things are going too well.
What's next'?"

"I'm not sure," Angelo said. "Maybe we should call it a
night."

"What for?" Tony questioned. "The night is young.
Come on! Let's at least do one more. We can't pass up this
kind of money."

Angelo thought for a minute. Intuition told him to call it
a night, but Tony was right. The money u as good. Besides,
hits were like riding horses: you fall off, you get back on.
Otherwise you may never ride again.

"All right," he said finally. "We'll do one more."

"That's what I like to hear," Tony said. "Where to?"

"Down in the Village. Another town house."

Angelo took the Ninety-seventh Street transverse across
Central Park and got on the Henry Hudson Parkway.

For a while they didn't talk. Each was recovering from
the opposite ends of the emotional spectrum: Angelo from
fear and anxiety and Tony from pure exhilaration. Neither
noticed the black Cadillac in the distance.

"It will be up here on the left," Angelo said once they
turned onto Bleecker Street. He pointed to a three-story
town house with a lion's head knocker on the front floor.
Tony nodded as they drove past.

Angelo felt his pulse start quickening. "It's the man this
time," he said. '~Same plan as before. You do him, I'll cover
the wife."

"Got it," Tony said, thrilled to have yet another turn.

This time Angelo parked farther away than usual. They

   241

walked back in silence except for the occasional clank of
tools in Angelo's flight bag. They passed a few pedestrians.
The streets weren't empty as they had been uptown; the
Village was always livelier than the Upper East Side.

The alarm at the targeted house was child's play for
Angelo. Within minutes he and Tony were tiptoeing up the
creaking stairs.

Conveniently, there was a small night-light plugged into
a socket in the upstairs hall. The rosy glow it cast was just
enough to see by.

The first door Angelo tried proved to be an empty guest
room. Since there was only one other door on the floor, he
assumed it was to the master suite.

Once again the two men positioned themselves on either
side of the door, holding their guns alongside their heads.
Angelo turned the knob and briskly pushed open the door.

Angelo managed one step into the room when a snarling
dog sprang at him in the half-light. The beast's paws hit him
in the chest, knocking him back through the door to the
opposite wall of the hall. The dog snapped at him, biting
through his jacket, shirt, and even a bit of his skin. Angelo
wasn't sure, but he thought it was a Doberman. It was too
long and lean for a pit bull, although it certainly had the
temperament. Whatever it was, it had Angelo terrorized
and effectively pinned.

Tony moved quickly. He stepped to the side and shot the
dog from point-blank range in the chest. He was sure he'd
hit his mark, but the dog didn't flinch. With a snarl he
ripped another large patch of cloth out of Angelo's jacket
and spit it out. Then he lunged for another bite.

Tony waited until he had a clear shot before pulling the
trigger again. This time he hit the dog in the head, and the
animal went instantly limp, hitting the floor with a solid
thud.

A woman's scream sent new chills down Angelo's spine.

   242

The woman of the house had awakened just in time to see
her dog slaughtered. She was standing a few feet from the
foot of her bed, her face contorted in horror.

Tony raised his gun, and again there was a hissing thump.
The woman's scream was cut short. Her hand went to her
chest. Pulling her hand away, she looked at the spot of
blood. Her facial expression was one of bewilderment, as if
she could not believe she'd been shot.

Tony stepped over the threshold into the bedroom. Rais-
ing his gun again, he shot her at point-blank range in the
center of her forehead. Like the dog, she collapsed instantly
in a heap on the floor.

Angelo started to speak, but before he could say any-
thing, there was a frightful yell from the first floor as the
husband charged up the stairs with a double-barrel twelve-
gauge shotgun. He held the gun in both hands at waist
height.

Sensing what was about to happen, Angelo threw himself
onto the floor just as the shotgun discharged with a powerful
concussion. In the confined area the sound was horrendous,
making Angelo's ears ring. The concentrated buckshot blew
a hole twelve inches in diameter in the wall where Angelo had
been standing.

Even Tony had to react by reflex, throwing himself to the
side to avoid the open bedroom doorway. The second blast

of the shotgun traveled the length of the bedroom and blew
out one of the rear windows.

From his position on the floor, Angelo fired his Walther
twice in rapid succession, hitting the husband in the chest
and the chin. The force of the bullets stopped the man's
forward momentum. Then, in a kind of slow motion he
tipped backward. With a terrible racket he fell down the
stairs and ended up on the floor below.

Tony reappeared from the bedroom and ran down the
stairs to put an additional bullet into the fallen man's l~eacl.

   243

Angelo picked himself and his flight bag off the floor. He
was shaking. He'd never come so close to death. Rushing
down the stairs on shaky legs, he told Tony that they had
to get the hell out of there.

When they got to the front door, Angelo stood on his
tiptoes to look out. What he saw he didn't like. There was
a handful of people gathered in front of the building, gazing
up at its facade. No doubt they'd heard glass smash when
the bedroom window was blown out. Maybe they'd heard
both shotgun blasts.

"Out the back!" Angelo said. He knew they couldn't risk
a confrontation with this crowd. They easily scaled the
chain-link fence in the backyard. There wasn't even any
barbed wire at the top to worry about. Once they made it
over, they went through a neighboring backyard and
through to another street. Angelo was glad he'd parked as
far away as he had. They made it to his car without incident.
Sirens started in the distance just as they were pulling away.

"What the hell kind of dog was that?" Tony asked as they
cruised up Sixth Avenue.

"I think it was a Doberman," Angelo said. "It scared the
life out of me."

"You and me both," Tony agreed. "And that shotgun.
That was close."

"Too close. We should have called it quits after the first
job." Angelo shook his head in disgust. "Maybe I'm getting
too old for this stuff."

"No way," Tony said. "You're the best."

"I used to think so," Angelo said. He glanced down at his
tattered Brioni jacket in despair. By force of habit he
glanced in the rearview mirror, but nothing he saw worried
him. Of course, he was looking for cop cars, not Franco
Ponti's sedan, which was pursuing them at a discreet dis-
tance.

   244

10

6:45 A.M. FRIDAY
   MANHATTAN

Ordinarily Laurie would be pleased to have slept through
the night. Although no one from the medical examiner's
office had called her to report any more upscale overdose
cases for her series, she wondered if that meant there had
been no such overdoses or, as her intuition suggested, there
had been and she had simply not been called. She dressed
as quickly as she could and didn't even bother with coffee,
so eager was she to get to work and find out.

The moment she stepped inside the medical examiner's
office, she could tell that something out of the ordinary had
happened. Once again there was a group of reporters hud-
dled in the reception area. Laurie felt the knot in her stom-
ach tighten as she wondered what their restless p

could mean.

Going directly to the ID office, she helped herself t

   245

 esence

 Li cup









ROBIN COOK

of coffee before doing anything else. Vinnie, as usual, had
his nose in the sports page. Apparently none of the other
associate medical examiners had yet arrived. Laurie picked
up the sheet at the scheduling desk to check the cases to be
posted that day.

As her eyes ran down the list, she saw four drug over-
doses. Two were scheduled for Riva and two were sched-
uled for George Fontworth, a fellow who'd been with the
office for four years. Laurie flipped through the folders
intended for Riva and glanced at the investigator's report
sheet. Judging by the Harlem addresses, Laurie figured they
were the common crack-house deaths. Relieved, Laurie put
the folder down. Then she picked up the two for George.
Reading the first investigator's report, her pulse quickened.
The deceased was Wendell Morrison, aged thirty-six, a
medical doctor!

With a shaky hand Laurie opened the last folder: Julia
Myerholtz, aged twenty-nine, art historian!

Laurie breathed out. She hadn't been aware that she'd
been holding her breath. Her intuition had been correct:
there'd been two more cocaine overdose cases with similar
demographics as the others. She felt a mixture of emotions
including anger about not having been called as she'd re-
quested and confirmation that her fears had come to pass.
At the same time she felt sorry there had been two more
potentially preventable deaths.

Laurie went straight to the forensic investigator's office
and found Bart Arnold. She knocked loudly on his door
and walked in before he had a chance to invite her.

"Why wasn't I called? I spoke to you specifically about
this. I told you I wanted to be called on cocaine overdoses
that fall within certain demographic parameters. Last night
there were two. I wasn't called. Why?"

"I was told you were not to be called,~' Bart said.

"Why not?" Laurie questioned.

   246

"I wasn't given a reason," Bart said. "But I passed the
word on to the tour doctors when they came on duty."

"Who told you this?" Laurie asked.

"Dr. Washington," Bart said. "I'm sorry, Laurie. I
would have told you myself, but you had already gone for
the day."

Laurie abruptly turned and walked out of Bart's office.
She was more angry than hurt. Her worst fears had been
confirmed: she hadn't been overlooked accidentally, there
was a deliberate effort going on to keep her out of the way.
Just outside the police liaison office she saw Lou Soldano.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Lou asked.

Laurie stared at him. Didn't the guy ever get any sleep?
Once again he looked as if he'd been up all night. He hadn't
shaved and his eyes were red-rimmed. His close-cropped
hair was matted down on his forehead.

"I'm quite busy, Lieutenant," Laurie said.

"Just a moment of your time," Lou repeated. "Please."

"All right," Laurie relented. "What is it?"

"I had a little time to think last night," Lou said. "I
wanted to apologize for being such a boob yesterday after-
noon. I came on a little stronger than I should have. So, I'm
sorry."

The last thing she'd expected from Lou was an apology.
Now that it was being offered, she was gratified to hear it.
"As kind of an explanation," Lou continued, "I'm under
a lot of pressure from the commissioner about these gang-
land-style murders. He thinks that since I'd spent time on
organized crime I should be the one to solve them. Unfor-
tunately he's not a patient man."

"I guess we're both pretty stressed," Laurie sails. "But
your apology is accepted."

"Thank you-" Lou said. "At least that's one hurdle out
of the way."

"So what brings you here

247

this morning?"









ROBIN COOK

"You haven't heard about the homicides'?"

"What homicides?" Laurie asked. "We get homicides
every day."

"Not like these," Lou said. "More gangland stuff. Pro-
fessional hits. Two couples here in Manhattan."

"Floating in the river?" Laurie asked.

"Nope," Lou said. "Shot in their homes. Both of the
couples were well-to-do, one in particular. And the wealth-
ier one is also politically connected."

"Uh-oh," Laurie said. "More pressure."

"You'd better believe it," Lou said. "The mayor is livid.
He's already chewed out the commissioner, and guess who
the commissioner has decided to target: yours truly."

"Do you have any ideas?" Laurie asked.

"I wish I could tell you I did," Lou said. "Something big
time is going on, but for the life of me I don't have a clue
as to what it is. The night before last there were three similar
hits in Queens. Now these two in Manhattan. And there
doesn't seem to be any organized-crime connection. Cer-
tainly not with the two last night. But the m.o.of the killers
is definitely gangland style."

"So you're here for the autopsies?" Laurie asked.

"Yeah," Lou said. "Maybe I can get a job here after I'm
fired from the police department. I'm spending as much
time here as in my office."

"Who's doing the cases?" Laurie asked.

"Dr. Southgate and Dr. Besserman,"
are they, all right?"

Lou Sal<. --How

" l hey re excellent. Both are very experienced."

"I'd Linda hoped you'd be doing them," Lou said. "I was
beginning to think we worked well together."

"Well, you're in good hands with Southgate and Besser-
man," she assured him.

"I'll let you know what we find," Lou said. He fumbled
with his hat.

   248

"Please do," Laurie answered. All of a sudden she had
that same feeling that she'd gotten on previous days Lou
seemed to become painfully self-conscic us, as if he wanted
to say something but couldn't.

"Well . . . I'm glad I ran into you," Lou said, avoiding
Laurie's eyes. "Well . . . I'll see you. 'Bye." Lou turned and
started back toward the police liaison choice..

For a second Laurie watched Lou's lumbering gaii and
again was impressed by a sense of the m ants lonelines i She
wondered if he had intended asking her out once age in.

For a minute after Lou disappeared from view, Laurie
forgot where she'd been headed. But her anger returne d the
minute she remembered Calvin's attempt to get her oll her
overdose series. With a renewed sense of purpose. she
marched to Calvin's office and knocked on the open floor.
She was inside facing him before he had a chance to say a
word.

She found Calvin seated behind a n~ountain of p:~per-
work. He looked up over the tops of his wire-rimmed r ead-
ing glasses that were dwarfed by his broad face. He didn't
seem happy to see her. "What is it, Montgomery?"

"There were two more overdoses last night similar Lo the
kind that I am interested in," Laurie be pan.

"You're not telling me anything I don't already know,"
Calvin said.

"I know this is scheduled as a paper day for me, but I
would appreciate it if you would let me do the autc,l~sies.
Something tells me these cases are related. By my ~loing
them all, maybe I'll make some connections."

"We went over this on the phone," (:ialvin said. "I told
you I think you are getting carried away. You've become
less than objective."

"Please, Dr. Washington," Laurie pk aced. She ha ad to
beg.

"No! Goddan-~n it!" Calvin explode,!. He slammer d an

   249

open palm on his desk, sending some of his papers flying.
He stood up. "George Fontworth is doing the overdoses,
and I want you to stick to your own work. You're behind
in signing out some of your cases as it is. I don't think I need
to tell you. Now, I don't need this kind of aggravation. Not
with the pressure this office is under."

Laurie nodded, then walked out of the office. If she
weren't so enraged, she would probably have been in tears.
Leaving Calvin's office, she went directly to Bingham's.

This time Laurie waited to be asked in. gingham was on
the phone, but he waved her in.

Laurie got the impression gingham was speaking to
someone at city hall, since his side of the conversation re-
minded her of speaking with her mother. gingham was
saying "yes," "certainly," and "of course" over and over.

When he finally hung up and peered at l aurie she could
tell he was already exasperated. It was not an opportune
time for her visit. But since she was already there, and there
was no one else to whom she could appeal, Laurie pressed
on.

"I'm being deliberately prevented from further involve-
ment with these upscale overdose cases," she said. She tried
to sound firm but her voice was filled with emotion. "Dr.
Washington will not let me perform the relevant autopsies
that have come in today. He made sure I wasn't called to
any of the scenes last night. I don't think barring me from
these cases is in the best interests of the department."

gingham put his face in his hands and rubbed, particu-
larly his eyes. When he looked up again at Laurie his eyes
were red. "We're dealing with a lot of bad press about
possibly mishandling a Central Park murder case; we've got
a rash of brutal, professional homicides that are on top of
the usual nighttime New York mayhem; and on top of that.
you're in here causing trouble. I don't believe it, Laurie.
Truly I don't."

   250

"I want to be allowed to pursue these cases," Laurie said
evenly. "Now there are at least fourteen. Someone has tube
looking at the whole picture. I think I'm the person to do
it. I'm convinced we're on the brink of a widespread disas-
ter. If there is a contaminant, and I'm convinced there is we
must issue a public warning!"

gingham was incredulous. Gazing up at the ceiling and
throwing his hands up in the air, he muttered to himself:
"She's been on the staff for about five months and she's
telling me how to run the department." He shook his head.
Then he turned his attention back to Laurie. This time he
sounded a lot fiercer.

"Calvin is an able administrator. In fact, he is more than
able. He's excellent. What he says goes. You hear me?!
That's it; the issue is closed." With that, he turned his
attention to the pile of letters stacked in his in-box.

Laurie headed straight for the lab. She decided it was
better to keep moving. If she paused to think about these
last two interviews. she might do something rash she'd later
regret.

She was looking for Peter Letterman but ran into John
DeVries instead. "Thanks for putting in a good wore! Ior
me with the chief," she said sarcastically. As angry as she
was, she couldn't contain herself.

"I don't like to he pestered," John said. ''I warned you."

'I wasn't pestering," Laurie snapped. "I was merely ask-
ing you to do your job. Have you found a contaminant'?"

"No," John said.. He pushed past her without giving her
the courtesy of a more detailed reply.
Laurie shook her head. She wondered ii her days at the
New York Medical Examiner's Office were numbered.

She found Peter over in the corner of the lab, working on
the largest and newest of the gas chromatography.

"I think you should try to avoid John," he said. "I
couldn't help overhearing."

   251

"Believe me, I wasn't looking for him," Laurie answered.

"I haven't found any contaminant, either," Peter said.
"But I've been running samples on this gas chromatograph.
It has what they call a 'trap.' If we're going to pick some-
thing up, this is the apparatus that will do it."

"Keep at it," Laurie said. "We're up to fourteen cases
now."

"I did learn something," Peter said. "As you know, co-
caine naturally hydrolyzes to benzoylecgonine, ecgonine
methyl ester, and ecgonine."

"Yes," Laurie said. "Go on."

"Each batch of cocaine that is made has a unique per-
centage of these hydrolysates," Peter said. "So by analyzing
the concentrations, you can make a pretty educated guess as
to the origin of the samples."

"And?" Laurie asked.

"All the samples that I've recovered from the syringes
have the same percentages," Peter said. "That means the
cocaine has all come from the same batch."

"Meaning the same source," Laurie added.

"Exactly," Peter said.

"That's what I suspected," Laurie said. "It's nice to have
it documented."

"I'll let you know if I find any contaminant with this
machine."

"Please do," Laurie said. "If I had proof of a contami-
nant I think Dr. gingham would make a statement." But as
she returned to her office, Laurie wondered if she could be
sure of anything.

"Don't hold my arm!" Cerino shouted. Angelo had been
trying to guide him through the entrance to Jordan Schef-
field's office. "I can see more than you think I can." Cerino
was carrying his red-tipped cane but wasn't using it. Tony
came in last and pulled the door shut.

One of Jordan's nurses guided the group down the corri-

   252

dor, making sure that Cerino was comfortably seated in one
of the examination chairs.

When Cerino came to Jordan's office, he did not use the
usual entrance, and he bypassed the waiting room . Ito-
gether. That was the customary modus operandi for a I of
Jordan's VIP patients.

"Oh dear!" the nurse said as she eyed Tony's face. There
was a deep scratch that extended down from in front ol his
left ear to the corner of his mouth. "That's a nasty cu on
your cheek. How'd you get it?"

"A cat," Tony said, self-consciously putting a hand tic his
face.

"I hope you got a tetanus shot," the nurse said. "Would
you like us to wash it out?"

"Nab," Tony said, embarrassed at the attention in fJ ont
of Cerino.

"Let me know if you change your mind," the nurse said,
heading for the door.

"Gimme a light," Paul said as soon as the nurse had left
the room. Angelo hastily lit Paul's cigarette, then pulled one
out for himself.
Tony found a chair off to the side and sat down. An solo
remained standing a little to Cerino's left and a little beh inc.
Both he and Tony were exhausted, having been roused out
of bed for Cerino's unexpected doctor's visit. Both were
also still suffering the late effects of the experiences at the
last two hits, particularly Angelo.

"Here we are in Disneyland again," Paul said.

The room stopped and the wall lifted. Jordan was prosed
at the edge of his office with Cerino's record in hand. Al; he
stepped forward he immediately smelled the cigarettes

"Excuse me," he said. "There is no smoking in her ."

Angelo nervously looked around for someplace to de-
posit his smoldering cigarette. Cerino grabbed his arm and
motioned for him not to move.

"If we want to smoke, we're going to smoke," Paul ~ aid.

   253

"Like I told you when you called me on the phone, Doc, I'm
a bit disappointed in you and I don't mind telling you
again."

"But the instruments," Jordan said, pointing toward the
slit lamp. "Smoke is detrimental to them."

"Screw the instruments, Doc," Paul said. "Let's talk
about you blabbing all over town about my condition."

"What are you talking about?" Jordan asked. He'd
known Cerino was angry about something from their
phone call. He'd figured it had something to do with the
wait for a suitable cornea transplant. But Cerino's true
complaint came as a complete surprise to him.

"I'm talking about a detective by the name of Lou Sol-
dano," Paul said. "And a broad by the name of Dr. Laurie
Montgomery. You talked to the broad, the broad talked to
the detective, and the detective came to me. And I'll tell you
something, Doc. It pissesme off. I was trying to keep the
details of my little accident a secret. For business purposes,
you understand."

"We doctors sometimes discuss cases," Jordan said. He
suddenly felt very warm.

"Give me a break, Doc," Paul said derisively. "I hear this
supposed colleague is a medical examiner. And in case you
haven't noticed, I'm not dead yet. And if you two had been
consulting for some strange reason, she wouldn't have
blabbed to a homicide detective. You'll have to give me a
better explanation than that."

Jordan was at a loss. He couldn't think of any plausible
excuse.

"The bottom line, Doctor, is that you haven't respected
my confidentiality. Isn't that the fancy word you doctors
use? The way I understand it, I could go to a lawyer and
slap a malpractice suit on you, couldn't I'?"

"I'm not sure ,? Jordan couldn't even complete a
phrase. He was instantly aware of his legal vulnerability.

"Now I don't want to hear any of your double-talk,"

   254

Paul told him. "I probably won't go to a lawyer. You know
why? I have lots of friends who are cheaper than lawyers
and a hell of a lot more effective. You know, Doc. my
friends are kind of like you: specialists for kneecaps. leg
bones, and knuckles. I can just imagine what it would do to
your practice if you happened to have your hand crushed by
a car door."

"Mr. Cerino . . ." Jordan said in a conciliatory tone, but
Paul cut him off.

"I think I've made myself clear, Doc. I'm counting on
you not to go blabbing anymore. Am I right?"

Jordan nodded. His hands were trembling.

"Now, Doc, I don't mean to make you nervous. I want
you in nothing but good shape. 'Cause that's what you're
going to put me in: good shape. I was very pleased when
your nurse called this morning to say I could come in for my
operation. "

"I'm glad, too," Jordan said, trying to regain some of his
professionalism and composure. "You're lucky velour
chance came up so quickly. The waiting period has been
much shorter than usual."

"Not short enough for me," Paul said. "In my line of
work you have to have all your senses anct then some. There
are any number of sharks who'd love to put me out to
pasture or worse. So let's get it over with."
"Fine by me," Jordan said nervously. He laid Cerino's
record on the lens stand. Straddling a small wheeled stool,
he pushed up to Cerino's ophthalmic examination cllair.
Swinging around the slit lamp, he motioned for Cerino to
put his chin on the chin rest.

Reaching below with a trembling hand, Jordan switched
on the slit lamp. As he did so he got a whiff of garlic from
Cerino's breath.

"I understand you've been doing more surgery than
usual lately," Paul said.

"That's true," Jordan replied.

   255

"As a businessman myself I would imagine you'd like to
do as much surgery as possible," Cerino said. "I imagine
that's where the big bucks are."

"That's also true," Jordan said. He moved the slit lamp's
beam so that it fell across Cerino's badly scarred cornea.

"I have some ideas about keeping your surgery up,"
Cerino said. "Would that interest you'?"

"Of course," Jordan said.

"Fix me up first, Doc," Cerino said. "If you do, we'll
remain friends. Then who knows'? Maybe we can do some
business."

Jordan wasn't certain he wanted to be friends with this
guy, but he certainly didn't want to be enemies. He had a
feeling Paul Cerino's enemies didn't last too long. He was
determined to do his best by Cerino. And he'd already made
up his mind: he wouldn't be sending the man a bill.

Laurie put down her pen and leaned back in her desk
chair. She'd been struggling to keep her mind on her paper-
work, but she wasn't making much headway. Her thoughts
kept drifting back to those drug overdoses. She couldn't
believe she wasn't down in the autopsy room working on
the two cases that had come in overnight.

She'd resisted the temptation to sneak down and watch as
Fontworth went about his business. Calvin would have
exploded if he'd seen her.

Laurie looked at her watch. She decided it was late
enough to slip downstairs to see if Fontworth had turned up
anything. No sooner had she stood up than Lou walked in.

"On your way out?" he asked.

Laurie sat back down. "It's probably better if I don't."

"Yeah?" said Lou.

She could tell he wasn't sure what she was talking about.

"It's a long story," Laurie said. "How are you doing?
You look exhausted."

   256

"I am," Lou admitted. "I've been up since three. A Id
doing autopsies with people other than you is just ply in
work."

"Are they finished?" Laurie asked.

"Hell, no," Lou said. "I'm the one who's finished I
couldn't stand up any longer. But it will probably take the
two doctors all day to finish the four cases plus the dog."

"The dog?"

"Clipper," Lou said. "At one of the homes the killer sl: ot
the dog as well as the man and the woman. But I'm only
kidding. They're not autopsying the dog."

"Find out anything useful?" Laurie asked.

"I don't know. The caliber of the bullets looks similar to
the cases in Queens, but we'll have to wait to hear wl at
Ballistics says before we're certain they're from the same
guns. And of course Ballistics is weeks behind."

"No ideas yet?" Laurie asked.

Lou shook his head. "Afraid not. The Queens cases sug-
gested a restaurant connection, but the two cases dov n-
stairs have nothing to do with the business. One guy we' a
big-shot banker who'd contributed heavily to the maycr's
campaign. The other is an executive for one of the big
auction houses."

"Still no organized-crime association?" Laurie asked

"Nope," Lou said. "But we're still working on it. Theri 's
no question that these were professional hits. I've got t vo
more investigative teams on these two Manhattan cases.
Between the three teams in Queens and these two new ones,
I'm running out of manpower. The only positive break so
far is that the housekeeper at one of the homes is still all ~e.
If she makes it, we'll have our first witness."

"I'd like to get a break with my series," Laurie said. 'If
only one of these overdoses wouldn't die. I wish I had so ne
manpower to try to find the source of the coke that's kill ng
all these people."

   257

"You think it's from a single source?"

"I know so," Laurie said. She explained how Peter had
determined it scientifically.

Just then Lou's beeper sounded. Lou checked the num-
ber. "Speaking of manpower," he said, "that's one of my
boys. May I use your phone?"

Laurie nodded.

"What is it, Norman?" Lou asked once he got through.
Laurie was flattered that Lou put the call on speakerphone
so she could hear.

"Probably nothing," Norman said. "But I thought I'd
tell you anyway. I've found one note of commonality in
these three cases: a doctor."

"Really?" Lou said. He rolled his eyes at Laurie. This
wasn't exactly the break he had been looking for. "That's
not the sort of association that's going to be much help in
this kind of murder case, Norman."

"I know," Norman said. "But it's the only thing that's
turned up. Remember you told me that Steven Vivonetto
and Janice Singleton were both terminal?"

"Yeah," Lou said. "Was one of the Kaufmansterminally
ill too?"

"No, but Henriette Kaufman had a medical condition
she was being treated for. And she was seeing the same
doctor that Steven Vivonetto and Janice Singleton were
seeing. Of course, Steven and Janice were seeing about a
dozen doctors. But there was one doctor who was seeing all
three."

"What kind of a doctor?" Lou asked.

"An eye doctor," Norman said. "His name is Jordan
Scheffield."

Lou blinked. He couldn't believe what he'd heard. He
glanced at Laurie. Her eyes registered equal surprise.

"How did you find this out?" Lou asked.

"Just by accident," Norman replied. "After you told me

   258

about Steven and Janice being terminal, I looked into ev-
erybody's health. I didn't even realize the connection until
I got back to my office and started going over all the mate-
rial that had been coming in. Do you think it's important?"

"I don't know," Lou said. "It's certainly weird."

"You want me to follow up on it in any way?"

"I wouldn't even know how to follow up. Let me think
about it and I'll get back to you. Meanwhile keep the in\ies-
tigation going."

Lou hung up the phone. "Well, it's a real small world.
Either that or that boyfriend of yours really gets around."

"He's not my boyfriend," Laurie said irritably.

"I'm sorry," Lou said. "I forgot. Your male acquaiint-
ance who happens to be a friend."

"You know, the night that Marsha Schulman disap-
peared, Jordan told me that his office had been broken into.
Someone had gone through his records."

"Some had been stolen?" Lou asked.

"No," Laurie said. "Apparently some had been copied.
I had him check Cerino's record; it was one of the ones that
had been disturbed."

"No kidding!" Lou said. He sat in bemused silence Or a
few minutes.

Laurie was quiet, too.

"It doesn't make a lot of sense," Lou said at last. "Could
the Lucia family have gotten involved because Ceri~-~, is
seeing Scheffield? I'm trying to fit Cerino's rival, Vinnie
Dominick, into the picture, but I can't make any sense of
it."

"One thing we could do is check the gangland-style homi-
cides that came in today. See if any of them are JorcLan's
patients."

Lou's face brightened. "You know, that s a good flea.
Glad I thought of it." His smile told Laurie lie was kid`.1~ng.

In mock anger Laurie threw a paper clip at him.

   259

Five minutes later, dressed in scrubs, Laurie and Lou
entered the autopsy room. Luckily Calvin was nowhere in
sight.

Both Southgateand Besserman were on their second
cases. Southgate was almost finished; the Kaufmans were
fairly straightforward cases, given their simple head
wounds. Besserman's cases were more difficult. First he had
Dwight Sorenson, who had three bullet paths to trace. The
work had been laborious and time-consuming, so Besser-
man was just starting on Amy Sorenson when Lou and
Laurie got there.

With the permission of the respective doctors, Laurie and
Lou glanced through the folders on each case. Unfortu-
nately, the medical histories were meager.

"I've got a better idea," Laurie said. She went to the
phone and called Cheryl Myers.

"Cheryl, I've got a favor to ask," Laurie said.

"What is it?" Cheryl asked cheerfully.

"You know the four Manhattan homicides we got
today?" Laurie said. "The ones that everybody's up in arms
about? I want to know if any of them have ever seen an
ophthalmologist by the name of Jordan Scheffield."

"Will do," Cheryl said. "I'll call you back in a few min-
utes. Where are you?"

"I'm down in the pit," Laurie said.

Laurie told Lou they'd hear back soon. Then Laurie went
over to George Fontworth. He was just finishing up the
second of his two overdose cases: Julia Myerholtz.

"Calvin said I wasn't supposed to talk with you today,"
George told her. "I don't want to cross him."

"Just answer me this. Was the cocaine mainlined?"

"Yeah," George said. His eyes darted around the room
as if he expected Calvin to come thundering by.

"Were the autopsies normal except for signs of the over-
dose and toxicity?" Laurie asked.

   260

"Yes," George said. "Come on, Laurie, don't put me in
this situation."

"One last question," Laurie said. "Were there any sur-
prises?"

"Just one," George said. "But you know about that. I'd
just not heard it was standard policy on this kind of case.
I think it should have been brought up at Thursday confer-
ence."

"What are you talking about?" Laurie asked.

"Please," George said. "Don't act dumb. Calvin told me
it was your doing."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Laurie said.

"Oh, God!" George said. "Here comes Calvin. 'Bye,
Laurie."

Laurie turned in time to see Calvin's hulking figure enter
through the swinging door. Even dressed in his scrubs and
protective gloves, there was no mistaking that body. Laurie
quickly stepped away from George's table, making a bee-
line for the master sheet of the day's autopsies. She wanted
to have a cover in case Calvin asked why she was there.
Quickly, she searched for Mary O'Connor's name. Finding
it, she noted that Paul Plodgett had been scheduled for the
autopsy. He was at the far table near the wall. Laurie joined
him.

"I've found a lot of stuff," Paul said when Laurie asked
how the autopsy was going.

Laurie glanced over her shoulder. Calvin had gone di-
rectly to Besserman's table.

"What's your feeling about the cause of death?" Laurie
asked. She was relieved that Calvin hadn't seen her. or if he
had, he didn't seem concerned about her presence

"Undoubtedly cardiovascular," Paul said, gazing clown
at Mary O'Connor's body. The woman was considerably
overweight. The face and head were a deep blues almost
purple.

   261

"A lot of pathology?" Laurie asked.

"Enough," Paul said. "Moderate coronary disease for
starters. Also the mitral valve was in pretty bad shape. The
heart itself seemed awfully flabby. So there are a lot of
candidates for the final culprit."

Laurie thought Jordan would appreciate the news.

"She's awfully purple," Laurie commented.

"True," Paul said. "Quite a bit of congestion in the head
and the lungs. Must have been a lot of terminal, agonal
effort. She didn't want to die, poor lady. She apparently
even bit her lip."

"Really?" Laurie asked. "Do you think she had some
kind of seizure?"

"Could have," Paul said. "But it's more like an abrasion,
like she was chewing her lip."

"Let's see."

Paul reached over and drew back Mary O'Connor's
upper lip.

"You're right," Laurie said. "What about the tongue?"

"Normal," Paul said. "That's why I doubt there was a
seizure. Maybe she had a lot of terminal pain. Well, perhaps
the microscopic of the heart will show something pathogno-
monic, but I bet this case will fall into that category of an
unknown coup de grace, at least specifically. In general I
know it was cardiovascular."

Laurie nodded but looked at Mary O'Connor. Some-
thing bothered her about the case. It was triggering a mem-
ory she couldn't quite put a finger on.

"What about these petechiae on her face?" Laurie asked.

"It's consistent with terminal heart disease," Paul said.

"This much?"

"As I said, there must have been a lot of agonal effort."

"Would you mind letting me know what you find on
microscopic?" she asked. "She was a friend's patient. I
know he'll be interested in what you find."

262

"Will do," Paul said.

Laurie saw that Calvin had moved from Besserman to
Fontworth. Lou had wandered back to Southgate's table.
Laurie headed over to him.

"Sorry," she said to Lou as she came alongside.

"No problem," Lou said. "I'm starting to feel right at
home here."

"Hey, Laurie, the phone's for you," a voice yelled out
over the general background noise of the busy autopsy
room. Laurie walked to the phone, cringing that her pres-
ence had been so blatantly broadcasted. She didn't dare
look in Calvin's direction. She picked up the receiver: it was
Cheryl.

"I wish all your requests were so easy," Cheryl said. "I
called over to Dr. Scheffield's office and the secretary
couldn't have been more helpful. Henriette Kaufman and
Dwight Sorenson were both patients. Does that help you?"

"I'm not sure," Laurie said. "But it is interesting indeed.
Thanks."
Laurie went back to Lou and told him what she had
learned.

"Wow!" he said. "That takes it out of the realm of coinci-
dence. At least I think it does."

"Five for five," Laurie said. "The possibility of that hap-
pening by chance is extremely small."

"But what does it mean?" Lou asked. "It seems like an
awfully strange way to get at Cerino, if that's what it's
about. It doesn't make any sense."

"I agree," Laurie said.

"One way or the other," Lou said, "I've got to look into
it immediately. I'll be in touch." He was gone before I aurie
could say so much as goodbye.

Laurie hazarded one last glance at Calvin. Ele was still
talking with George and didn't seem the least perturbed by
her presence.

   263

Back in her office, Laurie called Jordan. As usual he was
in surgery. Laurie left a message for him to please call back.

Trying to go back to work, Laurie wasn't much more
successful than she'd been earlier. Her mind was in a tur-
moil concerning her precarious job situation from having
alienated so many people, her overdose series, and the odd
coincidence that Jordan was treating a string of five gang-
land-style murder victims.

Laurie's thoughts drifted back to Mary O'Connor. She
suddenly remembered what she'd been trying to think of
earlier. The abrasions on the lip, the florid petechiae, and
the face's deep purple discoloration suggested "bucking,"
the suffocation by compressing the chest while occluding
the mouth.

With that thought in mind, Laurie phoned down to the
autopsy room and asked for Paul.

"I've had a thought," Laurie said once he was on the line.

"Shoot," Paul said.

"What do you think about bucking as a possible cause of
death in the O'Connor case?"

Her suggestion was met with silence.

"Well?" Laurie questioned.

"The victim was in Manhattan General," Paul said. "She
was in a private room in the Goldblatt wing."

"Try to forget where she was," Laurie said. "Just look at
the facts."

"But as forensic pathologists we're supposed to take the
scene into consideration. If we didn't, we'd misdiagnose
tons of cases."

"I understand that," Laurie said. "But sometimes the
scene can be misleading. What about homicides set up to
look like suicides?"

"That's different," Paul said.

"Is it?" Laurie questioned. "Anyway I just wanted you to
give barking some thought. Think about the lip abrasion,

   264

the petechiae, and the amount of congestion of the the e and
the head."

As soon as Laurie put down the receiver, the phone . rang.
It was Jordan.

"I'm glad you called," Jordan said. "I was about to call
you. I'm up in surgery and I only have a second. I'\ e got a
number of cases, including, you'll be glad to hear, Ill r. Paul
Cerino."

"I am gladÄ" Laurie said.

"And I have a favor to ask," Jordan said, cuttings Laurie
short. "In order to get Cerino on the schedule, I've had to
do some juggling. So I'm going to be stuck here until late.
Could we take a raincheck on our dinner plans? Ho i. about
tomorrow night?"

"I suppose," Laurie said. "But Jordan, I has some
things I have to talk to you about now."

"Make it fast," Jordan said. "My next patient is .~lready
in the operating room."

"First, about Mary O'Connor," Laurie said. ""he had
heart disease."
"That's reassuring," Jordan said.

"Do you know anything about her personal life'

"Not much."

"What would you say if I told you she'd beets mur-
dered?"

"Murdered!" Jordan sputtered. "Are you seriou ;."'

"I don't know," Laurie admitted. "But if you told fine she
had twenty million dollars and was about to cut her wicked
grandson out of her will, the possibility of murde might
enter into my thinking."

"She was well-off but not wealthy," Jordan said "And
do I have to remind you that you were supposed n ~ make
me feel better about her death, not more uneasy?'

"The doctor who did her autopsy is convinced Bleat she
died from heart disease." Laurie said.

   265

"That's better," Jordan said. "Where did this murder
question originate?"

"My fertile imagination," Laurie said. "Plus some other
rather startling news. Are you sitting down?"

"Please, Laurie, no games. I was due in the OR ten
minutes ago."

"Do the names Henriette Kaufman and Dwight Soren-
son mean anything to you?" Laurie questioned.

"They're two of my patients. Why?"

"They were your patients," Laurie said. "They were both
killed last night along with their spouses. Their autopsies
are going on as we speak."

"My God!" Jordan said.

"And that's not all," Laurie said. "The night before last
three other patients of yours were murdered. All of them
were shot in a manner that suggests an organized-crime
connection. At least that's what I've been told."

"Oh, my God," Jordan said. "And Paul Cerino was in
my office threatening me just this morning. This is a night-
mare."

"How did he threaten you?" Laurie asked.

"I don't even want to discuss it," Jordan said. "But he's
quite angry with me and I'm afraid I have you to thank."

"Me?"

"I wasn't going to bring this up until we got together,"
Jordan said, "but now that we're on the subjectÄ"

"What?"

"Why did you tell a detective Soldano about my treating
Cerino?"

"I didn't think it was a secret," Laurie said. "After all,
you talked about it at my parents' dinner party."

"I suppose you're right," Jordan said. "But how did you
happen to tell a homicide detective of all people?"

"He was here observing autopsies," Laurie said.
"Cerino's name came up in relation to some homicides:

   266

several gangland-style execution victims pulled out of the
East River."

"Oh, boy," Jordan said.

"I'm sorry to be the Greek messenger with all this bad
news."

"It's not your fault," Jordan said. "And I guess I'm
better off knowing. Thankfully I'll be doing Cerino this
evening. At this point the sooner I get rid of him the better."

"Just be careful," Laurie said. "Something strange is
going on. I'm just not sure what."

Jordan didn't need Laurie to remind him to be careful,
not after Cerino's threat to crush his hands. And now
this news that five of his patients had been murdered and
another one dead, possibly also murdered. It was too
much.

Preoccupied with this bizarre yet terrifying set of circum-
stances, Jordan got up from the chair in the surgical lounge
of the Manhattan General Hospital and traipsed into the
OR. He wondered if he should go to the police and tell them

about Cerino's threat. Yet if he did go to the police, what
would they do? Probably nothing. What would Cerino do?
Probably what he threatened. Jordan shivered with lear at
the thought and wished that Cerino had never walked
through his door.

As he scrubbed his hands, Jordan tried to think of why
five and possibly six of his patients would be killed. And
what about Marsha? But try as he might, he couldn't think
of a reason. Holding his hands in the air, he pushed into the
operating room.

Surgery for Jordan was a cathartic experience. He was
relieved to be able to lose himself in the exacting procedure
of a corneal transplant. For the next few hours he com-
pletely forgot about threats, mob hits, Marsha Schulman,
and unsolved homicides.

   267

"Wonderful job," the junior resident commented after
Jordan had finished.

"Thank you," Jordan said. He beamed. Then, to the
nursing staff, he added: "I'll be in the surgical lounge. Let's
turn the room around as soon as possible. The next case is
one of my VIPs."

"Yes, your Highness," the scrub nurse teased.

Walking back to the surgical lounge, Jordan was glad
that Cerino was next. He just wished it was already over.
Although complications were rare for Jordan, they did
occur. He shivered to think of the consequence of a postop-
erative infection: not for Cerino, for himself.

Gripped by his scary thoughts, Jordan was oblivious of
his surroundings. And when he sank into one of the arm-
chairs in the lounge and closed his eyes he hadn't noticed
the man sitting directly across from him.

"Good afternoon, Doctor!"

Jordan opened his eyes. It was Lou Soldano.

"Your secretary told me you were up here," Lou said. "I
told her it was important that I talk with you. I hope you
don't mind."

Jordan sat bolt upright and his eyes nervously darted
around the room. He knew Cerino had to be close, proba-
bly in the holding area at that moment. And that meant that
the tall gaunt fellow would be around someplace. Cerino
had insisted on it, and the administration had agreed. Jor-
dan did not relish the idea of Cerino's man seeing him with
Lou Soldano. He didn't want to be forced to explain it to
Cerino.

"Certain facts have come up," Lou continued. "I'm hop
ing you might have some explanations."

"I have another operation," Jordan said. He started to
get up.

i'Sit down, Doctor," Lou said. "I only want a minute of
your time. At least at the moment. We've been puzzling

   268

over five recent homicides which we have reason to believe
were done by the same person or persons, and the only way
we have been able to associate then so far, other than the
manner in which they were killed, is that they were your
patients. Naturally we'd like to ask you if you have any idea
why this has happened."

"I'd just been informed about it an hour ago," Jordan
said nervously. "I haven t the slightest idea why. But I can
tell you there is no way that it could involve me."

"So we can assume they have all paid their bills'?" Lou
asked.

"Under the circumstances Lieutenant," Jordan snapped,
"I don't think that is a very funny comment.~,

"Excuse my black humor, Lou said. "But guessing how
much that office of yours had to cost and knowing you have
a limoÄ"

"I don't have to talk with you if I don't want to," Jordan
said, interrupting Lou and again motioning to get up.

"You don't have to talk with me now," Lou said. "That's
true. But you'd have to talk with me eventually, so you
might as well try to cooperate After all, this is one hell of
a serious situation."

Jordan sat back. "What do you want from me? I don't
have anything to add to what you already know. I m sure
you know much more than 1."

"Tell me about Martha Goldburg, Steven Vivonetto, Ja-
nice Singleton, Henriette Kaufman, and Dwight Soren-
son."

"They were patients of mine, Jordan said.

"What were their diagnoses? Lou asked. He took out
his pad and pencil.

"I can't tell you that, Jordan said. "That's privileged
information. And don t cite my mentioning the Cerino case
to Dr. Montgomery as a precedent I made a mistake talk-
ing about him."

   269

"I'll be able to get the information from the families,"
Lou said. "Why don't you just make it easy for me?"

"It's up to the families to tell you if they so choose,"
Jordan said. "I am not at liberty to divulge that informa-
tion."

"OK," Lou said. "Then let's talk generalities. Did all
these people have the same diagnosis?"

"No," Jordan said.

"They didn't?" Lou questioned. He visibly sagged. "Are
you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," Jordan said.

Lou looked down at his blank pad and thought for a
moment. Raising his eyes he asked: "Were these patients
related in some unlikely way? For example, were they cus-
tomarily seen on the same day, anything like that?"

"No," Jordan said.

"Could their records have been kept together for some
reason?"

"No, my records are alphabetical."

"Could any of these patients have been seen on the same
day as Cerino?"

"That I can't say," Jordan admitted. "But I can tell you
this. When Mr. Cerino came to see me, he never saw any
other patient nor did any other patient see him."

"Are you sure of that?" Lou asked.

"Positive," Jordan said.

The intercom connecting the surgical lounge to the OR
crackled to life. One of the OR nurses told Jordan that his
patient was in the room waiting for him.

Jordan got to his feet. Lou did the same.

"I've got surgery," Jordan said.

"OK," Lou said. "I'm sure we'll be in touch."

Lou put on his hat and walked out of the surgical lounge.

Jordan followed him to the door and watched as Lou
continued down the long hallway to the main hospital

   270

elevators. He watched as Lou pushed the button, waited,
then boarded and disappeared from view.

Jordan's eyes swept the hallway for C'erino's man. Step-
ping across the hall, he peered into the surgical waiting
room. He was encouraged when he didn't see the gaunt man
anyplace.

Turning back into the surgical lounge. Jordan sighed. He
was relieved that Lou had left. The meeting with him had
left Jordan feeling more rattled than ever. and it wasn't only
because of the fear that Cerino's man would see them talk-
ing. Jordan sensed the detective didn't like him much, and
that could mean trouble. Jordan was afraid he'd have to put
up with the man's annoying presence in the future.

Stepping into the men's locker room, Jordan splashed his
face with cold water. He needed to pull himself together to
try to relax a moment before going into the OR and doing
Cerino. But it wasn't easy. So much was happening. His
mind was in a turmoil.

One of the thoughts that was partic ukTrly disturbing was
that he'd realized there was one way that the five homicides
were related, including Mary O'Connor. He'd realized it
while Lou Soldano had been talking with him, but Jordan
had chosen not to say anything about it. And the fact that
he had so chosen confused him. He didn't know if the
reason he'd not mentioned it was because he wasn't sure of
its significance or because it scared hind. Jordan certainly
did not want to become a victim himself.

Walking down toward the operating room where Paul
Cerino was waiting, Jordan decided that the safest course of
action for him was to do nothing. After all, he was in the
middle.

Suddenly Jordan stopped. He'd realized something else.
Despite all these problems, he was doing more surgery than
ever. There had to be another part to it all. As he started
walking again, it all began to make a kind of grotesque,

   271

malicious sense. He picked up his pace. Definitely playing
dumb was the way he should handle it. It was the safest by
far. And he liked to do surgery.

Pushing into the operating room, he went up to Cerino,
who was significantly sedated.

"We'll have you done in no time," Jordan said. "Just
relax."

After giving Cerino a pat on the shoulder, Jordan turned
and headed out to scrub. As he passed one of the orderlies
in scrubs, he realized it wasn't one of the orderlies. Jordan
had recognized the eyes. It was the gaunt one.

   272

11

 4:30 P.M., FRIDAY
 MANHATTAN

Laurie was hesitant to visit the lab again. She didn't want
to risk another run-in with John DeVries. But attempting
any more paperwork just then was ridiculous. She was far
too distracted. She decided to find Peter. Surely he had to
have more results by then.

"I know you promised to call if you found anything,"
Laurie said once she'd found him, "but I couldn't help but
stop by just to check how you were doing."

"I haven't found a contaminant yet," Peter said. ' But I
did learn something that might be significant. Cocaine is
metabolized in the body in a variety of different ways pro-
ducing a variety of metabolites. One of the metabolites is
called benzoylecgonine. When I calculated the ratio of co-
caine and benzoylecgonine in the blood, urine, and brain of
your victims, I can estimate the amount of time from in jec-
tion to death."

   273

"And what did you find?' Laurie asked.

"I found it was pretty consistent," Peter said. "Roughly
an hour in thirteen of the fourteen. But in one of the cases
it was different. For some reason Robert Evans had practi-
cally no benzoylecgonine at all."

"Meaning?" Laurie questioned.

"Meaning that Robert Evans died very quickly," Peter
said. "Maybe within minutes. Maybe even less, I really
can't say."

"What do you think the significance is?" Laurie ques-
tioned.

"I don't know," Peter said. "You're the medical detec-
tive, not me."

"I suppose he could have suffered an instantaneous car-
diac arrhythmia."

Peter shrugged. "Whatever," he said. "And I haven't
given up on a contaminant. But if I find something, it's
going to be in nanomoles."

Leaving the toxicology department, Laurie felt dis-
couraged. Despite all her efforts she didn't feel any further
along in her investigation of these unlikely overdoses than
she had been at the start. Intending to talk again with
George Fontworth and have him explain what had sur-
prised him on the autopsies, Laurie descended to the base-
ment level and poked her head into the autopsy room. She
didn't see George, but she saw Vinnie and asked about
George.

"He left about an hour ago," Vinnie said.

Laurie went upstairs to George's office. The door was
open but he wasn't there. Since his room was adjacent to
one of the serology labs, Laurie went in and asked if anyone
had seen George.

"He had a dentist's appointment," one of the techs said.
"He mentioned he'd be back later, but he didn't know
when."

   274

Laurie nodded.

Stepping out of the lab, she paused outside George's oldce.
From where she was standing she could see the autopsy
folders from the two overdose cases he'd handled that day.

Looking over her shoulder to make sure no one was
watching, Laurie stepped into the office and opened the top
folder. It was Julia Myerholtz's file. That was the case
George had been working on when Laurie had gone over to
his table. She hastily read through George's autopsy notes.
Immediately she understood what he had meant by the
"surprise." Obviously he'd responded the same way Laurie
had with Duncan Andrews.

Looking at the forensic investigator's report, Laurie no-
ticed that the victim had been identified at the scene by
"Robert Nussman, boyfriend."

Taking a piece of scratch paper from a pad on George's
desk, Laurie jotted down Julia's address.

Laurie was just about to open the second file when she
heard someone coming down the hall. Sheepishly' she
closed the folder, pocketed the piece of scrap paper, and
stepped back out into the hall. She nodded and smiled
guiltily as one of the histology techs passed by.

Although gingham had chastised Laurie for visiting
Duncan Andrews' apartment, she decided she would go to
Julia Myerholtz's place. Hailing a cab, she convinced her-
self that gingham's anger had more to do with the unique
fact that the case was such a political hot potato. He hadn't
objected to examination of the scene per seÄor so Laurie
rationalized.

Julia's apartment was in a large posh building on East
Seventy-fifth Street. Laurie was quite surprised when the
doorman came to the curb to open her door for her as she
paid the cab fare. It amazed her to experience the kind of
style some people enjoyed in the city. The ambience was
certainly a far cry from her own in Kips Bay.

   275

"May I help you, madame?" the doorman asked. He had
a thick Irish brogue.

Laurie showed her medical examiner's badge and asked
to see the superintendent. A few minutes later the man
appeared in the foyer.

"I'd like to view Julia Myerholtz's apartment," Laurie
told him. "But before I go up, I want to make certain that
no one is there just now."

The superintendent asked the doorman if the apartment
was empty.

"It is indeed," the doorman said. "Her parents aren't due
in until tomorrow. You want the key?"

The superintendent nodded. The doorman opened a
small cabinet, took out a key, and handed it to Laurie.

"Just give it back to Patrick here when you leave," the
superintendent said.

"I'd prefer if you came along."

"I have a hot water leak in the basement," the superin-
tendent explained. "You'll be okayÄ9C. It's to the right
when you get off the elevator."

The elevator stopped on 9, and Laurie got out. Just to be
sure, she rang the bell of 9C several times and even pounded
on the door before going in. She didn't want to run into any
of the deceased's loved ones this time around.

The first thing Laurie noticed were the shards of a plaster
cast statue scattered over the floor of the foyer. Judging by
the larger pieces, Laurie guessed the piece had been a replica
of Michelangelo's David.

The roomy apartment was decorated in a comfortable,
country style. Not sure of what she was looking for, Laurie
simply roamed from room to room, surveying the scene.

In the kitchen Laurie opened the refrigerator. It was well
stocked with health food: yogurt, bean sprouts, fresh vege-
tables, and skim milk.

In the living room the coffee table was loaded with art
books and magazines: American Health, Runner's World,

   276

Triathlon, and Prevention. The room was lined with book-
shelves filled with more art books. (In the mantel, Laurie
noticed a small plaque. She went closer to read the inscrip-
tion: "Central Park Triathlon, Thircl Place, 30-34."

In the bedroom Laurie discover d an exercise bike and
lots of framed photographs. Most c f 1 he photos featured an
attractive woman and a handsome young man in various
outdoor settings: on bikes in a mountain setting, camping
in a forest, finishing a race.

As she wandered back into the living room, Laurie tried
to imagine why an amateur athlete like Julia Myerholtz was
apparently taking drugs. It just didn't make any sense. The
health food, the magazines, and the accomplishments just
didn't jibe with cocaine.

Laurie's musings were abruptly cut short when she heard
a key in the door. For a second of absolute ,oani,: she
contemplated trying to hide, as if sloe expected gingham to
come through the door.

When the door opened, the young man who entered
seemed as surprised as Laurie to meet someone in the apart-
ment. Laurie recognized him as the man in many of the
bedroom photos.

"Dr. Laurie Montgomery," Laurie said, flipping open
her badge. "I'm lrom the medical e~aminer's office, investi-
gating Miss Myerholtz's death."

"I'm Robert Nussman. I was Julia's boyfriend."

"I don't mean to be a bother," Laurie said, moving to
leave. "I can come back at another time." She did not want
gingham to get wind of this.

"No, it's all right," Robert said. holding up a hand.
"Please stay. I'll only be here a moment."

"Terrible tragedy," Laurie said. She felt the need to say
something.

"Tell me about it," Robert said. 51 le suddenly looked very
sad. He also acted as if he needed to talk.

"Did you know she took drugs:" I aurie asked.

   277

"She didn't," he said. "I know that's what you people
say," he added as his face flushed, "but I'm telling you, Julia
never did drugs. It just wasn't in her nature. She was totally
into health. She got me into running." He smiled at the
memory. "Last spring she had me do my first biathlon. I
just can't figure it. My God, she didn't even drink."

"I'm sorry," Laurie said.

"She was so gifted," Robert said wistfully. "So strong-
willed, so committed. She cared about people. She was
religious: not overly, but enough. And she was involved in
everything, like pro choice, the homeless, AIDS, you name
it."

"I understand you identified her here at the scene," Lau-
rie said. "Were you the one who found her?"

"Yes," Robert managed. He looked away, struggling
with tears.

"It must have been awful," Laurie said. Memories of
finding her brother crowded in with graphic intensity. She
did her best to dismiss them. "Where was she when you
came in?"

Robert pointed toward the bedroom.

"Was she still alive at that point?" Laurie asked gently.

"Sort of," Robert said. "She was breathing off and on. I
gave her CPR until the ambulance got here."

"How did you happen to come by?" Laurie asked.

"She'd called me earlier," Robert said. "She said to be
sure to come over later on."

"Was that customary?" Laurie asked.

Robert looked puzzled. "I don't know," he said. "I
guess."

"Did she sound normal?" Laurie asked. "Could you tell
if she'd taken any drugs yet?"

"I don't think she'd taken anything," Robert said. "She
didn't sound high. But I guess she didn't seem normal ei-
ther. She sounded tense. In fact, I was a little afraid she was

planning on telling me something bad, like she wanted to
break up or something."

"Was there some nrohlem in VOtI] relationship?" I aurie

asked.

"No," Robert said. "Things were great. I mean, I
thought they were great. It's just that she sounded a little
funny."

"What about that broken statue fly the front door?"

"I saw that the second I came through the door last
night," Robert said. "It was her favorite possession. [t was
a couple of hundred years old. When I saw it was broken,
I knew something bad was going on."

Laurie glanced over at the shattered statue and wondered
if Julia could have broken it while in the throes of a seizure.
If so, how did she get from the foyer to the bedroom?

"Thank you for your help," Laurie said. "I hope I
haven't upset you with my questions.'

"No," Robert said. "But why ar you going to all this
trouble? I thought medical examiner. just did autopsies and
only got involved with murders, lik' Quincy."

"We try to help the living," Laurie said. "That's our job.
What I'd really like to do is prevent future tragedies like
Julia's. The more I learn, the more I may be able to do
that."

"If you have any more questions, call me," Robert said.
He handed Laurie his card. "And il it somehow turns out
that it wasn't drugs, please let me know. It would be impor-
tant because . . ." Suddenly overcome with emotion, he
wasn't able to continue.

Laurie nodded. She gave Robert her own business card
after scribbling her home phone number on the back. "If
you have any questions for me or if you think of anything
I should know, please give me a call. You can call anytime."

Leaving Robert to grieve in private, Laurie left the apart-
ment and boarded the elevator. As she was riding down, she

   279

recalled that Sara Wetherbee had said that Duncan had
invited her over the night he'd overdosed. Laurie thought
both Duncan's and Julia's invitations to their significant
others were odd. If both were doing such a good job hiding
their drug abuse, why invite someone over the very night
they were indulging?

Laurie returned the key to Patrick the doorman and
thanked him on her way out. She was a half dozen steps
from the door when she turned around and went back.

"Were you on duty last night?" Laurie asked him.

"Indeed I was," Patrick said. "Three to eleven. That's my
shift."

"Did you happen to see Julia Myerholtz yesterday eve-
ning?" Laurie asked.

"I did," Patrick said. "I'd see her most every evening."

"I suppose you've heard what happened to her," Laurie
said. She didn't want to offer any information the doorman
might not be privy to.

"I have," Patrick said. "She took drugs like a lot of
young people. It's a shame."

"Did she seem depressed when she came in last night?"
Laurie asked.

"I wouldn't say depressed," Patrick said. "But she didn't
act normal."

"In what way?" Laurie asked.

"She didn't say hello," Patrick said. "She always said
hello except for last night. But maybe that was because she
wasn't alone."

"Do you remember who was with her?" Laurie ques-
tioned with interest.

"I do," Patrick said. "Normally I can't remember things
like that since we have a lot of traffic going in and out. But
since Ms. Myerholtz hadn't said hello, I looked at her com-
panions. "

"Did you recognize them?" Laurie said. "Had they been
here before?"

   280

"I didn't know who they were," Patrick said. "find I
don't think I'd ever seen them. One was tall, thin, and well
dressed. The other was muscular and on the short sicle. No
one said anything when they came in."

"Did you see them when they went out?" Laurie asked.

"No, I didn't," Patrick said. "They must have lelt during
my break."

"What time did they come in?" Laurie asked.

"Early evening," Patrick said. "Something like seven
o'clock. "

Laurie thanked Patrick yet again and hailed a cab to
return to her office. It was almost dusk. The skyscrapers
were already lit and people were hurrying home from work.
As the cab headed downtown in the heavy traffic, she
thought about her conversations with the boyfriend and the
doorman. She wondered about the two men Patrick had
described. Although they were probably co-workers or
friends of Julia's, the fact that they had visited the same
night that Julia overdosed made them important. Laurie
wished there was some way she could find out their identi-
ties so she could talk with them. The thought even went
through her mind that they could have been drug dealers.
Could Julia Myerholtz have had a secret life her boyfriend
wasn't privy to?

Back at the medical examiner's building, Laurie went first
to George's office to see if he'd returned from the dentist.
Obviously he had come and gone; his office was dark.
Disappointed, Laurie tried the door, but it was locked. Not
being able to talk with George, she'd had the sudden idea
to get the address of the other overdose, Wendell Morrison.

Leaving her coat in her room and picking up some rubber
gloves, Laurie went down to the morgue. She found the
evening mortuary tech, Bruce Pomowski, in the mortuary
office.

"Any idea of the dispensation of the Myerh`:,ltz re-
mains?" Laurie asked. "Have they been picked up'' '

   281

"Was she one of today's cases?" Bruce asked.

"Yes," Laurie said.

Bruce opened a thick ledger and ran a finger down the
day's entries. When he got to Myerholtz, his finger ran
across the page. "Hasn't been picked up yet," he said.
"We're waiting on a call from an out-of-town funeral
home."

"Is she in the walk-in?" Laurie asked.

"Yup," Bruce said. "Should be on a gurney near the
front."

Laurie thanked him and walked down the corridor to-
ward the walk-in refrigerator. In the evenings the environ-
ment of the morgue changed considerably. During the day
it was full of frantic activity. But now as Laurie walked she
could hear the heels of her shoes echo through the deserted
and mostly dark, blue-tiled corridors. All at once she re-
membered Lou's response when they'd come down Tues-
day morning. He'd called it a grisly scene.

Laurie stopped and looked down at the stained cement
floor that Lou had pointed out. Then she raised her eyes to
the stacks of pine coffins destined for Potter's Field with
unclaimed, unidentified remains. She started walking again.
It was amazing how her normal mental state shielded the
ghastly side of the morgue from her consciousness. It took
a stranger like Lou and a time when the morgue was empty
of the living for her to appreciate it.

Reaching the large, cumbersome stainless-steel door of
the walk-in, Laurie put on her gloves and pressed the thick
handle to release the latch. With a hefty yank she pulled the
heavy door open. A cold, clammy mist swirled out around
her feet. Reaching in, she turned on the light.

Reacting to her mind-set of only moments earlier, Laurie
viewed the interior of the walk-in cooler from the perspec-
tive of a nonprofessional person, not the forensic patholo-
gist she was. It was definitely horrifying. Bare wooden

   282

shelves lined the walls. On the shelves was a ghoulish collec-
tion of cold, dead bodies and body parts that having been
autopsied and examined were waiting to be claimed. Most
were nude, although a few were covered with sheets stained
with blood and other body fluids. It was like an earthly view
of hell.

The center of the room was crowded with old gurneys,
each bearing a separate body. Again, some were covered,
others naked and blankly staring up at the ceiling like some
sort of macabre dormitory.

Feeling uncharacteristically squeamish, Laurie stepped
over the threshold, her eyes nervously darting around the
gurneys to locate Julia Myerholtz. Behind her the heavy
door slammed shut with a loud click.

Irrationally, Laurie spun around and rushed back to the
door, fearful that she'd been locked into the cooler. But the
latch responded to her push and the door swung open on its
bulky hinges.

Embarrassed at her own imagination, Laurie turned back
into the refrigerator and began methodically going through
the bodies on the gurneys. For identification purposes each
body had a manila name tag tied around the right big toe.
She found Julia not far from the doorway. Her body was
one of those that had been covered.

Stepping up to the head, Laurie drew down the sheet. She
gazed at the woman's pallid skin and her delicate features.
Judging by her appearance alone, if she hadn't been so pale,
she could have been sleeping. But the rude, Y-shaped au-
topsy incision dispelled any hope that she might still be
alive.

Looking more closely, Laurie saw multiple bruise d areas
on Julia's head, an indication of her probable seizure e activ-
ity. In her mind's eye Laurie could see the woman bumping
up against her statue of David and knocking it to the floor.
Opening up Julia's mouth, Laurie looked at the tongue,

   283

wnlcnnacl not been removed. one Could see that it had been
bitten severely: more evidence of seizure activity.

Next Laurie looked for the IV site where Julia had in-
jected herself. She found it as easily as she had the others.
She also noticed that Julia had scratched her arms the way
Duncan Andrews had done. She had probably experienced
similar hallucinations. But Laurie noticed Julia's scratches
were deeper, almost as if they had been done with knives.

Looking at Julia's carefully manicured nails, Laurie
could see why the scratches were so deep. Julia's nails were
long and immaculately polished. While she was admiring
the woman's nails, Laurie noted a bit of tissue wedged
beneath the nail of the right middle finger.

After finding no other tissue under any of the other nails,
Laurie went to the autopsy room for two specimen jars and
a scalpel. Returning to Julia's side, she teased a bit of tissue
free and put it into one of the specimen jars. Using the
scalpel, she sliced a small sliver of skin from the margin of
the autopsy wound and slipped it into the other specimen
jar.

After covering Julia's body with the sheet, Laurie took
the two samples up to the DNA lab, where she labeled them
and signed them in. On the request form she asked for a
match. Even though it was fairly obvious the woman had
scratched herself, Laurie thought it was worth checking.
Just because the M.E.'s office was overworked was no rea-
son not to be thorough. Still, she was relieved that it was
evening and the lab was empty. She wouldn't have wanted
to explain the need for this test.

Laurie walked back to her office. With everyone else
gone, she thought she might take advantage of the quiet and
turn her attention to some of that paperwork she'd been so
studiously neglecting.

Still feeling slightly tense from her strange reaction to the
cooler door closing, Laurie was ill prepared to deal with

   284

It white`1 her in her raffiasf An chP r~lnH~r] the r`~rn`~r Of

shouted and leaped at her.

Laurie screamed from someplace deep down in her being.
It was a purely reflex response, and of a power that caused
the sound to reverberate up and down the cinderb]ocked
hallway like some charged subatomic particle in an acceler-
ator. She'd had no control. Simultaneous with the scream
her heart leaped in her chest.

But the attack that Laurie feared did not occur. Instead
her brain frantically changed the message and told her that
the terrifying figure had cried "Boo!"Ähardly what a mad
rapist or some supernatural demon would yell. At the same
time her brain identified the face as belonging to Lou Sol-
dano.

All this had happened in the blink of an eye, and by the
time Laurie was capable of responding, her fear had
changed to anger.

"Lou!" she cried. "Why did you do that?"

"Did I scare you?" Lou asked sheepishly. He could see
that her face had turned to ivory. His ears were still ringing
from her scream.

"Scare me?" she yelled. "You terrified me, and I hate to
be scared like that. Don't ever do that again."

"I'm sorry," Lou said contritely. "I suppose it was juve-
nile. But this place has been scaring me; I thought I could
get you back a little."
"I could hop you in the nose," Laurie said, shaking a
clenched fist in front of his face. Her anger had already
subsided, especially with his apology and apparent remorse.
She walked around her desk and fell into her chair. "What
on earth are you doing here at this hour anyway?" she
asked.

"I was literally driving by," Lou said. "I wanted to talk
with you, so I pulled into the morgue loading dock on the

   285

chance that you'd be here. I really didn't expect you to be,
but the fellow downstairs said you'd just been in his office."

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

"Your boyfriend, Jordan," Lou said.

"He's not my boyfriend," Laurie snapped. "You're really
going to irritate me if you persist in calling him that."

"What's the problem?" Lou asked. "It seems to me to be
a relatively accurate term. After all, you go out with him
every night."

"My social life is no one's business but mine," Laurie
said. "But for your information, I do not 'go out' 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 Cerinothreatened 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."

   286

"Probably he doesn't think you could protect hire.. 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?" Lau-
rie 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 Ca-
price heading downtown. She did not know if it was a good

   287

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 al-
though 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 plas-
tic 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

   288

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 knowÄand lover I,ou.
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

   289

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 ciga-
rette 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 smoth-
ered. The case is being signed out as 'natural' mainly be-
cause of the other detailsÄwhere 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

   290

their apartments with syringes by their sides. It's hard not
to view murders in context. But what it the cocaine wasn't
self-administered?"

"WowÄthat 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 forci-
bly 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 weak-
est 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

   29]

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 apart-
ment 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 boy-
friend 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 debauch-
ery."

"These two could have called for a million different rea-
sons. 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

292

myth oi~ cocaine's aphrodisiac powers and wanted theft
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 clone."

"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-clollar 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 sere-
nading the customers. Between the laughter and din, an air
of conviviality marked the evening. Franco paused for a

   293

moments just inside the red velvet curtain separating the
foyer from the dining area. He easily spotted Vinnie Domi-
nick, Freddie Capuso, and Richie Herns at one of the
upholstered booths along with a pair of buxom, miniskirted
Limbos.

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 hus-
tling. I don't know what they did early in the evening be-
cause 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

   294

business. We've had to shut most of our gambling clubs
down temporarily." He glared at Franco. "You got to find
out what's going on.'?

"I've put out some feelers," Franco said. "I'll be asking
around as well as tailing Angelo and Tony. Somebody's got
to know."

"I have to do something," Vinnie said. "I can't sit around
forever while they ruin everything."

"Give me a couple more days," Franco said. "If I can't
figure it out, I can get rid of Angelo and Tony."

"But that would mean a war," Vinnie said. "I'm not sure
I'm ready for that either. That's even worse for business."

"You know something, Doc?" Cerino said. "That wasn't
so bad at all. I really was worried but I didn't feel a thing
when you operated. How'd it go?"

"Like a dream," Jordan said. He was holding a small
penlight and shining it in the eye on which he'd just per-
formed surgery. "And it looks fine now. The cornea's as
clear as a bell and the chamber's deep."

"If you're happy," Cerino said, "I'm happy."

Cerino was in one of the private rooms of the Goldblatt
wing of Manhattan General Hospital. Jordan was making
late postoperative rounds since he'd finished his last corneal
transplant only half an hour earlier. He'd done four in that
day alone. In the background Angelo was leaning against
the wall. In an armchair next to the door to the bathroom,
Tony was fast asleep.

"What we'll do is give this eye a few days," Jordan said,
straightening up. "Then if all goes well, which I'm sure it
will," he hastily added, "we'll do the other eye. Then you'll
be as good as new."

"You mean I have to wait for the other operation? too?"
Cerino demanded. "You didn't tell me about that. When we
started you just said I had to wait for the first operation."

   295

"Relax!" Jordan urged. "Don't get your blood pressure
up. It's good to put a little time between operations so that
your eye has a chance to recover before I work on the other
one. And at the rate we've been going today, you shouldn't
have long to wait."

"I don't like surprises from doctors," Cerino warned. "I
don't understand this second waiting period. Are you sure
this eye you operated on is doing OK?"

"It's doing beautifully," Jordan assured him. "No one
could have done better, believe me."

"If I didn't believe you I wouldn't be laying here," Cerino
said. "But if I'm doing this good and if I got to wait for a
few days what am I doing in this depressing room. I want
to go home."

"It's better that you stay. You need medication in your
eye. And should any infection set inÄ"

"Anybody can put a couple of drops in my eyes," Paul
said. "With all that's happened, my wife Gloria has gotten
pretty good at it. I want out of here!"

"If you are determined to go, I can't keep you," Jordan
said nervously. "But at least be sure to rest and stay quiet."

Three quarters of an hour later an orderly pushed Cerino
to Angelo's car in a wheelchair. Tony had already moved
the Town Car to the curb in front of the hospital's entrance.
He had the engine idling.

Cerino had paid his hospital bill in cash, a feat that had
stunned the cashier who was on duty. After a snap of his
boss's fingers, Angelo had peeled hundred-dollar bills off a
big roll he had in his pocket until he'd surpassed the total.

"Hands off," Cerino said when Angelo tried to help him
out of the wheelchair when it reached the side of the car and
the orderly had activated the wheel brakes. "I can do it
myself. What do you think I am, handicapped?" Cerino
pushed himself into a standing position and swayed for a
moment getting his considerable bulk directly over his legs.

296

He was dressed in his street clothes. Over his operated eve

he had a metal shield with multiple tiny holes.

Slowly he eased himself into the front passenger seat. He
allowed Angelo to close the door for him. Angelo got in the
backseat. Tony started driving, but as he reached the street
he misjudged the curb. The car bounced.

"Jesus Christ!" Cerino yelled.

Tony cowered over the steering wheel.

They drove through the Midtown Tunnel and out the
Long Island Expressway. Cerino became expansive.

"You know something, boys," Cerino beamed, "I feel
great! After all that worry and planning, it finally happened.
And as I told the doe, it wasn't half bad. Of course I felt that
first needle stick."

Angelo cringed in the backseat. He'd been squeamish
about going into the operating room from the start. When
he'd seen Jordan direct that huge needle into Cerino's face,
just below the eye, Angelo had almost passed out. Angelo
hated needles.

"But after the needle," Cerino continued, "I didn't feel a
thing. I even fell asleep. Can you believe that? Can you,
Tony?"

"No, I can't," Tony said nervously.

"When I woke up it was done," Cerino said. "Jordan
might be an ass, but he's one hell of a surgeon. And you
know something? I think he's smart. I know he's practical.
We might very well go into business, he and 1. What do you
say about that, Angelo?"

"An interesting idea," Angelo said without enthusiasm.

   297

12

   7:45 A.M. SATURDAY
 MANHATTAN

Since it was Saturday, Laurie did not set her alarm. But she
woke up before eight anyway, again troubled by her night-
mare about Shelly. Vaguely she wondered if it would help
if she were to see someone professional.

Despite not being on call, Laurie had decided to go into
the office. Her intentions notwithstanding, she'd not been
productive with her work the previous evening after Lou
had dropped her off. Wine and work did not mix well with
Laurie.

Emerging from her building, Laurie was pleasantly sur-
prised to find a crisp fall day. The sun had already taken on
its weak winter look, but the sky was clear and the tempera-
ture moderate. Being a Saturday, the traffic and its resultant
exhaust was minimal on First Avenue, and Laurie enjoyed
the walk up to Thirtieth Street.

  299

As soon as she arrived, Laurie went straight to the ID
office to check on that day's cases. She was relieved to see
there were no new candidates for her overdose series. The
schedule was filled with the usual Friday-night homicides
and accident cases reflecting a normal night of murder and
mayhem in the Big Apple.

Next Laurie headed for the toxicology lab. She was re-
lieved she wouldn't have to dodge John DeVries. He cer-
tainly wouldn't be in on a Saturday. She was pleased to find
hardworking Peter at his usual spot in front of the newest
gas chromatograph.

"Nothing yet along the lines of a contaminant," Peter
told her, "but with that huge new sample I got yesterday, we
might be in luck."

"What kind of sample?" Laurie asked. "Blood?"

"No," Peter said, "pure cocaine taken from the gut."

"Whose gut?" Laurie asked.

Peter checked the specimen tag before him. "Wendell
Morrison. One of Fontworth's cases from yesterday."

"But how did he get a sample from the gut?"

"I can't help you there," Peter said. "I have no idea how
he got it, but by giving me as much as he did, it makes my
job considerably easier."

"I'm glad," Laurie said, puzzled by this unexpected bit of
news. "Let me know what you find."

Laurie left the toxicology lab and went to her office. After
finding his number in the office directory, she called George
Fontworth at home. He answered on the second ring; Lau-
rie was relieved not to have awakened him.

"Don't tell me you're in the office," he said when he
heard who it was.

"What can I say?" Laurie said.

"You're not even on call," George said. "Don't work so
hard. You'll make the rest of us look bad."

"Sure," Laurie laughed. "I'm not impressing anyone

   300

around here. You know what Calvin told you: you weren't
even supposed to talk with me yesterday."

"That was Linda stupid," George agreed. "What's on
your mind?"

"I'm curious about the first case you did yesterday,"
Laurie said. "Wendell Morrison."

"What do you want to know?" George asked.

"Toxicology told me that you had given them a cocaine
sample from the deceased's gut. How did you come by
that?"

"Dr. Morrison took the drug orally," George said.

"I thought you told me both your cases mainlined it,"
Laurie said.

"Only the second case," George said. "When you asked
me the route of administration, I thought you were only
referring to that one."

"All of my cases took the drug IV, but one of Dick
Katzenburg's took it orally only after trying to take it IV."

"Same with Dr. Morrison," George said. "His antecubi-
tal fossae looked like pincushions. The guy was overweight
and his veins were deep, but you'd think a doctor would
have been a bit better at venipuncture."

"There was still a lot of cocaine in the gut?" Laurie asked.

"A ton," George said. "I can't imagine how much the
guy ate. Part of the gut was infarcted where the cocaine had
closed down the blood supply. It was just like one of those
cocaine 'mule' cases where the condoms break in transit."

"Was there anything else of note?"

"Yes," George said. "He had a CVA from a small aneu-
rysm. It probably burst during a seizure."

Before Laurie hung up she told George about the little bit
of tissue she'd taken from beneath Julia Myerholtz's fin-
gernail and sent up to the lab.

"I hope you don't mind my butting in on your case,"
Laurie said.

   301

"Hell no," George said. "I'm just embarrassed I missed
it. With the way she had excoriated herself, I should have
looked under her nails."

After wishing George a good weekend, Laurie finally
settled down to her paperwork. But as she experienced
lately, she couldn't take her mind off the troubling aspects
of her overdose series. Despite her conversation with Lou,
some of the details of the Myerholtz case continued to
bother her.

Laurie pulled out the folders on the three cases she'd
posted on Thursday: Stuart Morgan, Randall Thatchers
and Valerie Abrams. Using a scratch pad, she jotted down
each of the three's address.

In another minute, Laurie was out the door. She caught
a cab and visited each of the three scenes. At each residence,
Laurie talked with the doorman. After explaining who she
was, she obtained the names and telephone numbers of the
doormen who had been on duty Wednesday evening.

Back at the office, Laurie began her calls. The first she put
through was to Julio Chavez. "Did you know Valerie
Abrams?" Laurie asked after explaining who she was.

"Yes, of course," Julio said.

"Did you see her Wednesday night?" Laurie asked.

"No, I didn't," Julio said. "At least I don't remember."

Lou was probably right, Laurie told herself after she'd
thanked the man and hung up. She was probably wasting
her time. Still, she couldn't resist dialing the next name on
the list: Angel Mendez, the evening doorman at Stuart
Morgan's apartment.

Laurie introduced herself as she had before, then asked
Angel if he knew Stuart Morgan, and the answer was the
same: "Of course!"

"Did you see Mr. Morgan Wednesday night?" Laurie
asked.

"Of course," Angel said. "I saw Mr. Morgan every night
I worked. He jogged after work every day."

   302

"Did he jog on Wednesday night?" Laurie asked.

"Just like every other night," Angel told her.

Again Laurie wondered about the inconsistency of a guy
who thought enough of himself to run every night taking
drugs. It didn't make a lot of sense.

"Did he seem normal?" Laurie asked. "Did he seem de-
pressed?"

"He seemed fine when he went out," Angel said. "But he
didn't jog as far as usual. At least he came back very soon.
He wasn't even sweaty. I remember because I told him he'd
not worked up a sweat."

"What did he say in return?" Laurie asked.

"Nothing," Angel said.

"Was it usual for him not to say anything?" Laurie
asked.

"Only when he was with other people," Angel said.

"Was Mr. Morgan with other people when he came back
from jogging?" she asked.

"Yes," Angel said. "He was with two strangers."
Laurie sat up. "Can you describe these strangers?" she
asked.

Angel laughed. "No, I don't think so," he said. "I see so
many people in a day. I just remembered he was with stran-
gers because he didn't say hello."

Laurie thanked the man and hung up. Now this was
something. She could still hear Lou's admonition warning
her not to play detective, but this striking similarity to the
Myerholtz case could be the beginning of a big break.

Finally, Laurie called the last name on her list: David
Wong. Unfortunately David couldn't remember seeing
Randall Thatcher on Wednesday night. Laurie thanked
him and hung up.

Laurie decided to turn her attention to one more case
before returning to her paperwork. She went to Histology
and asked for the slides of Mary O'Connor. Back in her
office, she scanned the heart slides under her microscope to

   303

study the extent of atherosclerosis. It was moderate on
microscopic just as Paul had said it had been on gross. She
also didn't notice any cardiac myopathy.

With that out of the way, Laurie couldn't think of an-
other reason to avoid her work. Pushing her microscope to
the side, she pulled out her uncompleted cases and forced
herself to begin.

"So this is it?" Lou asked. He waved a typed sheet of
paper in the air.

"That's what we've been able to come up with," Norman
told him.

"This is a bunch of doctor gobbledygook. What the hell
is 'keratoconus'? Or here's a gem: 'pseudophakic bullous
keratopathy.' What is this crap? Will you please tell me?"

"You wanted the diagnoses of the victims who were see-
ing Dr. Jordan Scheffield," Norman said. "That's what the
teams came up with."

Lou read the page again. Martha Goldburg, pseudo-
phakic bullous keratopathy; Steven Vivonetto, interstitial
keratitis; Janice Singleton, herpes zoster; Henriette Kauf-
man, Fuchs endothelial dystrophy; Dwight Sorenson, kera-
toconus.

"I was hoping they would all have the same condition,"
muttered Lou. "I'd hoped to catch twinkle-toes Scheffield
in a lie."

Norman shrugged. "Sorry," he said. "I can get someone
to translate those terms to regular EnglishÄif there's any
English to cover it."

Lou settled back in his chair. "So what do you think?" he
asked.

"I don't have any bright ideas," Norman said. "When I
first saw the doctor's name pop out of the data, I thought
maybe we had something. But now it doesn't look that
way."

   304

"Any of the patients unhappy with their care?" Lou
asked.

"Only positive in that arena is the Goldburgs," Norman
said. "Harry Goldburg had initiated a malpractice suit
against Dr. Scheffield after the doctor took out his wife's
cataract. Apparently there was some complication and she
wasn't seeing much through that eye."

"What's all this other stuff?" Lou asked, grasping at a fat
file folder filled with typed pages.

"That's the rest of the material that has been gathered by
the investigative teams," Norman said.

"Jesus Christ," Lou said. "There must be five hundred
pages in here."

"More like four hundred," Norman said. "Nothing's
jumped out at me yet, but I thought you'd better go through
it, too. And you might as well get started: there'll be more
coming as we interview more people."

"What about Ballistics?" Lou asked.

"They haven't gotten to us yet," Norman said. "They're
still on last month's homicides. But preliminary opinion is
that there were only two guns involved: a twenty-two and
a twenty-five caliber."

"What about the housekeeper?" Lou asked.

"She's still alive but has yet to regain consciousness,"
Norman said. "She was shot in the head and she's in a
coma."

"Do you have her protected?" Lou asked.

"Absolutely," Norman said. "Around the clock."

Having finally made some progress on her paperwork,
Laurie made a neat stack of her completed cases. With
them out of the way, she pulled out the records of the
overdose cases. Sorting through, she set aside the three she
wanted: Duncan Andrews, Robert Evans, and Marion
Overstreet. These were the cases she had autopsied on

   305

Tuesday and Wednesday. She copied the addresses and
packed up.

Laurie made the same kind of tour she'd made that
morning. Only this time she found that the doormen she
wanted to question were on duty again.

She was disappointed with the results at the Evans and
Overstreet residences. Neither doorman could tell her very
much about the evenings in question. But it was a different
story at Duncan Andrews'.

When the cab pulled up to the building, Laurie recog-
nized the blue, scalloped canvas awning and the wrought-
iron door from her previous visit. As she got out of the cab,
she even recognized the doorman. He'd been the same one
on duty on her last ill-fated visit. But recognizing the door-
man did not deter her. Although she thought there was an
outside chance that her visit might get back to gingham, she
was willing to risk it.

"Can I help you?" the doorman asked.

Laurie looked for signs of recognition on the doorman's
part. She didn't see any.

"I'm from the medical examiner's office," Laurie said.
"My name is Dr. Montgomery. Do you remember my com-
ing here Tuesday?"

"I believe I do," the doorman said. "My name is Oliver.
Is there something I can do for you? Are you here to go
back up to the Andrews apartment?"

"No, I don't want to disturb anyone," Laurie said. "I just
want to speak with you. Were you working Sunday night?"

"Yes I was," Oliver said. "My days off are Monday and
Thursday."

"Do you remember seeing Mr. Andrews the night he
died?? 7

"I think I do," he said after thinking about it. "I used to
see him most every night."

"Do you remember if he was alone?" Laurie asked.

"That I can't tell you," Oliver said. "With as many peo-

   306

pie who go in and out of here, I wouldn't be likely to
remember a thing like that, especially almost a week later.
Maybe if it was the same day or if something happened out
of the ordinary. Wait a minute!" he suddenly cried. "Maybe
I do remember. There was one night that Mr. Andrews
came in with some people. I remember now because he
called me by the wrong name. He used the superintendent's
name."

"Did he know your name?" Laurie asked.

"For sure7'7 Oliver said. "I've been working here since
before he moved in. That was five years ago.77

"How many men were with him?7' Laurie asked.

"Two, I think. Maybe three."

"But you're not positive which night?77 Laurie asked.

"I can't be surely Oliver agreed. "But I remember he
called me Juan and it confused me. I meant he knew my
name was Oliver.7'

Laurie thanked Oliver and headed home. What to make
of this odd streak of similarities? Who were these two men,
and were they the same pair in each case? And what did it
mean that a young, intelligent, dynamic man would mix up
the names of his doorman and his superintendent? Probably
nothing. After all, Duncan could have been thinking about
calling Juan for a problem in his apartment just as he was
arriving home.

Entering her own tenement. Laurie cast an appraising
glance around the interior as she walked to the elevator. She
noted the cracked and chipped tiles on the floor and the
peeling paint on the walls. Comparing it to the residences
she'd been visiting, it was a slum. The depressing thing was
that all the overdose victims had been about Laurie's age or
younger, and obviously had been doing a lot better than she
was financially. Laurie was already paying more rent than
she thought she could afford on her salary, and she was
living in a comparative dump. It was depressing.

Tom lightened Laurie's mood the moment she entered

   307

her apartment. Having been sleeping all day as well as
through the previous night, the cat-kitten was a ball of
energy. With truly awesome leaping ability he caromed off
walls and furniture in a fantastic display of exuberance that
made Laurie laugh to the point of tears.

Unaccustomed to the luxury of free time to splurge on
herself, Laurie took full advantage of the next several hours
by taking a nap as well as a bath. Since there had been no
message from Jordan to the contrary, she assumed their
dinner plans had not changed from the prearranged nine
P.M.

After taking a half hour to decide what to wear, which
encompassed trying on three different outfits, Laurie was
ready by five of nine. Contrary to the previous two outings,
Jordan himself showed up on time at nine sharp.

"You're really going to get my neighbors talking now,"
Laurie told him. "I'm sure they're thinking I've been seeing
Thomas."

Jordan had made reservations for them at the Four Sea-
sons. As with the other restaurants he favored, Laurie had
never dined there. Although the food was excellent, the
service impeccable, and the wine delightful, Laurie couldn't
help but compare it unfavorably to the nameless restaurant
Lou had taken her to the night before. There was something
so winning about that chaotic, bustling little place. The
Four Seasons, on the other hand, was so quiet it was dis-
tracting. With the only sounds being the tinkle of ice against
the waterglasses or the clink of the sans-serif flatware
against the china, she felt she had to whisper. And the decor
was so purposefully daunting with its stark geometry, she
felt intimidated. Laurie choked on her water when a pesky
thought occurred to her: What if it wasn't the restaurant she
preferred so much as the company?

Jordan was relaxed and expansive, going on about his
office. "Things couldn't be better," he said. "I got a replace-

   308

ment for Marsha who is ten times better than Marsha ever
was. I don't know why I was so worried about replacing
her. And my surgery is going fine. I've never done so much
surgery in such a short period of time. I just hope it keeps
up. My accountant called me yesterday and told me this is
going to be a record month."

"I'm glad for you," Laurie said. She was tempted to
mention her day's revelations but Jordan didn't give her a
chance.

"I'm toying with the idea of adding an additional exam
room," he said. "Maybe even taking in a junior partner
who would see all the junk patients."

"What are junk patients?" Laurie asked.

"Nonsurgical ones," Jordan said. He spotted a waiter
and called him over to order a second bottle of wine.

"I looked at Mary O'Connor's slides today," Laurie said.

"I'd prefer to keep the conversation on happier subjects,"
Jordan said.

"You don't want to know what I found?" Laurie asked.

"Not particularly," Jordan said. "Unless it was some-
thing astonishing. I can't dwell on her. I have to move on.
After all, her general medical condition was not my respon-
sibility but rather her internist's. It's not as if she died
during surgery."

"What about your other patients who were killed?" Lau-
rie asked. "Would you like to talk about them?"

"Not really," Jordan said. "I mean, what's the point'? It's
not as if we can do anything for them."

"I just thought you'd have a need to discuss it," Laurie
said. "If I were in your shoes, I'm sure I would."

"It depresses me," Jordan admitted. "But it doesn't help
to talk about it. I'd rather concentrate on the positive things
in my life."

Laurie studied Jordan's face. Lou had said he'd seemed
nervous when questioned about his patients' deaths. Laurie

   309

didn't see any nervousness now. All she saw was a deliber-
ate denial: he'd just rather not think about any unpleasant-
ness.

"Positive things like the fact that you operated on Paul
Cerino yesterday?" Laurie asked.

If Jordan caught the facetiousness in her tone, he didn't
let on. "That's the ticket," he said, responding eagerly to a
change in the subject. "I can't wait to do the second eye and
see the last of him."

"When will that be?" Laurie asked.

"Within a week or so," Jordan said. "I just want to make
sure his first eye goes well. I shudder every time I think
about the possibility of complications. Not that I expect
any. His case went perfectly well. But he refused to stay in
the hospital overnight so I can't be a hundred percent sure
he's getting the medication he needs."

"Well, if he didn't, it wouldn't be your fault," Laurie
said.

"I'm not sure Cerino would see it that way," Jordan said.

After dessert and coffee, Laurie agreed to go back to see
Jordan's apartment in the Trump Tower. She was im-
pressed the moment she went through the door. Directly in
front of her, almost at the same height as Jordan's apart-
ment, was the illuminated top of the Crown Building.
Walking into the living room? Laurie could see south down
Fifth Avenue to the Empire State Building and to the
World Trade Center beyond. Looking north she could see
a wedge of Central Park with its serpentine pathways fully
illuminated.

"It's gorgeous," Laurie said. She was transfixed by the
view of the New York skyline. As her eyes swept the hori-
zon, she realized that Jordan was standing directly behind
her.

"Laurie," he said softly.

Turning around, Laurie found herself enveloped by Jor-

   310

dan's muscular arms. His angular face was illuminated by
reflected light streaming in through the windows from the
golden apex of the Crown Building. With his lips slightly
parted, he leaned forward intending to kiss her.

"Hey," she said, disengaging herself. "How about an
after-dinner drink?"

"Your wish is my command," Jordan said with a rueful
smile.

Laurie was a little surprised at herself. Surely she was not
so naive to believe Jordan's gesture wasn't expected. After
all, she'd gone out with the man nearly three nights in a
row, and she did find him attractive. Yet for some reason
she was beginning to have serious second thoughts.

"Well?" Tony mumbled as Angelo came back to the table
from the phone outside the men's room. Tony's mouth was
full. He'd just finished shoveling in a huge bite of tortellini
con panna. Lifting up his napkin, he wiped off the ring of
cream and cheese from his lips.

Angelo and Tony were in a small all-night restaurant-sub
shop in Astoria. It was Tony's idea to stop, but Angelo
didn't mind since he had to call Cerino anyway.

"Well?" Tony repeated after he'd swallowed the tortellini
in his mouth. He washed it down with mineral water.

"I wish you wouldn't talk with food in your mouth,"
Angelo said as he sat down. "It makes me sick."
"I'm sorry," Tony said. He was already busy stabbing
tortellini with his fork in preparation for the next bite.

"He wants us to go out again tonight," Angel said.

Tony shoveled the forkful of tortellini into his mouth,
then said, "Great!" It sounded more like "rate."

Having had yet another disgusting look at the mash of
pasta in Tony's mouth, Angelo reached over and picked
Tony's bowl from the table and crammed it upside down on
Tony's place mat.

   311

Tony flinched at the sudden movement and stared at his
upturned bowl with shocked surprise. "Why did you do
that?" he whined.

"I told you not to eat with your mouth open," Angelo
snapped. "I'm trying to talk with you and you keep eating."

"I'm sorry, all right?"

"Besides it pisses me off about Cerino sending us out,"
Angelo said. "I thought we were finally finished with all this
crap."

"At least the money is good," Tony said. "What are we
supposed to do?"

"We're supposed to stick to the supply side," Angelo
said. "We might be finished with the demand side, which is
fine by me. That's where we got into trouble."

"When?" Tony asked.

"As soon as you get your ass out into the car," Angelo
said.

Fifteen minutes later, as they were approaching the
Queensboro Bridge, Angelo spoke up: "There's another
thing that bothers me about this. I don't like the timing.
Late Saturday night is not a good time. We may have to
change things around and be creative."

"Why don't we just use the phone?" Tony said. "We can
make sure things are copacetic before we do anything else."

Angelo shot a glance in Tony's direction. Sometimes the
kid surprised him. He wasn't dumb all the time.

   312

13

9:15 A.M., SUNDAY
   MANHATTAN

Bending over and trying to point the umbrella into the
wind, Laurie slowly made her way up First Avenue. It was
hard for her to believe that the weather could change as
much as it had in a single day. Not only was it windy and
rainy, but the temperature had plummeted during the night
to just a tad above freezing. Laurie had taken her winter
coat out of its mothballed storage container for the occa-
sion.

Standing on the corner, Laurie vainly waved at the few
cabs that streaked past, but all were occupied. Just when she
had resigned herself to walking to the office, a vacant taxi
pulled up to the curb. She had to leap away to keep from
being splashed.

Having finally made significant progress on her paper-
work the day before, Laurie was not planning on working

313

that Sunday, yet she felt compelled to go to the office be-
cause of a superstitious feeling. It was her idea that if she'd
made the effort to go, there wouldn't be any additional
cases in her series.

Stomping off the moisture in the reception area, Laurie
unbuttoned her coat and walked through to the ID office.
No one was there, and nor was there a schedule for the
day's cases. But the coffee machine was on and someone
had made coffee. Laurie helped herself to a cup.

Leaving her coat and umbrella, Laurie descended a floor
to the morgue and walked back to the main autopsy room.
The lights were on, so she could tell it was in use.

The door creaked open to her touch. Only two of the
eight tables were occupied. Laurie tried to recognize who
was working. With the goggles, face masks, and hoods, it
was difficult. Just when she was about to go into the locker
room to change, someone noticed her and, leaving the au-
topsy table, came over to speak with her. It was Sal D'Am-
brosio, one of the techs.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Sal asked.

"I live here," Laurie said with a laugh. "Which doctor is
on today?"

"Plodgett," Sal said. "What's the problem?"

"No problem," Laurie said. "Who's at the other table?"

"Dr. Besserman," Sal said. "Paul called him; we got a lot
of cases today. More than usual."

Laurie nodded to Sal, then called over to Paul. "Hey,
Paul. Anything interesting?"

"I'd say so," he replied. "I was going to call you later. We
got two more overdoses that can go into your series."

Laurie felt her heart sink. So much for superstition. "I'll
be right in," she said.

Once she had changed into her full protective gear, Lau-
rie went to Paul's table. He was working on the remains of
a very young woman.

   314

"How old?" Laurie asked.

"Twenty," Paul said. "College student at Columbia."

"How awful!" Laurie said. This would be by far the
youngest in her series.

"That's not the worst of it," Paul said.

"How so?" Laurie asked.

"Dr. Besserman is doing the boyfriend," Paul saicl. "He's
a thirty-one-year-old banker. That's why I thought you'd
be interested. Apparently they injected themselves simulta-
neously."

"Oh no!" Laurie felt almost dizzy: as a double tragedy
the incident was doubly poignant. She moved over to Dr.
Besserman's table. He was just lifting the internal organs
out of the body. Laurie looked at the dead man's face.
There was a large discolored bruise on his forehead.

"He convulsed," Dr. Besserman said, noticing Laurie's
curiosity. "Must have hit his face on the floor. Or it could
have happened in the refrigerator."

Laurie switched her attention to Dr. Besserman. "This
man was found in a refrigerator?" she asked.

"That's what the tour doctor told us," Dr. Besserman
said.

"That's the third one, then," Laurie said. "Where was the
girlfriend?"

"She was in the bedroom on the floor," Dr. Besserman
said.

"Find anything special on the post so far?" Laurie asked.

"Pretty routine for an overdose," Dr. Besserman said.

Laurie stepped back to Paul's table and watched him slice
off several samples of liver.

"What kinds of specimens have you been sending up to
Toxicology on these cases?" he asked when he noticed Lau-
rie by his side.

"Liver, kidney, and brain," Laurie said. "In addition to
the usual fluid samples."

   315

"That's what I thought," Paul said.

"Have you found anything remarkable on this case?"
Laurie asked.

"Not so far. Certainly consistent with a cocaine over-
dose. No surprises. But we have the head to go."

"I hear you have a lot of cases today. Since I'm already
here would you like me to help?"

"It's not necessary," Paul said. "Especially since Dr.
Besserman's come in."

"Are you sure?" Laurie asked.

"Thanks for the offer, but I'm sure."

Going through all the paperwork on the cases, Laurie got
the names of the victims as well as the male's address. It had
been at the male's apartment that the bodies had been
found. Then she went back to the locker room and changed.
She was extremely disheartened. There was something par-
ticularly tragic about two young lovers losing their lives so
senselessly. She began to regret anew gingham's decision
not to inform the public about the potentially tainted drug.
If he had, those two people might be alive today.

With sudden resolve, Laurie decided to call gingham. If
this Romeo and Juliet style tragedy didn't wake him up to
the fact that they were potentially facing a major public-
health crisis, nothing would.

Upstairs in her office she found gingham's home number
in the directory. Taking a deep breath, she placed the call.

gingham himself answered. "This is Sunday morning,"
he said crisply when he understood who was on the other
end of the line.

Laurie immediately told him about the two new overdose
cases. Once she had finished, she was met with silence. Then
gingham said sharply, "I fail to see why you felt compelled
to call me about this on a Sunday."

"If we had made a statement, this couple might be alive
today," Laurie said. "Obviously we can't help them, but

   316

perhaps we can help others. With these cases I now have
sixteen in my series."

"Look, Montgomery, I'm not even convinced you have
a bona fide series, so stop throwing the term around as if it's
an a priori assumption. Maybe you have a series, maybe
you don't. I appreciate your good intentions, but have you
come up with any proof? Has the lab come up with a
contaminant?"

"Not yet," Laurie admitted.

"Then as far as I'm concerned, this conversation is just a
rehash of the one we had the other day."

"But I'm convinced we can save livesÄ"

"I know you are," gingham said. "But I'm also con-
vinced it is not in the best interests of the department and
for the city as a whole. The media will want names, and we
are not prepared to give names, not with the pressure we're
under. And it's more than Duncan Andrews' family who'd
like to keep these cases out of the headlines. But I am
meeting with the commissioner of health this week. In all
fairness to you I will present the issue to him and he can
decide."

"But, Dr. ginghamÄ" Laurie protested.

"That's enough, Laurie. Goodbye!"
Laurie looked at the phone with frustration. gingham
had hung up on her. She slammed the phone down in anger.
The idea that he would take the problem to the commis-
sioner was not a consolation to her. As far as she was
concerned, it was merely shuffling the problem from one
political hack to another. She also felt gingham had been
closest to the real reason for keeping a lid on the series when
he mentioned Duncan Andrews. gingham was still worried
about the political ramifications of going public with a
connected name.

Laurie decided to give Jordan a call. Since he didn't work
for the city and was beholden to no special group or inter-

   317

est. maybe he could speak out. Laurie wasn't sure he'd be
inclined to get involved, but she decided to chance it. Jor-
dan picked up on the second ring but sounded out of breath
when he answered.

"I'm on my exercise bike," he explained when Laurie
asked. "Good to hear from you so soon. I hope you had a
nice evening. I know I did."

"It was lovely," she said. "Thank you again." It had been
a nice evening and Laurie had been relieved when Jordan
didn't pressure her after that brief, aborted kiss.

Laurie filled Jordan in on the latest additions to her
overdose series. To her relief he sounded genuinely upset.

"Now I have a question for you," Laurie said. "And a
favor to ask. The medical examiner is not willing to make
a public statement about my series. I want it made because
I'm convinced it will save lives. Do you know any other way
to get this information to the public and might you be
willing to put the word out?"

"Wait a second," Jordan said. "I'm an ophthalmologist.
This isn't exactly my area of expertise. You want me to
make some kind of statement about a series of drug deaths?
No way, it's inappropriate."

Laurie sighed. "Would you think about it?"

"I don't need to think about it," Jordan said. "This is the
type of thing I have to stay clear of, pure and simple.
Remember, you and I are coming at medicine from the
opposite ends of the spectrum. I'm in the clinical end. I've
got a very high profile clientele. I'm sure they wouldn't want
to hear I'm mixed up in any drug affair no matter which side
of the law I'm on. They'd start to wonder about me, and
before I knew what was happening, they'd be going to
someone else. Ophthalmology is extremely competitive
these days."

Laurie didn't even try to argue. She understood more
clearly than ever: Jordan Scheffield was not about to help
her. She merely thanked him for his time and hung up.

   318

There was only one other person to whom Laurie could
turn. Although she was far from optimistic about the recep-
tion she'd meet there, she swallowed her pride and called
Lou. Since she didn't have his home number, she called
police headquarters to leave word for him. To her surprise,
he returned her call almost immediately.

"Hey, how are you?" He sounded pleased to have heard
from her. "I knew I should have given you my home num-
ber. Here, let me give it to you now." Laurie got a pen and
paper and jotted the number down.

"I'm glad you called," Lou continued. "I got my kids
here. You want to come down to SoHo for some brunch?"

"Another time," Laurie said. "I've got a problem."

"Uh-oh," Lou said. "What is it?"

Laurie told him about the double overdose and her con-
versations with gingham and Jordan.

"Nice to know I'm at the bottom of your list," Lou
commented.

"Please, Lou," Laurie said. "Don't play wounded. I'm
desperate."

"Laurie, why are you doing this to me?" Lou com-
plained. "I'd love to help you, but this is not a police matter.
I told you that the last time you brought it up. I can under-
stand your problem, but I don't have any suggestions. And
if you want my opinion, it's not really your problem.
You've done what you could and you've informed your
superiors. That's all you can expect from yourself."

"My conscience won't let me leave it at that," Laurie
said. "Not while people are dying."

"What did big bucks Jordan say?" Lou asked.

"He was afraid his patients wouldn't understand," Lau-
rie said. "He said he couldn't help me."

"That's a pretty flimsy excuse," Lou said. "I'm surprised
he's not falling all over himself trying to prove what a man
he is by helping his damsel in distress."

"I'm not his damsel," Laurie said. Even as the words

   319

came out of her mouth, she knew she shouldn't be rising to
his bait.

"Not always charming, that prince of yours, eh?"

Laurie hung up on Lou. The man could be so infuriat-
ingly rude. She got her things together, including the ad-
dress of the double-overdose scene, and was ready to go
when the phone started to ring. Figuring it was Lou, she
avoided answering. The phone rang about twenty times
before it stopped just as she reached the elevator.

Laurie hailed a cab and headed for the address on Sutton
Place South. When she arrived? she flashed her medical
examiner's badge at the doorman on duty and asked to see
the superintendent. The doorman readily obliged her. "Carl
will be down in a minute. He lives right here in the building
so he's almost always available."

A diminutive man with dark hair and a thin black mous-
tache soon appeared and introduced himself as Carl Beth-
any. "I guess you're here about George VanDeusen?" Carl
asked.

Laurie nodded. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I'd
like to view the scene where the bodies were found. Is the
apartment empty?"

"Oh, yeah," Carl said. "They took the bodies out last
night."

"That's not what I meant," Laurie said. "I want to be
sure there aren't any family members up there. I don't want
to disturb anyone."

Carl said he'd have to check. He conferred with the door-
man, then returned to assure Laurie that the VanDeusen
apartment was vacant. Then he took her up to the tenth
floor and unlocked the door for her. Stepping aside, he let
Laurie go in first.

"Nobody's cleaned in here yet," Carl said as he followed
Laurie through the door. Laurie noticed a musty, almost
fishy smell as she entered the apartment.

   320

Laurie surveyed the living room. An antique butler's-
style coffee table with only three legs lay at an odd angle.
The fourth leg was on the floor just by it. Magazines and
books were haphazardly scattered across the carpet; it
looked as if they had been spilled when the leg was broken.
A crystal lamp lay smashed between an end table and the
couch. A large, old-master oil painting hung askew on the
wall.

"A lot of damage," Laurie said. In her mind's eye she
tried to imagine the kind of seizure that could have resulted
in such breakage.

"That's just the way it looked when I came in here last
night," Carl said.

Laurie started toward the kitchen. "Who found the bod-
ies?" she said.

"I did," Carl said.

Laurie was surprised. "What brought you in?"

"The night doorman called me," Carl said.

Laurie was going to ask about him next. She hoped to
speak to him, too, and said so. "Why did he call you?" she
asked.

"He said another tenant had called him to report strange
noises coming from 10F. The caller was worried that some-
one was hurt."
"What did you do?" Laurie asked.

"I came up here and rang the bell," Carl said. "I rang it
several times. Then I used my passkey. That's when I found
the bodies."

Laurie blinked. Her mind was mulling over this scenario,
and something wasn't making sense. She could remember
reading an hour earlier in the investigator's report that both
bodies had significant rigor mortis, even the woman in the
bedroom. That meant that they had to have been dead at
least several hours.

"You said the tenant called down to the doorman be-

   321

cause sounds were coming out of the apartment at that
time? I mean at the same time he was calling."

"I think so," Carl said.

Laurie began to wonder how the other victims in her
series had been found. Duncan Andrews and Julia Myer-
holtz had been found by their lovers. But what about the
others? Laurie had never considered the question before
now. Now that she thought about it, she did recognize one
strange thing: all the victims had been found relatively
quickly. Their bodies were discovered in a matter of hours
whereas in many cases single people who unexpectedly died
in their apartments weren't found for days, sometimes only
after the smell of decay had alerted neighbors.

The scene in the kitchen was all too familiar. The con-
tents of the refrigerator had been strewn helter-skelter
across the floor. The refrigerator door was still ajar. Laurie
noticed that the smell of spoiled milk and rotting vegetables
permeated the air.

"Someone is going to have to clean this up," Carl said.

Laurie nodded. Leaving the kitchen, she looked into the
bedroom. Again she started to feel incredibly sad. Seeing
the apartment where these people had lived made them all
the more real. It was easier to remain dispassionate down at
the medical examiner's office than it was in the deceased's
home. Laurie felt her eyes well with tears.

"Is there anything else I can do to help?" Carl asked.

"I'd like to speak to that night doorman," she said, pull-
ing herself together.

"That's easily arranged," Carl said. "Anythirg else?"

"Yes," Laurie said, gazing around the apartment.
"Maybe you shouldn't let anyone clean this place up just
yet. Let me talk to the police."

"They were here last night too," Carl said.

"I know," Laurie said. "But I'm thinking of someone a
little higher on the ladder in the homicide department."

Downstairs Carl got the night doorman's phone number

   322

for Laurie. The man's name was Scott Maybrie. He even
offered to allow Laurie the use of his phone if she wanted
to call immediately.

"Wouldn't he be asleep at this time?" Laurie asked.

"It won't hurt him," Carl insisted.

Carl's tiny apartment was on the first floor and faced the
street, in contrast to VanDeusen's, which had faced out
over the East River. Carl allowed Laurie to sit at his clut-
tered desk amid notes to plumbers and electricians. Being
particularly helpful, Carl even dialed Scott's number and
handed Laurie the phone. As she'd feared, the man's voice
was hoarse with sleep when he answered.

Laurie identified herself and explained that Carl had sug-
gested she call. "I wanted to ask you a few questions about
the VanDeusen case," she continued. "Did you see Mr.
VanDeusen or his girlfriend last night?"

"No, I didn't," Scott said.

"Carl told me that one of the other tenants called you
about noises coming from the VanDeusen apartment. What
time was that?"

"Around two-thirty, three o'clock," Scott said.
"Which tenant called?" Laurie asked.

"I don't know," Scott admitted. "He didn't say.

"Was it one of the immediate neighbors?" Laurie sug-
gested.

"I really don't know. I didn't recognize the voice, but
that's not unusual."

"What did he say exactly'?" Laurie asked.

"He said there were strange noises coming from 10F,"
Scott said. "He was concerned someone might be hurt."

"Did he say they were occurring at the moment he was
calling?" Laurie asked. "Or did he say they had happened
sometime in the past."

"I think he said they were happening right then, Scott
said.

"Did you notice two men leaving the building during the

   323

  night?" Laurie asked. "Two men you'd never seen before?"
"That I couldn't say," Scott said. "People come and go
all night. To be honest, I don't pay much attention to
people leaving. It's the ones who are arriving I'm most
concerned about."

Laurie thanked Scott and apologized for disturbing him.
Then, turning to Carl, she asked if she could speak to the
doorman who'd been on duty earlier in the evening.

"Absolutely," Carl said. "That would have been Clark
Davenport." Again Carl dialed the number, then handed
Laurie the phone.

Laurie went through the same explanation when Clark
picked up.

"Did you see Mr. George VanDeusen come into his
apartment last night?" Laurie asked after the introductions.

"Yes," Clark said. "He came in around ten with his
girlfriend."

"Was he behaving normally?" Laurie asked.

"Normal for a Saturday night," Clark said. "He was a
little tipsy. His girlfriend had to give him a little support.
But they seemed to be having a good time, if that's what you
mean."

"Were they alone?" Laurie asked.

"Yup," Clark said. "Their guests didn't come in for
about half an hour."

"They had a party?" Laurie asked with surprise.

"I wouldn't call it a party," Clark said. "Just two men. A
tall guy and a shorter one."

"Can you remember what these men looked like?" Laurie
asked.

Clark had to think about it. "The tall one had bad skin,
like he'd had acne as a kid."

"Did they give their names?" Laurie asked. She could feel
her pulse quicken.

"Yeah, of course they gave their names," Clark said.

   324

"How else was I to call up and ask Mr. VanDeusen if they
were expected? Otherwise I wouldn't have let them in."

"What were the names?" Laurie asked. She'd taken out
a pen and a piece of paper.

"I don't remember," Clark said. "On a Saturday night I
have a hundred people coming in."

Laurie was disappointed to be so tantalizingly close to a
real breakthrough. Although she wasn't able to get the
names, this was progress. Yet again two men were spotted
at the scene of the OD shortly before the deaths occurred.

"Did you see these men come out again?" Laurie asked.

"Nope," Clark said. "Of course, I went off duty not too
long after they arrived."

Laurie thanked Clark before hanging up. She also
thanked Carl profusely for all his help before she left the
building.

Even though it was ugly and quite cold, Laurie decided
to huddle under her umbrella and walk for a bit before
catching a cab home. She wanted to mill over what she had
learned and what it might mean for the case as a whole.
By far the most significant discovery was the surfacing of
these two mystery men. Laurie wondered if the pair was
involved in the drug trade. She wondered if this revelation
would be enough to get the police narcotics squad inter-
ested. She began to hope Lou might feel differently now
that more similarities between the cases were falling into
place.

Laurie wished she could speak to the tenant who com-
plained of noise. What did he hear and when did he hear it?
When it began to rain in earnest, Laurie hailed a cab and
headed for home. Over a salad and some hot tea, she got
out all the material she had concerning her series and made
a new sheet listing the cases in order. She started two col-
umns beside the column of names: "Found by"; "Two Men
at Scene?"

   325

She filled in what answers she had. The rest of the after-
noon she devoted to filling in the blanks. It meant a lot of
legwork, but Laurie knew she had to be thorough if she was
ever going to get anyone to believe in her theory.

By late afternoon, Laurie was convinced her efforts had
been worthwhile. In each of the scenes the bodies had been
discovered by a doorman or superintendent investigating
after a neighboring tenant's complaint of strange noises
coming from the deceased's apartment. With the informa-
tion on her sheet nearly complete, Laurie headed home
convinced more than ever that there was something sinister
afoot. There were too many coincidences. Now if only she
could persuade someone in a position to do something
about it.

By the time she got home, it was dark. She wasn't sure
what her next move should be. Out of curiosity, Laurie
opened the Sunday Times to see if the media had picked up
the story of the banker and the Columbia coed who'd
OD'd. She found a brief mention of the deaths in the depths
of the second section. The article made the deaths sound
like just another couple of overdoses and made no mention
of other demographically similar occurrences in the recent
past. Another day, another opportunity to alert the public
lost.

Laurie decided to try Lou's home number. She wasn't
sure she had enough to convince him of anything, but she
was eager to give him an update. She got Lou's answering
machine but decided against leaving a message.

Hanging up the phone, Laurie pondered the thought of
calling gingham. Believing it would be an exercise in futility
at best, and might get her fired at worst, she gave up the
idea. He clearly stated that he intended to do nothing, at
least not until he spoke with the commissioner of health.

Laurie's eyes moved from the phone to the open newspa-
per. Slowly the idea of leaking the story herself began to

   326

occur to her. She'd had a bad experience with giving her
opinion to Bob Talbot the last time, but in all fairness to
him, she'd not specifically said her remarks were confiden-
tial.

With that thought in mind, she got out her address book
to see if she had his number. She did, and she gave him a
call.

"Well, well," he said when he heard it was Laurie. "I was
afraid I was never going to hear from you again. I didn't
know what else to do beyond apologizing."

"I overreacted," Laurie admitted. "I'm sorry I never got
back to you. It was just that I got an awful chewing out by
the chief over your story."

"I apologize again," Bob said. "What's up?"

"This might surprise you," Laurie said, "but I may have
a story for you, a big story."

"I'm all ears," Bob said.

"I don't want to talk on the phone," Laurie said.

"Fine by me," Bob said. "How about I buy you dinner?"

"You're on," Laurie said.

They met at P. J. Clark's on the corner of Fifty-fifth and
Third. They were lucky to get a table on a rainy Sunday
evening, especially one by the far wall where they could talk
above the usual hubbub. After a clear-eyed Irish waiter
took their order and slid two brimming draughts in front of
them, Laurie began.
"First, I'm not sure I'm doing the right thing talking to
you. But I'm desperate. I feel I have to do something."

Bob nodded.

"I want you to promise me you will not use my name."

"Scout's honor," Bob said, holding up two fingers. Then
he took out a note pad and a pencil.

"I don't know where to begin," Laurie said. She was
hesitant at first, but once she began explaining recent
events, she warmed up a bit. She began with Duncan An-

   327

crews and her first suspicions and took him through to the
double death of George VanDeusen and Carol Palmer. She
emphasized that all the victims were single, educated, suc-
cessful people with no hint of drug use or illegal activity in
their pasts. She also mentioned the pressure brought to bear
on the medical examiner to keep a lid on the Duncan An-
drews case in particular.

"In a way it's too bad he was the first. I think part of the
reason gingham keeps rejecting my series theory is because
the series began with him."

"This is unbelievable," Bob said when Laurie had to
pause with the arrival of their food. "I haven't seen any-
thing about this in the media at all. Nothing. Zip."

"There was a mention of the double death in this morn-
ing's Times, " Laurie said. "But it was in the second section.
It got barely a squib. But you're right, there's been no
mention of the other cases."

"What a scoop," Bob marveled. He glanced at his watch.
"I'll have to move on it if I'm going to make tomorrow
morning's paper."

"But there's more," Laurie said. She went on to tell him
that the cocaine involved was coming from one source, was
probably contaminated with a trace of a very lethal com-
pound on top of being extremely potent, and was probably
being distributed by a single pusher who somehow came in
contact with upscale young people.

"Well, that's not exactly true," Laurie corrected herself.
"It might be two people. On most of the cases that I've
investigated, two men have been seen going into the victim's
apartment."

"I wonder why two?" Bob asked.

"I haven't the slightest idea," Laurie admitted. "There
are a lot of mysteries about this whole affair."

"Is that it?" Bob questioned. He was eager to leave. He
hadn't even touched his food.

"No, that's not all," Laurie said. "I've begun to get the

   32X

feeling that these deaths are not accidental, that they are
deliberate. In other words they are homicides."

"This keeps getting better and better," Bob said.

"All of the bodies were found shortly after death," Lau-
rie said. "That in itself is unusual. Single people who die
alone are usually not found for days. In all the cases I've
investigated, a phone call led to the discovery of the body.
In two cases the victims called their significant other before-
hand. In all the others, an anonymous tenant in the victim's
building called the doorman to complain about strange
sounds emanating from the victim's apartment. But here's
the catch: based on medical evidence, these complaints
about noise came several hours after the time of death."

"My God!" Bob said. He looked up at Laurie. "What
about the police?" he asked. "Why haven't they gotten
involved in all this?"

"Nobody buys my series theory. The police aren't the
least suspicious. They consider these cases to be simple drug
overdoses. "

"And what about Dr. Harold gingham? What has he
done?"

"Nothing so far," Laurie said. "My guess is he wants to
steer clear of such a potential hot potato. Duncan Andrews'
father's running for office; his people have really been lean-
ing on the mayor, who's been leaning on gingham. He did
say he'd talk to the commissioner of health about it."

"If these are homicides, then we're talking about some
new kind of serial killer," Bob said. "This is hot stuff!"

"I think it's important for the public to be warned. If this
can save one life, it's worth it. That's why I called you.
We've got to put the word out about the contaminant in
this drug."

"Is that it then?" Bob asked.

"I think so," Laurie said. "If I think of anything I forgot
to mention, I'll call you."

"Great!" Bob said, getting to his feet. "Sorry to run, but

   329

if I'm going to get this into tomorrow morning's paper, I've
got to go directly to my editor."

Laurie watched Bob weave through the crowd of people
waiting for tables. Looking down at her veal swimming in
a pool of oil, she decided she wasn't hungry herself.

She was about to get up when their Irish waiter reap-
peared with the bill.

Laurie looked after Bob, but he was long gone. So much
for his offer to pick up the tab.

"What time is it?" Angelo asked.

"Seven-thirty," Tony said, checking the Rolex he'd
picked up at the Goldburg place.

They were parked on Fifth Avenue just north of the
Seventy-second Street entrance to Central Park's East
Drive. They were on the park side of the avenue but had a
good view of the entrance to the apartment house they were
interested in.

"Must take this Kendall Fletcher a long time to put on
his jogging shorts," Angelo said.

"He told me he was going jogging," Tony said defen-
sively. "You should have called him yourself if you weren't
going to believe me."

"Here comes somebody," Angelo said. "What do you
think? Could that be Kendall Fletcher, banker?"

"He doesn't look like a banker in that getup," Tony said.
"I don't understand this jogging stuff. Who'd want to dress
up in Peter Pan tights and run around the park at night? It's
like asking to be mugged."

"I think it's him," Angelo said. "Looks like the right age.
How old did you say Kendall was?"

Tony took a typed sheet of paper out of the glove com-
partment. Using the map light, he searched for the Kendall
Fletcher entry, then read: "Kendall Fletcher, age thirty-
four, Vice President Citicorp."

   330

"That must be him," Angelo said. He started the car.
Tony put the list back in the glove compartment.

Kendall Fletcher had come out of his apartment building
dressed to run. He crossed Fifth Avenue at Seventy-second
Street and began jogging as soon as he reached the park.

Angelo headed for the East Drive. He and Tony kept
their eyes glued to Kendall as he made his way down the
Seventy-second Street transverse to the drive, where he
turned north into the jogging lane.

Angelo motored about a hundred yards past the man,
then pulled over to the side of the road. With the blinkers
on, he and Tony got out.

Kendall wasn't the only runner out on the drive. As
Angelo and Tony watched him approach, a half dozen
other runners passed by.

"I just don't get these people," Tony said with wonder-
ment.

Just before Kendall reached them, Angelo and Tony
stepped into the jogging lane.

"Kendall Fletcher?" Angelo asked.

Kendall came to a stop. "Yes?" he said.

"Police," Angelo said. He flashed his Ozone Park police
badge. Tony flashed his. "Hate to bother you while you're
running," Angelo continued, "but we want to talk to you
downtown. We're involved with a Citicorp investigation."

"This is not a good time," Kendall said. His voice was
firm but his eyes gave him away. He was definitely nervous.

"I don't think you want to make a scene," Angelo said.
"We won't take much of your time. We wanted to talk with
the vice presidents before we convened a grand jury."

"I'm in my jogging shorts," Kendall said.

"No problem," Angelo said. "We'll be happy to give you
a lift home and let you change. You can be out jogging in
another hour if you cooperate."

Kendall appeared wary but finally agreed. He climbed

   331

into Angelo's car and they drove back to his building on
Fifth Avenue.

Leaving a card on the dash, Angelo and Tony got out
of the car with Kendall and followed him into the build-
ing. Tony was carrying the old black leather doctor's bag.
They walked as a group past the doorman, who ignored
them, got on the elevator, and went up to the twenty-fifth
floor.

No one spoke as Kendall opened his apartment door,
went in, and held the door for Angelo and Tony.

Tony nodded several times as he viewed the apartment.
"Nice layout," he said. He put down his doctor's bag on the
coffee table.

"Can I get you men anything while I change?" Kendall
asked. He motioned toward the bar.

"Nah," Tony said. "You understand, we're on duty. We
don't drink while we work."

Angelo checked out the apartment quickly while Tony
watched Kendall. Kendall in turn watched Angelo with
confused curiosity.

"What are you looking for?" Kendall called after An-
gelo.

"Make sure there aren't any other people up here," An-
gelo said as he returned from glancing into the kitchen. He
then disappeared back toward the master suite.

"Hey!" Kendall called. "You can't search my apart-
ment!" He turned to Tony. "You have to have a warrant
for this."

"A warrant?" Tony questioned. "Oh, yeah, the warrant.
We always forget the warrant."

Angelo returned.

"I'd like to see your identification again," Kendall said.
"This is an outrage."

Angelo reached into his Brioni jacket and withdrew his
Walther pistol. "Here's mine," he said. He motioned for

   332

Kendall to sit down. Tony snapped open the latches on his
doctor's bag.

"What is this, a robbery?" Kendall asked, staring at the
gun. He sat down. "Help yourself! Take what you want."

"I'm the candy man," Tony said. He lifted a long, clear
plastic bag and a small cylinder out of the bag.

Angelo moved behind Kendall, gun in hand. Kendall
watched nervously as Tony used the cylinder to inflate the
plastic bag with a gas that was obviously lighter than air.
Once the bag was completely full, he occluded the end and
put the cylinder back in the doctor's bag. With the plastic
bag in hand, he approached Kendall.

"What's going on?" Kendall demanded.

"We're here to offer you a wild trip," Tony said with a
smile.

"I'm not interested in any trip," Kendall said. "Take
what you want and get out of here."

Tony opened the base of the plastic bag so that it looked
more like a miniature transparent hot air balloon. Then,
holding two sides of the base, he crammed it down over the
top of Kendall's head.
The unexpectedness of the move caught Kendall by sur-
prise. He reached up and grabbed Tony's forearms and
halted the bag at his shoulders. As he tried to stand up,
Angelo threw the arm with the gun around his neck. An-
gelo's other hand grabbed Kendall's right wrist in an at-
tempt to free its grip on Tony's forearm.

For a second the three people struggled against one an-
other. Kendall, terrified at this point, opened his mouth and
bit Angelo's forearm through the plastic bag.

"Ahhhh!" Angelo cried, feeling Kendall's incisors break
his skin. Angelo let go of Kendall's arm and was about to
punch Kendall in the face inside the plastic bag when he saw
it wasn't necessary.

After having taken only a few breaths in the plastic bag,

   333

Kendall's eyelids sagged and his whole body, including his
jaws, went limp. While Tony followed Kendall to the floor,
maintaining the plastic bag in position, Angelo got his arm
back.

Quickly Angelo undid his cuff link and pulled up his
sleeve. On the inside of his forearm, about three inches from
his elbow, was an elliptical ring of puncture wounds corre-
sponding to Kendall's dentition. A few of them were bleed-
ing.

"The bastard bit me!" Angelo said indignantly. He put
his gun into its shoulder holster. "In this line of work you
never know what the hell is going to happen."

Tony stood up and went back to the doctor's bag. "Every
time we use that gas, I'm amazed," he said. "Old Doc
Travino sure knows his stuff." He got out a syringe and a
piece of rubber tubing. Returning to Kendall, he used the
rubber tubing as a tourniquet. "Look at these veins, will
you!" he said. "God, they look like cigars. No way we can
miss these. You want to do it or should I?"

"You do it," Angelo said. "But you better get that bag off
his head. We don't want another Robert Evans-type screw-
up."

"Right," Tony said. He worked the plastic bag free, then
shook it out. "Ugh," he said. "I hate that sweet smell."

"Give him the coke, will you?" Angelo said. "He'll wake
up before you're finished."

Tony took the needle and pushed it into one of Kendall's
prominent veins. "There, what did I tell you?" he said,
pleased to have scored on his first try. He pulled off the
tourniquet, then pushed in the plunger, emptying the sy-
ringe into Kendall's arm.

Tony left the used syringe on the coffee table and put the
rest of his paraphernalia back into the doctor's bag. At the
same time he took out a small glassine envelope. Going
back to Kendall, he poured a small amount of the white

   334

powder into Kendall's nostrils. Then he dabbed a little onto
his thumb and snorted it. "I love leftovers," he said with
glee.

"Stay away from that stuff!" Angelo commanded.

"Couldn't resist," Tony said. He put the glassine enve-
lope next to the used syringe. "What do you think, into the
fridge with him?"

"Let's skip it," Angelo said. "I was talking with Doc
about it. He says that as long as the body's not out longer
than twelve hours we're okay. And the way we've been
working this, everybody's been found way before twelve
hours."

Tony looked around. "Did I get everything?"

"Looks good," Angelo said. "Let's sit down and see how
Kendall likes his trip."

Tony sat on the couch while Angelo sat in the armchair
that Kendall had been occupying.

"Nice apartment," Tony said. "What do you say we
glance around a little to see if there's anything we might
want to pick up?"

"How many times do I have to tell you: we don't take
anything when we do these drug trips."

"Such a waste," Tony said wistfully as he surveyed. the
room.

A few minutes later, Kendall stirred and smacked his lips.
Moaning, he rolled over on his stomach.

"Hey, Kendall, baby," Tony called. "How you feel? Talk
to me!"

Kendall pushed himself up to a sitting position. He had
a blank expression on his pale face.

"How is it?" Tony asked. "With as much snow as you got
coursing through those veins, you must be in heaven. '

Without any warning, Kendall vomited onto the rug.

"Oh, God!" Tony cried as he scrambled out of the way.
"This is disgusting."

   335

Kendall coughed violently, then looked up at Tony and
Angelo. His eyes were glazed. He looked confused.

"How do you feel?" Angelo asked.

Kendall's mouth tried to form words, but the man
seemed utterly incapable of them. Suddenly his eyes rolled
back so that only the whites were showing and he began to
convulse.

"That's our cue," Angelo said. "Let's get out of here."

Tony picked up the doctor's bag and followed Angelo to
the door. Angelo peered through the peephole. With no one
in sight, he opened the door and stuck his head out.

"Hallway's clear," he said. "Come on!"

They exited the apartment quickly and ran to the stair-
well. Descending a single floor, they relaxed and waited for
the elevator.

"Are you hungry?" Tony asked.

"A little," Angelo said.

To avoid being seen by the doorman, they got off the
elevator on the first floor and returned to the stairwell. They
exited the building via the service entrance.

Arriving at the car, Angelo stopped. He was astonished.
"Look at this!" he said. "I can't believe it. We got a ticket.
Some nerve. I hope the cop who gave us this never tries to
bring his car out to Ozone Park."

"So what's next?" Tony asked as soon as they were
seated in the car. "Another job or dinner?"

"I don't know what you like more," said Angelo, shaking
his head, "whacking or eating."

Tony smiled. "Depends on my mood."

'`I think we should do the other hit," Angelo said. "Then
when we stop to eat it will be just about the right time to call
back here to tell the doorman about noises coming from
25G."

"Let's do it," Tony said. He sat back. With his snort of
cocaine, he felt great. In fact, he felt like he could do any-
thing in the world.

   336

As Angelo pulled away from the curb, Franco Ponti put
his own car in gear. He allowed several cars to pass before
pulling out into Fifth Avenue traffic. He'd watched while
Angelo and Tony picked the jogger up in the park and
escorted him back to his apartment. Although he hadn't
been privy to what had transpired in the apartment, he
thought he could guess. But the real question wasn't what
had happened, but why?

  337

14

6:45 A.M., MONDAY
   MANHATTAN

The alarm went off and Laurie went through her usual
routine of rapidly fumbling with it to get it turned off. As
she set the clock on her windowsill, she realized that for the
first time in many days she'd not awakened with the anxiety
of having had her recurrent nightmare. Apparently her con-
science had been temporarily appeased by her visit with
Bob Talbot.

But as Laurie slipped into her sheepskin slippers and
turned on the bedroom TV to the local news, she began to
feel progressively nervous about what the day would bring
vis-a-vis Dr. gingham. She was particularly anxious to get
a copy of the paper to see Bob Talbot's piece and how
prominently it would be featured. It was quite apparent
gingham would suspect her as the source. What would she
say if he asked her directly? She doubted she would be able
to lie to the chief.

  339

Pausing in the kitchen on her way to the bathroom, Lau-
rie hazarded a glance out at the tiny wedge of sky she could
see from her window. The dark swirling clouds suggested
that the weather had not improved since yesterday.

Later, after her shower and with a second cup of coffee
balanced on the edge of the sink, Laurie started applying
her makeup, all the time going over various scenarios of
what she might say to Dr. gingham. In the background she
heard the familiar theme music to Good Morning America
as the show came on the air. A little later she heard the
equally familiar happy voices of the hosts.

As Laurie was about to apply her lipstick she heard Mike
Schneider come on and talk about more weapons of mass
destruction that a UN team had found in Iraq. Laurie had
her upper lip done and was about to do the lower when she
flinched. She'd heard Mike Schneider say a surprising
name. It was her name!

Laurie dashed into the bedroom and turned up the vol-
ume. Her expression changed from disbelief to horror as
Schneider gave an overview of her overdose series starting
with Duncan Andrews, son of senatorial hopeful Clayton
Andrews. He went on to cite three cases unfamiliar to Lau-
rie: Kendall Fletcher, Stephanie Haberlin, and Yvonne
Andre. He mentioned the double overdose at George Van-
Deusen's. Most disturbing of all, he repeated Laurie's
name, saying that according to Dr. Laurie Montgomery,
there was reason to believe these deaths were deliberate
homicides, not accidental overdoses, and that the whole
affair potentially represented an extraordinary cover-up on
the part of the New York City police and the medical
examiner's office.

As soon as Mike Schneider moved on to other news,
Laurie dashed into her living room and literally threw pa-
pers aside searching for her address book. Finding Bob
Talbot's number, she punched it into the telephone.

   340

"What did you do to me?" she screamed as soon as he
picked up the phone.

"Laurie, I'm sorry," Bob said. "You must believe me. It
wasn't my fault. To get the story into the morning paper my
editor had me write up a memo to him. I wrote that your
name was not to be included, but he stole the story from me.
It was totally unethical in every regard."

Laurie hung up the phone in disgust. Her heart was
pounding. This was a disaster, a catastrophe. She'd surely
be out of a job. There was no question of gingham's re-
sponse now; he'd be furious. And after this, where would
she ever find a job in forensics?

Laurie walked over to the window and gazed out at the
sad, refuse-strewn warren of neglected backyards. She was
so distressed she felt numb. She couldn't even cry. But as
she stood there looking at the depressing vista, her emo-
tions began to change. After all, her actions had come from
a need to follow her conscience. And gingham had admit-
ted, during her call to him yesterday, that he knew her
intentions were good.

Laurie's initial fear of total calamity mellowed. All at
once she didn't think she would be terminated. Repri-
manded, yes; suspended, possibly; but fired, no. Turning
from the window, she went back into the bathroom to finish
her makeup. The more she thought about the situation, the
calmer she became. She could see herself explaining that she
had been true to her sense of responsibility as a person as
well as a medical examiner.

Returning to the bedroom for the last time, Laurie com-
pleted her dressing. Then, gathering her things, she left her
apartment.

As she was standing at the elevator awaiting its arrival,
she noticed a newspaper in front of a neighbor's door.
Stepping over to it, she slipped it from its plastic cover.
There on the front page as a second headline was the story

   341

of her overdose series. There was even an old picture of her
taken in medical school. Laurie wondered where the picture
had come from.

Opening the paper to the proper page, Laurie read the
first few paragraphs, which were a repeat of Mike
Schneider's summary. But, true to tabloid-style journalism,
there was much more lurid detail, including reference to a
number of victims having been stuffed into refrigerators.
Laurie wondered where that distortion had come from. She
certainly hadn't mentioned anything like that to Bob Tal-
bot. There was also more emphasis on the alleged cover-up,
making it sound far more sinister than Mike Schneider had.

Hearing the elevator arrive behind her, Laurie dropped
the newspaper in front of the proper door and hurried back
before the elevator left. When she was halfway into the car,
she heard Debra Engler's hoarse voice.

"You shouldn't read other people's papers," the woman
said.

For a moment Laurie stood holding the insistent elevator
door from closing. She wanted to turn around and bash her
umbrella against Debra's door to frighten the woman. But
she controlled herself, and finally boarded.

As she descended, Laurie's calmness crumbled and was
replaced by apprehension of meeting with gingham. Laurie
dreaded confrontations. She had never been good at them.

Paul Cerino was hunched over his favorite meal of the
day: breakfast. He was enjoying a hearty feast of eggs over
easy, pork sausage, and biscuits. He was still wearing the
same metal patch over his eye, but he was feeling terrific.

Gregory and Steven were momentarily quiet, eating their
own choice of sugar-coated breakfast cereal which they had
selected from a bewildering choice of single serving boxes.
Each had his own empty box in front of him which he was
studying intently. Gloria had just sat down after having
retrieved the newspaper from the front stoop.

   342

"Read me about yesterday's Giants and Steelers game,"
Paul mumbled with his mouth full.

"Oh my!" Gloria said, staring at the front page.

"What's the matter?" Paul asked.

"There's a story about a bunch of drug deaths of wealthy
and educated young people," Gloria said. "Says here they
think they were murders."

Paul choked violently, spraying most of the food that
he'd had in his mouth out over the table.

"Daaad!" Gregory whined. A layer of partially chewed
egg and sausage had settled on the surface of his Sugar
Pops.

"Paul, are you all right?" Gloria questioned with alarm.

Paul held up a hand to indicate he was fine. His face had
become as red as the heeling patches of skin on his cheeks.
With his other hand he picked up his orange juice and took
a drink.

"I can't eat this," Gregory said looking at his cereal. "It's
going to make me puke."

"I can't either," Steven said, who tended to do just about
everything Gregory did.

"Get yourselves clean bowls," Gloria directed. "Then
pick another cereal."

"Better read me that article about the drug deaths," Paul
said with a hoarse voice.

Gloria read the whole article straight through. When she
was finished, Paul headed for his den.

"Aren't you going to finish your breakfast?" Gloria
called after him.

"In a minute," Paul said. He closed the door of the den
behind him and pressed the button on his automatic dialer
that would connect him to Angelo.

"Who the hell is this?" Angelo muttered sleepily.

"Did you read this morning's paper?"

"How am I going to read this morning's paper? I've been
sleeping. I was out doing you know what until all hours.''

   343

"I want you, Tony, and that harebrained pill-pusher
Travino over here this morning," Paul said. "And read the
paper on the way. We got a problem."

"Franco!" Marie Dominick said with surprise. "Isn't this
a little early for you?"

"I have to talk with Vinnie," Franco said.

"Vinnie's still sleeping," Marie said.

"I figured he was, but if you could please wake him up--"

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Franco said.

"Well, come on in then," Marie said as she opened the
door wide.

Franco stepped inside. "Go on into the kitchen," Marie
said. "There's coffee already made."

Marie disappeared up a short flight of steps while Franco
wandered into the kitchen. Vinnie's little boy, Vinnie Jun-
ior, was seated at the table. The six-year-old was busy slap-
ping a short stack of pancakes with the back side of a
spoon. His older sister, Roslyn, age eleven, was at the stove
poised to turn over the next batch of flapjacks.

Franco poured himself a cup of coffee. Then he wandered
into the living room and sat on a white leather sofa and
gazed at the new peppermint-colored shag carpet. He was
amazed. He didn't think you could buy shag carpet any-
more.

"This better be good!" Vinnie thundered as he came into
the room. He was dressed in a silky, paisley print robe. His
hair, which was normally immaculately slicked back, was
virtually standing on end.

Instead of explaining, Franco handed Vinnie the paper.
Vinnie grabbed it and sat down. "So what am I supposed
to be looking at?" he growled.

"Read the article about drug deaths," Franco said.

Vinnie's forehead wrinkled as he read. He was silent for
about five minutes. Franco sipped his coffee.

   344

"So what the hell?" Vinnie said, looking up. He slapped
the paper with the back of his hand. "What the hell are you
doing waking me up for this?"

"See those names at the end of the list? Fletcher and the
other ones? I followed Angelo and Tony last night. They
whacked those people. My guess is that they've whacked
the whole bunch."

"But why?" Vinnie demanded. "Why with cocaine? They
giving the stuff away?"

"I still don't know why," Franco admitted. "I don't even
know if Angelo and Tony are on their own or taking orders
from Cerino."

"They're taking orders," Vinnie said. "They're too stupid
to do anything on their own. God! This is a disaster. The
whole city is going to be crawling with feds and narcs on top
of normal, everyday cops. What the hell is Cerino doing?
Has he gone crazy? I don't understand."

"I don't either," Franco said. "But I just established a
connection that goes through a couple of people who know
Tony. Someone will get in touch with you."

"We got to do something," Vinnie said, shaking his head.
"We can't let this go on."
"It's hard to know what to do until we know what
Cerino's up to," Franco said. "Give me one more day."

"Only one," Vinnie said. "After that we move."

Laurie was filled with dread as she faced her office build-
ing. What a difference a day made! Yesterday and the day
before she had breezed in and out like she owned the place.
Now she was afraid to cross the threshold. But she knew it
was what she had to do. The calmness she'd felt in her
apartment had vanished.

As she drew closer, she saw that a swarm of restless
reporters had already descended on the place to get the
storyÄher story. Her thoughts had been so focused on
gingham, she hadn't been thinking of them. There we re at

   345

least as many there now as there had been for the preppy
murder II case. Maybe more.

Might as well get it over with, she decided. Entering the
reception area, she was instantly recognized. Microphones
were pushed in her face along with a cacophony of ques-
tions and the pop of camera flashes. Laurie pushed her way
through to the inner door without a word. A uniformed
security man checked her photo identification before admit-
ting her. The reporters were unable to pursue her beyond
that door.

Trying to maintain her composure, Laurie went directly
to the ID office. Vinnie was there reading his paper. Calvin
was there too.

Laurie gazed into the black man's face. He stared back at
her, hiding his feelings. His eyes were like black marbles,
perfectly framed by his wire-rimmed glasses.

"Dr. gingham wants to see you," Calvin said flatly. "Un-
fortunately he can't see you until he finishes dealing with
these reporters. He'll call you in your office."

Laurie would have liked to try to explain, but there
wasn't much she could say. And Calvin didn't seem inter-
ested. He returned to whatever work he was doing when
Laurie had entered. Laurie decided to check the autopsy
schedule before going to her office. Her name was not on
the list. She noticed the three names she'd read in the
newspaper: Kendall Fletcher, Stephanie Haberlin, and
Yvonne Andre. Apparently they were new cases that fit
her series.

Laurie approached Calvin. "I guess you know I'd like to
do the posts on these overdoses," she said.

Calvin looked up from his work. "Personally I don't care
what your preferences are," he said. "The fact of the matter
is that you are to go to your office and wait for Dr. Bing-
ham's call."

Embarrassed at this obvious snub, Laurie glanced at Vin-

   346

nie, but he seemed riveted to the sports page as usual. If
he'd heard the exchange, he wasn't about to show it.

Feeling like a child banished to her room, Laurie went up
to her office. Deciding she might as well try to get some
work done, she sat at her desk and pulled out some folders.
She was just about to start when she sensed someone's
presence. She looked to the open doorway and saw a rum-
pled Lou Soldano. He didn't look happy.

"I personally want to thank you for making my life mis-
erable," Lou said. "Not that I wasn't under enough stress
from the commissioner before your little revelation to the
press, but this just puts the icing on the cake."

"They distorted what I said," Laurie said.

"Oh, sure!" Lou said with sarcasm.

"I never said anything about a cover-up," Laurie said.
"All I said was the police didn't believe the affair involved
them. That's essentially what you told me."

"My own little mischief-maker. It's like your call to Inter-
nal Affairs wasn't enough. You had to be sure to really get
me."

"That call was deserved," Laurie snapped. "And talk
about calls, you couldn't have been much ruder when I
called you yesterday. I've had quite enough of your glib
sarcasm."

Laurie and Lou glared at each other until Lou broke off
and averted his gaze. He stepped into the room and sat
down in his usual chair.

"The comment on the phone was juvenile," he admitted.
"I knew it the second it came out of my mouth. I'm sorry.
The problem is that I'm jealous of the guy. There, I said it.
Whatever is left of my ego, you can kick around as much as
you like."

Laurie?s anger subsided. She let her head fall into her
hands, her elbows on the desk. "And I'm sorry if I caused
you any trouble at work," she said, rubbing her eyes. "I

   347

certainly didn't mean to. But you know how desperate I'd
become. I had to do something in order to live with myself.
I couldn't see any more of these people die without trying
something."

"Did you have any idea of the upheaval you'd be caus-
ing?" Lou asked. "And the effects?"

"I still don't know completely," Laurie said. "I knew
there would be some fallout from the story, otherwise I
wouldn't have given it. But I didn't know the extent. And
I didn't know they'd distort the facts. On top of that they
reneged on my condition of remaining anonymous. I
haven't seen my chief yet, but from the way the deputy chief
spoke with me, it's not going to be a pleasant talk. I could
even be fired."

"He'll be mad," Lou said. "But he won't fire you. He's
got to respect your aims if not your methods. But he's going
to take a lot of heat for this. He won't be a happy man."

Laurie nodded. She appreciated the reassurance she'd
not be terminated.

"Well, I'd love to stick around to see how this all turns
out, but I've got to go. My office is in an uproar, too. I just
had to come down here and get it off my chest. I'm glad I
did. Good luck with your boss."

"Thanks," Laurie said. "And I'm glad you came too."

After Lou left, Laurie put in a call to Jordan. She could
have used some moral support, but he was in surgery and
wasn't expected back in the office until much later.

Laurie was just settling down to work again when there
was a knock on her door. She looked up to see Peter Letter-
man standing before her.

"Dr. Montgomery?" Peter said tentatively.

Laurie welcomed him in and offered him a seat.

"Thank you," Peter said. He sat and gazed around the
office. "Nice place."

"You think so?" Laurie questioned.

   348

"Better than my broom closet," Peter said. "Anyway, I
won't take too much of your time. I just wanted to let you
know that I've finally picked up a trace contaminant or at
least a foreign compound in the sample you sent up from
Randall Thatcher."

"Really!" Laurie said with interest. "What did you find?"

"Ethylene," Peter said. "It was only a trace since the gas
is so volatile, and I haven't been able to isolate it from two
other cases that I tested.?'

"Ethylene?" Laurie questioned. "That's odd. I don't
know what to make of that. I've heard of using ether in free
basing, but not ethylene."

"Free basing is associated with smoking cocaine," Peter
said, "not taking the drug IV the way the folks in your series
did. Besides, even in smoking, ether is only used as a solvent
for extraction. So I don't know why ethylene turned up. It
could even be a laboratory error for all I know. But since
you've been so interested in the possibility of a contami-
nant, I wanted to let you know right away."

"If ethylene is so volatile," Laurie said, "why don't you
look for it in the samples from Robert Evans? Since you
determined he'd died so quickly, maybe there would be
more of a chance to find it if it had been involved.'

"That's a good idea," Peter said. "I'll give it a whirl."
Laurie kept her eyes on the empty doorway for a moment
after Peter had left. Ethylene was hardly the kind of con-
taminant she'd expected. She thought that they might find
some exotic central-nervous-system stimulant like strych-
nine or nicotine. Laurie wasn't familiar with ethylene. She'd
have to do a little research.

Glancing through the pharmacology book she and Riva
kept in the office, Laurie didn't find much on the gas. She
decided to check the office library upstairs. There she found
a long article on ethylene in an old pharmacology book.
Ethylene was featured more prominently in the older book

   349

because it had been used as an anesthetic agent a number of
years ago. It had ultimately been abandoned because it was
lighter than air and flammable. Those two qualities made
the gas too dangerous for use in operating rooms.

In another book Laurie found that ethylene had been
noted around the turn of the century to prevent carnations
in Chicago greenhouses from opening. The ethylene had
been in the greenhouse illuminating gas. On a more positive
note she read that the gas was used to hasten the ripening
of fruit and in the manufacture of certain plastics like poly-
ethylene and Styrofoam.

Although this background information was interesting,
Laurie still didn't see why ethylene would turn up in cocaine
overdose/toxicity cases. Feeling discouraged, she replaced
the books on their respective shelves and returned to her
office, hoping she hadn't missed gingham's call. Maybe
Peter was right: his finding of ethylene had resulted from a
laboratory error.

When Lou got back to police headquarters, he was
handed a stack of urgent messages from his captain, the
area commander, and the police commissioner. Clearly all
of officialdom was in an uproar.

Going into his office, he was surprised to find a newly
appointed detective sitting patiently by his desk. His suit
was new, suggesting he'd only recently become a plain-
clothesman.

"Who are you?" Lou asked.

"Officer O'Brian,"thepoliceman said.

"You have a first name?"

"Yes, sir! It's Patrick."

"Nice Italian name," Lou said.

Patrick laughed.

"What can I do for you?" Lou asked, trying to decide on
the order in which to return his messages.

   350

"Sergeant Norman Carver asked me to come by to t r y to
collate the medical information you have relating to those
gangland killings. You know, all those people who were
also patients of Dr. Jordan Scheffield. He thought I might
be good at it because I'd been premed for a while in college
and had worked in a hospital summers before switching to
law enforcement."

"Sounds reasonable," Lou said.

"I came up with something that might be important,"
Patrick said.

"Uh huh," Lou said. He stared at the messages to call the
police commissioner. That was the one that was the most
disturbing. He'd never gotten a message to call the police
commissioner. It was like a parish priest getting a call from
the pope.

"All the patients had different diagnoses," Patrick con-
tinued, "but they did have one feature in common."

Lou looked up. "Oh?"

Patrick nodded. "They were all scheduled to have sur-
gery. They were all going to have operations on their cor-
neas."

"No kidding?" Lou said.

"No kidding," Patrick said.
After Patrick had left, Lou tried to make sense of it. He'd
been disappointed when he'd failed to find a common link
between the murder victims besides the fact they'd been
patients of Jordan Scheffield. But now there might be some-
thing after all. It couldn't be simple coincidence.

Looking at his stack of phone messages, Lou decide d to
postpone returning the calls. He'd be better offfollowi~-`g up
on this new information. After all, he already knew wh it his
higher-ups were calling him about. They wanted to c om-
plain about his lack of progress in the gangland murders
and probably give him an earful about Laurie's overdose
series to boot. If there was a chance he could start to break

   351

the case with this cornea stuff, he'd be better off pursuing it
now before he spoke to them.

Lou decided to start with the doctor himself. He figured
he'd get the usual runaround, but he was determined to
speak with the man, patients or no.

But when Lou asked for Jordan, Scheffield's receptionist
told him that Jordan was in surgery over at Manhattan
General and that he had many cases scheduled. He
wouldn't be back in the office until late in the day.

Lou pondered his options. Returning his urgent messages
still wasn't his next choice. He decided persistence was the
virtue of the day; he'd pay the eye doc another visit even if
it meant barging in the operating room. He'd witnessed
about a dozen autopsies that week; could surgery be much
worse'?

"What the hell happened?" Paul bellowed. Angelo,
Tony, and Dr. Louis Travino had been hauled on the car-
pet. They stood like errant pupils before the school princi-
pal. Paul Cerino was seated behind his massive partners
desk. He was not happy.

Dr. Travino wiped his forehead nervously with a hand-
kerchief. He was a balding, overweight man with a vague
resemblance to Cerino.

"Isn't somebody going to answer me? What's the matter
with you people? I asked a simple question. How'd this
story get into the papers?" He swatted the newspaper on his
desk in front of him. "All right," Paul said when it was clear
no one was about to volunteer anything. "Let's start from
the beginning. Louie, you told me this 'fruit gas' would not
be detectable."

"That's right," Louie said. "It's not. It's too volatile.
Nothing was said about the gas in the papers."

"True," Paul said. "But then why are they describing
these overdoses as murders?"

   352

"I don't know," Louie replied. "But it wasn't because
they detected the gas."

"You'd better be right," Paul said. "I don't think I have
to remind you I've been covering your sizable gambling
debts. The Vaccarro family would be very unhappy \vith
you if I suddenly wasn't good for the money."

"It wasn't the gas," Louie reiterated.

"So what was it? I'm telling you, this article has given me
a very bad feeling. If someone's screwed up, heads are going
to roll."

"This is the first suggestion of trouble," Louie said. "C)th-
erwise everything has been doing fine. And look at you,
you're doing great."

"Then how did this female doe come up with the real
story?" Paul asked. "This Laurie Montgomery is the same
broad who blabbed to Lou Soldano about the acid being
tossed in my face. Who is this chick?"

"She's one of the medical examiners in the Manhattan
office," Louie said.

"You mean like that character Quincy that used to be on
TV?" Paul asked.

"Well, it's a little different in real life," Louie said. "But
basically the same."

"So how did she suspect something?" Paul asked. "I
thought you said there'd be no figuring this. How did 1 his
Laurie Montgomery guess what was going on?"
"I don't know," Louie said. "Maybe this is something we
should ask Dr. Montgomery."

Cerino considered the suggestion for a moment. "To tell
you the truth," he said, "I'd been thinking the same thing.
Besides this Laurie Montgomery could become a big pain
in the ass if she keeps up the detective work. Angelo, you
think you might arrange a little, er, interview with the little
lady?"

"No problem," Angelo said. "You want her, I'll get her."

   353

"It's the only thing I can think to do," Paul said. "And
after we've had a little chat, I think the best thing this lady
doc could do is disappear. I mean completely. I'm talking
no body, nothing."

"Isn't the Montego Bay going to be leaving soon?" An-
gelo asked.

"Yeah," Paul said. "She's about to pull anchor and head
for Jamaica. Good idea. Okay, bring her to the pier. I want
Dr. Louie to question her."

"I don't like being directly involved in something like
this," Louie said.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you say that," Paul
said. "You're involved in this operation up to your eyeballs,
so don't give me any crap."

"When do you want us to move?" Angelo asked.

"This afternoon or tonight," Paul said. "We can't wait
around for things to get worse. Doesn't that Amendola kid
work over there at the morgue? What's his name? The
family's from Bayside?"

"Vinnie," Tony said. "Vinnie Amendola."

"Yeah," Cerino said. "Vinnie Amendola. He works at
the morgue. Talk to him, maybe he'll help. Remind him
what I did for his old man when he had trouble with the
union. And take this." He pointed to the newspaper. "I
understand the lady doe's picture's in the paper. Use that to
make sure you get the right person."

After his guests had departed, Cerino used his automatic
dialer to call Jordan's office. When the receptionist ex-
plained that the doctor was in surgery, Cerino told her he
wanted his call returned within the hour. Jordan got back
to him in fifteen minutes.

"I don't like what's going on," Jordan said before Paul
could say a word. "When we talked about some sort of
business association, you told me there would be no prob-
lems. That was two days ago and already there's a major
scandal brewing. I don't like it."

   354

"Calm down, Doc," Cerino said. "All businesses have
some start-up pains. Stay cool. I just wanted to be sure you
didn't do anything foolish. Something you'd regret."

"You got me involved in this by threatening me. Is this
the same kind of scare tactic?"

"I guess that's what you could call it," Paul said. "De-
pends on your point of view. Me, I thought we were talking
one businessman to another. I just wanted to remind you
you're dealing with professionals like yourself."

The call, when it came, was from gingham's secretary.
She asked Laurie if she would come to Dr. gingham's office.
Laurie had said of course.

gingham's expression was solemn when Laurie stepped
into his office. Laurie could tell he was trying to maintain
his composure much as she was trying to retain her nerve.

"I truly don't understand you, Doctor," gingham said
finally. His face was hard, his voice firm. "You have deliber-
ately countermanded my directive. I specifically warned you
about going to the media with your own opinions, yet: you
willfully disobeyed me. Given such willful disregard for my
authority, you leave me no choice but to terminate your
employment at this office."

"But Dr. ginghamÄ" Laurie began.

"I don't want any excuses or explanations," gingham
interrupted. "According to regulations I have the right to
terminate you at my discretion since you are still within the
probational first year of your employment. However, if y ou
demand in writing a hearing on this issue, I will not block
it. Beyond that, I have nothing more to say to you, Dr.
Montgomery. That will be all."

"But Dr. ginghamÄ" Laurie started again.

"That will be all!" Dr. gingham shouted. The tiny capil-
laries that wrapped around his nostrils dilated, turning Lois
whole nose a bright red.

Hastily Laurie scrambled from her chair and fled out of

   355

gingham's office. She consciously avoided the stares of the
administrative secretaries who'd undoubtedly heard Bing-
ham's outburst. Without stopping, she went up to her office
and closed the door. Sitting at her desk, she looked at its
cluttered surface. She was in shock. She'd talked herself out
of the possibility of being fired, yet that was exactly what
had happened. Once again she found herself fighting tears
and wishing that she had more control over her emotions.

With trembling fingers she opened her briefcase and emp-
tied out all the files she had in it. Then she packed it with
her personal belongings. Books and that sort of thing she'd
have to come back for at a later date. She did take out the
summary sheet of the overdose series from the central desk
drawer and put it into her briefcase. With her coat on, her
umbrella under her arm, and her briefcase in her hand, she
closed and locked her door.

She didn't leave the building immediately. Instead she
went down to the toxicology lab to find Peter Letterman.
She told him that she'd been let go but that she was still
interested in the results of his tests with respect to her series.
She asked if he'd mind if she checked in. Peter said that he
wouldn't mind at all. Laurie knew he was eager to ask
about what had happened with gingham, but he didn't.

Laurie was about to head out when she remembered the
test she'd requested from the DNA lab one floor below. She
was interested to know about the sample she'd taken from
Julia Myerholtz's fingernail. What she was hoping for was
something positive even though she did not expect it. To her
astonishment her wish came true.

"The final result won't be ready for a long time," the
technician explained when Laurie inquired about the status
of the specimen. "But I'm ninety-nine-percent sure that the
two samples came from two different people."

Laurie was stunned. Here was another baffling piece to
the puzzle. What could it mean'? Was it another clue that

   356

pointed to homicide? She didn't know. The only thing she
could think to do was call Lou. She went back to her of lice
and tried to reach him but was told that he was out. The
police operator didn't know when he'd be back and had no
way to reach him unless it was an emergency. Laurie was
disappointed. She realized she would also like to tell I,ou
about getting fired, yet she could hardly justify saying it was
an emergency. She thanked the operator and didn't leave a
message. She relocked her door.

Laurie thought it best to leave via the morgue. That way
she'd stand less of a chance of running into either gingham
or Calvin. She'd also have a chance to avoid the press.
However, when she reached the morgue level, she thought
of one more thing she wanted to do: get the addresses and
the details of the three cases that had come in overnight.
Her only chance at possibly getting her job back lay in
proving her allegations. If she could do that, then she
thought she'd request that hearing gingham had men-
tioned.

Laurie quickly changed into scrub clothes and entered
the autopsy room.

As usual on a Monday morning, all tables were in use.
Laurie went to the master schedule and saw that the three
cases she was interested in had been given to George Font-
worth. She joined him at his table. He and Vinnie had
already gotten a start.

"I can't talk to you," George said. "I know it sounds
crazy, but gingham came down here to tell me you'd been
fired and that I absolutely was not to speak to you. If you
want you can call me tonight at home."

"Just answer me this," Laurie said. "Are these cases like
the others?"
"I guess," George said. "This is the first one, so I don't
know for sure about the others, but from glancing through
the folders, I'd say so."

   357

"For now all I want are the addresses," Laurie said. "Let
me take the investigator's reports for a minute, then I'll
bring them right back."

"I don't know what I've done to deserve this," George
said, rolling his eyes. "Just make it quick. If anybody asks,
I'm going to say you came in here and took them when I
wasn't looking."

Laurie got the papers she wanted from George's folders
and went back to the locker room. She copied down the
three addresses and put them in her briefcase. Back in the
autopsy room, she slipped the reports into their respective
folders.

"Thanks, George," Laurie said.

"I never saw you," George answered.

Returning to the locker room, Laurie slowly put on her
street clothes. Then, with her things in hand, she walked the
length of the morgue, past the mortuary office, and past the
security office. At the morgue loading dock were several
mortuary vans with HEALTH AND HOSPITAL CORP. stenciled
on the sides.

Walking between the vans, Laurie emerged on Thirtieth
Street. It was a gray, rainy, clammy day. Opening her um-
brella, Laurie began to trudge up toward First Avenue. As
far as she was concerned, it was the nadir of her life.

Tony got out of Angelo's car. He was just slamming the
door when he noticed that Angelo hadn't moved. He was
still sitting behind the wheel.

"What's the matter?" Tony asked. "I thought we were
going inside."

"I don't like the idea of going into the morgue," Angelo
admitted.

"You want me to go in there by myself??' Tony asked.

"No," Angelo said. "I like that idea even less." Angelo
reluctantly opened his door and stepped out. He pulled an

   358

umbrella from the floor of the backseat and snapped it
open. Then he locked the car.

At the security office Angelo asked for Vinnie Amendola.

"Go on into the mortuary office," the guard said. ' It's
just ahead, on your left."

Angelo didn't like the city morgue any better than he'd
thought he would. It looked bad and smelled bad. Tlley
hadn't been there three minutes and already he couldn't
wait to get out.

At the mortuary office he again asked for Vinnie. IJe
explained that it was something about Vinnie's father. The
man asked Angelo and Tony to wait there; he'd be right
back with Vinnie.

Five minutes later Vinnie came into the mortuary office
in his green scrub clothes. He looked upset. "What about
my father?" he asked.

Angelo put an arm around Vinnie's shoulder. "Could we
speak in private?" he asked. Vinnie let himself be led into
the hall.

Vinnie looked him straight in the eye. "My father has
been dead for two years," he said. "What's this about'?'

"We're friends of Paul Cerino," Angelo said. "We were
supposed to remind you that Mr. Cerino helped your father
once with the unions. Mr. Cerino would appreciate having
his favor returned. There's a doctor here by the name of
Laurie MontgomeryÄ"

"She's not here anymore," Vinnie interrupted.

"What do you mean?" Angelo asked.

"She was fired this morning," Vinnie said.

"Then we need her address," Angelo said. "Could you
get that for us? And remember, this is just between US. I'm
sure 1 don't have to spell it out for you."

"I understand," Vinnie said. "Hang on, I'll be right
back."

Angelo sat back down, but he didn't have to wait. tor

   359

long. Vinnie came back with Laurie's address and even her
phone number as speedily as promised. He explained he got
the information from the on-call schedule.

Relieved to be leaving the morgue, Angelo nearly jogged
back to his car.

"What's the plan?" Tony asked once Angelo had started
the engine.

"No time like the present. Let's go to the broad's apart-
ment now. We're even in the neighborhood."

Fifteen minutes later they had parked on Nineteenth
Street and were walking toward Laurie's apartment build-
ing.

"How are we going to handle this?" Tony asked.

"We'll try the usual way," Angelo said. "Use our police
badges. As soon as we get her in the car, we're golden."

In the foyer of Laurie's building they got her apartment
number from her mailbox. The inner door was not much of
a barrier to the likes of Angelo. Two minutes later they were
in the elevator heading for the fifth floor.

They went directly to Laurie's door and pressed her
buzzer. When there was no response, Angelo hit it again.

"She must be out looking for another job," Tony said.

"Looks like quite a set of locks," Angelo said, studying
the door.

Tony's eyes left the door and roamed around the tiny
hall. His eyes instantly locked onto Debra Engler's. Tony
tapped Angelo on the shoulder and whispered, "We got one
of the neighbors looking at us."

Angelo turned in time to see Debra's probing eye through
her narrowly opened door. As soon as his eye caught hers,
she slammed the door shut. Angelo could hear her locks
clicking in place.

"Damn!" Angelo whispered.

"What should we do?" Tony asked.

"Let's go back to the car," Angelo said.

   360

A few minutes later they were seated in Angelo's car in
full view of the entrance to Laurie's building. Tony yawned.
In spite of himself, Angelo did the same.

"I'm exhausted," Tony complained.

"Me too," Angelo said. "I'd expected to sleep all day
today."

"Think we should break into the apartment?" T ony
asked.

"I'm thinking about it," Angelo admitted. "With all
those locks it might take a few minutes. And I don't know
what to do about that witch in the other apartment. Did
you catch her face? How would you like to wake up with
that in bed with you."

"This chick's not bad looking," Tony said, gazing at the
picture of Laurie in the paper. "I could go for something
like that."

Lou helped himself to another cup of coffee. He was
waiting in Manhattan General Hospital's surgical lounge,
where he'd surprised Jordan on their last encounter. But
that time Lou had had to wait for only twenty minutes.
Already he'd been there well over an hour. He was begin-
ning to doubt the wisdom of putting this hoped-for inter-
view with Jordan ahead of returning his superior's calls.

Just when Lou was thinking about leaving, Jordan en-
tered the room. He went directly to a small refrigerator and
pulled out a carton of orange juice.

Lou watched Jordan take a long drink. He waited until
Jordan came over to the couch to look through the newspa-
per lying there. Then Lou spoke up.

"Jordan, old boy," Lou said. "Imagine running into you
here, of all places."

Jordan frowned when he recognized Lou. "Not you
again."

"I'm touched you're so friendly," Lou said. "It must be

   361

all the surgery you've been doing that's got you in such an
affable mood. You know what they say, make hay while the
sun shines."

"Nice seeing you again, Lieutenant." Jordan finished the
juice and tossed the carton into the wastebasket.

"Just a second," Lou said. He got up and blocked Jor-
dan's exit. Lou had the definite impression Jordan was
being even less cooperative than he'd been during their
previous meeting. He was also more upset. Beneath the
brusque facade the man was definitely nervous.

"I have more surgery to perform," Jordan said.

"I'm sure you do," Lou said. "Which makes me feel a
little better. I mean, it's nice to know that not all your
patients scheduled for surgery meet violent deaths at the
hands of professional hit men."

"What are you talking about?" Jordan demanded.

"Oh, Jordan, indignation becomes you. But I'd appreci-
ate it if you'd cut the crap and come clean. You know full
well what I'm talking about. Last time I was here I asked
you if there was anything these murdered patients of yours
had in common. Like maybe they were suffering from the
same ailment or something. You were happy to tell me I
was wrong. What you failed to tell me was that they were
all scheduled to undergo surgery by your capable hands."

"It hadn't occurred to me at the time," Jordan said.

"Sure!" Lou said sarcastically. He was certain Jordan
was lying, yet at the same time Lou was not sure of his
objectivity in judging Jordan. As Lou had recently admitted
to Laurie, he was jealous of Jordan. He was jealous of the
man's tall good looks, of his Ivy League education, his
silver-spooned past, his money, and his relationship with
Laurie.

"It didn't occur to me until I got back to the office,"
Jordan said. "After I looked at their charts."

"But even once you did realize this connecting factor,

   362

you failed to let me know. We'll let that go for the moment.
My question now is: How do you explain it?"

"I can't," Jordan said. "As far as I can tell, it's extraordi-
nary coincidence. Nothing more, nothing less."

"You don't have the slightest idea why these murders
were committed?"

"None," Jordan said. "And I certainly hope and pray
there are no more. The last thing I want to happen is see my
surgical population decreasing in any form or fashion, par-
ticularly in such a savage way."

Lou nodded. Knowing what he did about Jordan, he
believed this part.

"What about Cerino?" Lou asked after a pause.

"What about him?"

"He's still waiting for another operation," Lou said. "Is
there any way this murder streak could be related to
Cerino? Do you think that he's at risk?"

"I suppose anything is possible," Jordan said. "But I've
been treating Paul Cerino for months and nothing has hap-
pened to him. I can't imagine he's involved or specifically at
risk."

"If you have any ideas, get back to me," Lou said.

"Absolutely, Lieutenant," Jordan said.

Lou stepped out of the way and Jordan pushed through
the swinging doors and disappeared from view.

Laurie decided that even if nothing panned out, il she
failed to turn up any useful information, at least she was
keeping busy. And keeping busy meant she couldn't dwell
on her situation: she was unemployed in a city that was
hardly cheap to live in and she might even be out of foren-
sics. She could hardly expect a recommendation from E3ing-
ham. But she wouldn't think about that just then. Instead
she decided to follow through and get more information for
her series. There were three more overdoses to be investi-

   363

gated. How were the bodies discovered and were the de-
ceased seen going into their apartments that fateful evening
in the company of two men?

Inside an hour, Laurie hit pay dirt at Kendall Fletcher's
apartment building, and it all sounded familiar. Fletcher
had gone out to jog but had returned very soon afterÄwith
two men. The doorman never saw the two men leave the
apartment. Several hours after Fletcher had returned, an
unnamed tenant called to complain about noise in 25G. The
tenant feared that someone inside 25G might be hurt. The
superintendent responded to the call; that's when Fletcher's
body was discovered.

Laurie had less luck at Stephanie Haberlin's. The woman
lived in a converted brownstone with no doorman. Laurie
decided to leave that case for the time being and head on to
the third and final location.

Yvonne Andre lived in a building similar to Kendall
Fletcher's. Laurie made use of her medical examiner's
badge just as she had at Fletcher's. The doorman, who
introduced himself as Timothy, was more than happy to
help. Just as with Kendall Fletcher, Ms. Andre had entered
her building along with two men. Timothy couldn't de-
scribe the men, but he distinctly remembered their coming.

When Laurie asked who'd found the body, Timothy re-
plied that Jose, the super, had. Laurie asked if she could
speak with him. Timothy said of course. He called out to a
lean man in a tan uniform who was at that moment repair-
ing a piece of furniture in the foyer. Jose immediately joined
them and introductions were made.

"So how was it that you found the body?" Laurie asked.

"The night doorman called me asking me to check the
Andre apartment."

"Let me guess," Laurie said. "The night doorman had
been called by a tenant complaining that strange noises
were coming from the Andre apartment."

   364

Jose and Timothy gazed at Laurie with surprise and re-
spect.

"Ah," Jose said with a smile. "You've been talking with
the police."

"Where in the apartment did you find the body?" Laurie
asked.

"In the living room," Jose said.

"What did the apartment look like?" Laurie asked.
"Was anything broken? Did it look as if there'd been a
struggle?"

"I didn't really look around," Jose said. "Not alter I
spotted Ms. Andre. The police were here, of course, but no
one has touched anything. You want to see it?"

"I'd love to," Laurie answered.

They went directly to Yvonne's apartment on the fourth
floor. Jose opened the door with his passkey and stepped
aside.

Laurie went in first. She hadn't taken more than five steps
in the door when she nearly collided with an elegantly
dressed, middle-aged woman who had responded to the
sound of the key in the lock. The woman was quite stunning
although she looked as if she'd been crying. She clutched a
tissue in her hand.

"Excuse me," Laurie said with embarrassment. She was
appalled that the apartment was occupied.

The woman started to say something when she recog-
nized Jose.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Andre," Jose said. "I didn't know any-
one was here. T his is Dr. Montgomery from the medical
examiner's office."

"Who is it, dear'?" A tall, gray-haired man appeared in
the doorway to the kitchen.

"It's the superintendent," Mrs. Andre managed. "And
this is Dr. Montgomery from the medical examiner's of-
fice."

   365

"From the medical examiner's office here in Manhat-
tan?" Mr. Andre questioned.

"That's right," Laurie said. "I'm terribly sorry for this
intrusion. Jose suggested I come up here. I had no idea
you'd be here."

"Nor did I," Jose added quickly.

"It's all right," Mrs. Andre said. She raised the tissue to
dab at the corners of her eyes as she wistfully looked around
the living room. "We were just going through some of
Yvonne's things."

"If you'll excuse me," Mr. Andre said. He abruptly
turned and disappeared back toward the kitchen.

"I can return at a later time," Laurie said, taking a step
back toward the door. "I'm terribly sorry about your loss."

"Oh, don't go," Mrs. Andre said, holding out a hand
toward Laurie. "Please. Come in. Sit down. It's better for
me to talk about it."

Laurie glanced at Jose. She wasn't sure what she
should do.

"I'll leave you people," Jose said. "If you need anything,
please call."

Laurie wanted to leave. The last thing she should be
doing was consoling the loved ones of the deceased. Look
where it had gotten her when she'd tried to comfort Sara
Wetherbee, Duncan Andrews' girlfriend. But Laurie didn't
feel she could simply walk out on the obviously bereaved
mother now that she'd burst in on her. With some misgiv-
ings Laurie allowed herself to be guided toward the sitting
area. Mrs. Andre sat on a love seat. Laurie took a side
chair.

"You can't imagine what a shock this has been to us,"
Mrs. Andre said. "Yvonne was such a good, generous
daughter, selfless to a fault. She was always devoting herself
to one charitable cause or another."

Laurie nodded sympathetically.

"Greenpeace, Amnesty International, NARAL. You

   366

name a good liberal cause, chances were she was active in
it."

Laurie knew she didn't need to say much. It was enough
just to listen.

"She had two new ones," Mrs. Andre said with an ag-
grieved laugh. "At least they were new to us: animal rights
and organ donation. It's such an irony that she died of a
heart attack. I think she'd really hoped some of her organs
would be used to a good purpose someday. Oh, not anytime
soon, mind you, but she very much did not want to be
buried. She was quite adamant about it; she thought it was
a terrible waste of resources and space."

"I wish more people felt as your daughter did," Laurie
said. "If they did, doctors could really begin to save more
lives." She wanted to be very careful not to contradict the
poor woman's notion that her daughter had died of a heart
attack, not because of cocaine.

"Maybe you'd like to have some of Yvonne's books,"
Mrs. Andre said. "I don't know what we are going to do
with them all." Clearly the woman was desperate to talk to
someone.

Before Laurie could respond to her generous offer, Mr.
Andre stormed back into the room. His face was flushed.
"What's the matter, Walter?" Mrs. Andre asked. Her
husband was clearly upset.

"Dr. Montgomery!" Mr. Andre sputtered, ignoring his
wife. "I happen to be on the Board of Trustees of Manhat-
tan General Hospital. I also happen to know Dr. Harold
gingham personally. Having spoken with him earlier about
my daughter, I was rather surprised when you showed up.
So I called him back. He is on the phone now and would
like a word with you."

Laurie swallowed with some difficulty. She got up and
walked past Mr. Andre into the kitchen. Hesitantly, she
picked up the phone.

"Montgomery!" gingham thundered after Laurie an-

   367

swered.She had to move the receiver a few inches from her
ear. "What in God's name are you doing at Yvonne
Andre's apartment? You've been fired! Do you hear me? I'll
have you arrested for impersonating a city official if you
keep this up! Do you understand me?"

Laurie was about to reply when she caught sight of a
business card tacked to a bulletin board on the wall behind
the phone. It was a business card for a Mr. Jerome Hoskins
at the Manhattan Organ Repository.

"Montgomery!" gingham shouted again. "Answer me.
What the hell do you think you're up to?"

Laurie hung up without saying a word to gingham. With
trembling hand, she took the card off the board. Suddenly
the pieces fit together, and what a terrible, hideous picture
they formed. Laurie almost couldn't believe it, yet from the
moment everything clicked, she knew the awful, inexorable
truth could not be refuted. The thing to do, of course, was
to call Lou. But before she did that, there was one other
place she wanted to visit.

  368

   15

4:15 P.M., MONDAY
   MANHATTAN

Lou Soldano was back in the surgical lounge at Manh; Ittan
General for the second time that day. But on this visit he
wouldn't have long to wait. This time he'd called the operat-
ing room supervisor and asked when Dr. Scheffield w ould
be through with his surgery. Lou had timed his arrival so
that he'd catch Jordan just as he was coming out.

After waiting for less than five minutes, Lou was pleased
to see the good doctor as he strode confidently through the
lounge and into the locker room. Lou followed, hat in hand
and trench coat over his arm. He kept his distance until
Jordan had tossed his soiled scrub shirt and pants inl`'the
laundry bin. It had been Lou's plan to catch the man m his
skivvies, when he was psychologically vulnerable. I' was
Lou's belief that interrogation worked better when the sub-
ject was off balance.

  369

"Hey, Doc,"he called softly. Jordan spun around. Th'
man was obviously tense.

"Excuse me," Lou said, scratching his head. "I hate to be
a bother, but I thought of something else."

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Jordan snapped.
"Colombo?"

"Very good," Lou said. "I didn't think you'd get it. But
now that I have your attention, there is something I wanted
to ask you."

"Make it fast, Lieutenant," Jordan said. "I've been stuck
over here all day and I got an office full of unhappy pa-
tients." He went to the sink and turned on the water.

"When I was here earlier, I mentioned that the patients
who'd been killed were all waiting for surgery. But I failed
to ask what kind of operations they were scheduled to have.
I mean, I was told they were going to be corneal operations
of some sort. Doc, fill me in. Just what was it you were
going to do for these people?"

Jordan stood up from having been bent over the sink.
Water dripped from his face. He nudged Lou to the side to
get at the towels. He took one and vigorously dried his skin,
making it glow.

"They were going to have corneal transplants," Jordan
said finally, eyeing himself in the mirror.

"That's interesting," Lou said. "They all had different
diagnoses but they were all going to get the same treat-
ment."

"That's right, Lieutenant," Jordan said. He walked away
from the sink to his locker. He spun the wheel on the
combination lock.

Lou followed him like a dog. "I would have thought
different diagnoses required different treatments."

"It's true these people all had different diagnoses," Jor-
dan explained. He began dressing. "But the physiological
infirmity was the same. Their corneas weren't clear."

370

"But isn't that treating the symptom and not the dis

ease?" Lou asked.

Jordan stopped buttoning his shirt to stare at Lou. "I
think I have underestimated you," he said. "You are actu-
ally quite right. But often where the eye is concerned, we do
precisely that. Of course, before you perform a transplant
you have to treat the cause of the opacity. You do that so
you can be reasonably sure the problem will not recur in the
transplanted tissue, and with the proper treatment, it gener-
ally doesn't."

"Gee," Lou said, "maybe I could have been a doctor if
I'd had the chance to go to an Ivy League school like
you."

Jordan went back to his buttoning of his shirt. ' That
comment was much more in character," he said.

"One way or the other," Lou said, "isn't it surprising that
all your murdered patients were scheduled for the same
operation?"

"Not at all," Jordan said as he continued to dress. '~I'm
a superspecialist. Cornea is my area of expertise. I've just
done four today."

"Most of your operations are corneal transplants? ' I ou
asked.

"Maybe ninety percent. Even more, lately."

"What about Cerino?" Lou asked.
"Same thing," Jordan said. "But with Cerino I'll be
doing two procedures, since both eyes were all ected
equally."

"Oh," Lou said. Once again he was running out oi ques-
tions.

"Don't get me wrong, Lieutenant. I'm still shocked and
distressed to know that these patients of mine were mur-
dered. But knowing that these patients were killed, Isn't not
at all surprised to know they were all slated for corneal
transplants. As my patients, almost by definition that

   371

would have to be expected. Now, is there anything else
Lieutenant?" He pulled on his jacket.

"Was there anything about the corneal transplants these
people were waiting for that set them apart from other
recipients?"

"Nope," Jordan said.

"What about Marsha Schulman? Could she have been
associated with these patients' deaths?"

"She wasn't waiting for an operation."

"But she'd met the people," Lou said.

"She was my main secretary. She met practically every-
one who came into the office."

Lou nodded.

"Now if you'll excuse me, Lieutenant, I really must go to
the recovery room to check on my last case. Good seeing
you again." With that, he was gone.

Discouraged again, Lou returned to his car. He'd been so
sure that he'd hit on the crucial fact when Patrick O'Brian
had come into his office to tell him that the dead patients
were all to have the same operation. Now Lou thought it
was just another dead end.

Lou pulled out into the street and instantly got bogged
down in traffic. Rush hour was always murder in New
York, and on rainy days it was even worse. When Lou
glanced over at the sidewalk, he realized the pedestrians
were moving faster than he was.

With time to think, Lou tried to review the facts of the
case. He had a hard time getting past Dr. Jordan Schef-
field's personality. God, how he hated the guy. And it
wasn't just because of Laurie, although there was that. The
guy was so smug and condescending. He was surprised
Laurie didn't see it.

Suddenly the car behind Lou's rammed into his. His head
snapped back, then forward. In a fit of anger, Lou jammed
on the emergency brake and leaped out. The guy behind

372

him had gotten out, too. Lou was chagrined to see that the
man was at least two hundred and fifty pounds of solid
muscle.

"Watch where you're going," Lou said, shaking his l~n-
ger. He walked around to check the back of his Caprice.
There was a bit of paint from the guy's car on his bumper.
He could have played tough cop but he chose not to. He
rarely did; it took too much effort.

"Sorry, man," the other driver said.

"No harm done," Lou said. He got back into the car.
Inching forward in the traffic, he turned his head to the left
and right. He hoped he wouldn't suffer any whiplash

Suddenly the glimmer of an idea started to take shape in
Lou's head. Getting hit had worked some sense into him.
How could he not have seen? For a moment he stared into
space, mesmerized by the solution that had crystallized so
suddenly in his brain. He was so deep in thought, the big
guy behind him had to beep to get him to move ahead.

"Holy crap," Lou said aloud. He wondered why it had
not occurred to him before. As hideously outlandish as it
was, all the facts seemed to fit.

Snapping up his cellular phone, he tried Laurie at the
medical examiner's office. The operator told him she'd been
terminated.

"What?" Lou demanded.

"She's been fired," the operator said and hung up
Lou quickly dialed Laurie's home number. He kicked
himself for not having tried to call her earlier to find out
what had happened when she saw her chief. Obviously the
meeting had not gone well.

Lou was disappointed to get Laurie's answering machine.
He left a message for her to call him ASAP at the office and
if not there, at home.

Lou hung up the phone. He felt badly for Laurie. Losing
her job had to have been an enormous blow for her. Sloe was

   378

one of those rare people who liked her job as much as Lou
liked his.

"There she is!" Tony cried. He gave Angelo a shove to
wake him up.

Angelo shook his head, then squinted through the wind-
shield. It had gotten dark during the short time he'd been
asleep. His mind felt fuzzy. But he could see the woman
Tony was pointing at. She was only ten feet from her build-
ing and heading for the door.

"Let's go," Angelo said. He piled out of the car, then
almost fell on his face. His left leg had gone to sleep in the
weird position he'd assumed when he'd closed his eyes.

Tony was significantly ahead as Angelo tried to run on a
leg that felt more like wood than bones and muscle. By the
time he got to the door, the leg was feeling like pins and
needles from the crotch down. He pulled open the door to
see Tony already conversing with the woman.

"We want to talk with you down at the station," Tony
was saying, trying to imitate Angelo.

Angelo could see that he was holding his badge too high
so that Laurie Montgomery could read what it said if she so
chose.

Angelo pulled Tony's arm down and smiled. He noticed
that Laurie was as good-looking a woman as Tony had
guessed from the photo.

"We'd like to talk to you just for a few moments," An-
gelo said. "Purely routine. We'll have you back here in less
than an hour. It has to do with the medical examiner's
office."

"I don't have to go anyplace with you."

"I don't think you want to create a scene," Angelo said.

"I don't even have to talk with you."

Angelo could tell Laurie was not going to be an easy
broad. "I'm afraid we have to insist," he said calmly.

   379

"I don't even recognize you men. What precinct are you
from?"

Angelo cast a quick glance over his shoulder. No one was
coming into the building. This pickup was going to take
force. Angelo glanced at Tony and gave a tiny nod.

Getting the message, Tony reached into his jacket and
pulled out his Beretta Bantam. He pointed it at Laurie.

Angelo winced as Laurie let out an ear-piercing scream
that could have awakened the dead as far away as Saint
John's Cemetery in Rego Park.

With his free hand, Tony reached out and grabbed Laurie
by the neck, intending to force her to the car. Instead, he got
a briefcase in the groin. He doubled over in pain. As soon
as he straightened back up, Tony pointed his gun at the
woman's chest and fired two quick shots. Laurie went clown
instantly.

The shots were deafening; Tony hadn't put his silencer
on, not thinking he'd have to resort to force. The smell of
cordite hung in the air.

"What the hell did you shoot her for?" Angelo de-
manded. "We were supposed to bring her in alive."

"I lost my head," Tony said. "She hit me in the nuts with
her goddamn briefcase."

"Let's get her the hell out of here," Angelo ordered.

Together they each grabbed one of Laurie's arms. Angelo
bent down and grabbed her briefcase. Then the two men
half-dragged, half-carried Laurie's lifeless body to their car.
Dead or alive, they could still get her to the Montego Bay.

As quickly as possible they shoved her into the backseat
of the car. A few pedestrians eyed them suspiciously, but
no one said anything. Tony climbed in beside her while
Angelo jumped into the front seat and started the car. As
soon as the engine responded, he pulled out into l'iine-
teenth Street.

"She better not be bleeding on that upholstery'" Angelo

   375

said, glancing in the rearview mirror. He could see Tony
struggling with the body. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Trying to get her purse out from under her," Tony said.
He grunted. "It's like she's got a death grip on it, as if it
matters at this point."

"She dead?" Angelo asked. He was still furious.

"She hasn't moved," Tony said. "Ah, got it!" He held up
the purse as if it were a trophy.

"If Cerino asks me what happened," Angelo snapped.
"I'm going to have to tell him."

"I'm sorry," Tony said. "I told you. I lost my head. Hey,
look at this! This broad is loaded." He waved a handful of
twenties that he pulled from a wallet.

"Just keep her out of view," said Angelo.

"Oh, no!" Tony cried.

"What's the matter now?" Angelo demanded.

"This chick isn't Laurie Montgomery," Tony said, look-
ing up from a piece of identification. "It's a Maureen Whar-
ton, an Assistant D.A. But she looks just like that photo."
Tony leaned forward and picked up the newspaper with
Laurie's photo. Brushing Maureen's hair to the side, he
compared her face to the one in the photo. "Well, it's pretty
close," he said.

Angelo gripped the steering wheel so hard that the blood
drained from his hand. He was going to have to tell Cerino
about Tony whether he asked or not. Because of Tony they
had whacked the wrong woman, an Assistant D.A., no less.
This kid was driving him berserk.

"It's meÄPonti," Franco said. He'd put a call through to
Vinnie Dominick. "I'm in the car heading for the tunnel. I
just wanted you to know that I just watched the two guys
we've discussed hit another young woman in broad day-
light. It's crazy. It makes no sense."

"I'm glad you called," Vinnie said. "I've been trying to

   376

get ahold of you. That snitch you set me up with, that I r lend
of a friend of Tony Ruggerio's girlfriend, just clued Nile in.
He knows what they're doing. It's unbelievable. ~ ou'd
never have figured it out."

"Want me to come back?" Franco asked.

"No, stay on those two," Vinnie said. "I'm headin ~ out
now to talk directly with some Lucia people. We'll figure
out what to do. We got to stop Cerino but in a way to take
advantage of the situation. Capisce?"

Franco hung up the phone. Angelo's car was about five
carlengths ahead. Now that Vinnie knew what was cooing
on, Franco was dying to know as well.

Cupping her hands around her face, Laurie pressed them
against the locked glass doors of the converted brownstone
on East Fifty-fifth Street. She could make out a `~et of
marble steps that rose up to another closed door.

Laurie stepped back to view the front of the building. It
was five stories tall with a bow front. The second floor had
tall windows from which light poured. The third floor had
lights as well. Above that the windows were dark.

To the right of the door was a brass plate that said

MANHATTAN ORGAN REPOSITORY: HOURS NINE TO FIVE. Since
it was after five, Laurie understood why the front floors
were locked. But the lights on the second and third floors
suggested that the building was still occupied, and Laurie
was determined to talk with someone.

Going back to the door, Laurie knocked again just as
loudly as she had when she'd first arrived. Still n`:, one
responded.

Looking to the left, Laurie noticed a service ent ance.
Walking over to this door, she tried to peer inside but saw
nothing. It was totally black. Returning to the main door,
Laurie was about to knock again when she noticed iome-
thing she'd not seen. Below the brass plate and partially

   377

hidden from view by the ivy that snaked up the building's
facade a small brass bell. Laurie pushed it and waited.

A few minutes later the foyer beyond the glass doors
illuminated. Then the inner door opened and a woman in a
long, tight, unadorned wool dress came down the few mar-
ble steps. She had to walk sideways because of the snugness
of the dress about her legs. She appeared to be in her
mid-fifties. Her humorless face was stern and her hair was
pulled back in a tight bun.

Coming to the door, she pantomimed that they were
closed. To emphasize her point, she repeatedly pointed at
her watch.

Laurie mimed in return, indicating that she wanted to
talk with someone by making her hand move as if she were
operating a hand puppet. When that didn't work, Laurie
took out her medical examiner's badge and flashed it de-
spite gingham's dire warnings that he'd have her arrested.
When that didn't work its usual wonders, Laurie took out
the business card she'd taken from Yvonne Andre's apart-
ment and pressed it against the glass. Finally the woman
relented and unlatched the door.

"I'm sorry, but we're closed for the day," the woman
said.

"I gathered that," Laurie said, putting a hand on the
door, "but I must speak with you. I only need a few minutes
of your time. I'm with the medical examiner's office. My
name is Dr. Laurie Montgomery."

"What is it you wish to discuss?" the woman asked.

"Can I come in?" Laurie suggested.

"I suppose," the woman said with a sigh. She opened the
door wide and let Laurie in. Then she locked the door
belling them.

"This is quite lovely," Laurie said. Most of the building's
nineteenth-century detailing had been preserved when it
had been converted from a private residence to office space.

   378

"We're lucky to have the building," the woman said. '~By
the way, my name is Gertrude Robeson."

They shook hands.

"Would you care to come up to my office?"

Laurie said that she would, and Gertrude led her up an
elegant Georgian staircase that curved up to the floor
above.

"I appreciate your time," Laurie said. "It is rather impor-
tant."

"I'm the only one here," Gertrude said. "Trying to finish
up some work."

Gertrude's office was in the front, and it accounted for
the light streaming out of the windows from the second
floor. It was a large office with a crystal chandelier. Vaguely
Laurie wondered how it was that so many nonprofit org`~ni-
zations had such sumptuous surroundings.

Once they were seated, Laurie got to the point. She again
took out the business card she'd picked up at Yvonne s and
passed it to Gertrude. "Is this individual a member of the
staff here?" Laurie questioned.

"Yes, he is," Gertrude said. She gave the card back.
"Jerome Hoskins is in charge of our recruiting effor4.s."

"What exactly is the Manhattan Organ Repository?"
Laurie asked.
"I'd be happy to give you our literature," Gertrude said,
"but essentially we're a nonprofit organization devo~.e<:1 to
the donation and reallocation of human organs for tr`-~ns-
plantation."

"What do you mean by your 'requiting efforts'?" I.aurie
asked.

"We try to get people to register as potential doctors,"
Gertrude said. "The simplest commitment is just to agree
that in the event of an accident that renders one brain de ad,
one would be willing to have the appropriate organs given
to a needy recipient."

   379

"If that's the simplest commitment," Laurie said,
"what's a more complicated one?"

"Complicated is not the right word," Gertrude said. "It
is all simple. But the next step is to get the potential donor
to be blood and tissue typed. That is particularly helpful in
replenishable organs like bone marrow."

"How does your organization do its recruiting?" Laurie
asked.

"The usual methods," Gertrude said. "We have charita-
ble fund-raisers, telethons, active college groups, that sort
of thing. It's really a matter of getting the word out. That's
why it's so helpful when a recipient can command media
attention, like a child needing a heart or liver."

"Do you have a large staff?" Laurie questioned.

"It's rather small, actually," Gertrude said. "We use a lot
of volunteers."

"Who responds to your appeals?" Laurie asked.

"Mostly college-educated people," Gertrude said, "par-
ticularly those who are civic-minded. People who are inter-
ested in social issues and are willing to give something back
to society."

"Have you ever heard the name Yvonne Andre?" Laurie
asked.

"No, I don't believe so," Gertrude said. "Is this someone
I should meet?"

"I don't think so," Laurie said. "She's dead."

"Oh, dear," Gertrude said. "Why did you ask if I knew
her?"

"Just curious," Laurie said. "Could you tell me if
Yvonne Andre was someone Mr. Hoskins recruited?"

"I'm sorry," Gertrude said. "That's confidential infor-
mation. I cannot give it out."

"I am a medical examiner," Laurie said. "My interest in
this is not casual. I was speaking with Yvonne Andre's
mother today, and she told me her daughter was committed

   380

to your cause before her untimely death. Mr. Hoskins card
was in her apartment. I don't want to know any detail ;. but
I would appreciate knowing if she'd signed up will:' `~our
organization."

"Did Ms. Yvonne Andre's death occur under que tion-
able circumstances?" Gertrude asked.

"It will be signed out as accidental," Laurie said. 'But
there are some aspects to her death that bother me.

"You know, generally speaking, that for organs o be
transplanted the donor must be in a vegetative sty,.. In
other words, everything but the brain must still be pl.~ysio-
logically alive."

"Of course," Laurie said. "I'm well aware of that 'pi '~eat.
Yvonne Andre was not in a vegetative state befog. her
death. Nevertheless, her status in your organization is
something I need to know."

"Just a moment," Gertrude said. She walked over ., her
desk and punched some information into her con fluter
terminal. "Yes," she said. "Yvonne was registered. Be. ~ that
is all I can say."

"I appreciate what you have told me," Laurie so <1. "I
have one more question. Have there been any br~,~k-ins
here at your offices in the last year?"

Gertrude rolled her eyes. "I really don't know if m at
liberty to divulge this kind of information, but I gu. is it's
a matter of public record. You could always check wi h the
police. Yes, we were broken into a couple of month, ago.
Luckily not too much was taken and there was no vat ~dal-
ism."

Laurie rose from her chair. "Thank you very -inch.
You've been generous with your time. I really apple ciate
it."

"Would you like to take some of our literature" Ger-
trude asked.

"I would," Laurie said. Gertrude opened a cabinet l and

   381

pulled out a number of brochures which she handed to
Laurie. Laurie put them in her briefcase. Then Gertrude
saw her to the door.

Emerging onto Fifty-fifth Street, Laurie walked over to
Lexington Avenue to catch a cab downtown. She directed
the taxi driver to take her to the medical examiner's office.
With her suspicions strengthening and her confidence re-
newed, she wanted to talk with George Fontworth. There
was something about that day's overdose cases that she
wanted to ask about. Even though it was after six o'clock,
she thought that he might still be at work. He usually
worked late.

But as Laurie approached the office, she began to worry
about gingham still being there. She knew that on a number
of evenings he also stayed late. Consequently Laurie in-
structed the cab driver to turn from First Avenue onto
Thirtieth Street. When they came abreast of the morgue
loading dock, she had him turn in. It was good that she had.
There was gingham's official city car, one of the perks of
being the chief medical examiner.

"I've changed my mind," Laurie called to the driver
through the Plexiglas screen. She gave him her home ad-
dress. With some cursing in a language Laurie had never
heard, he pulled out of the morgue driveway and returned
to First Avenue. Fifteen minutes later she was in front of
her tenement building.

It was still raining, so Laurie bolted for the door. She was
surprised to find that the lock to the inner door was broken.
She'd have to call the super about it in case no one else had
reported it yet.

Laurie headed straight for the elevator. She didn't bother
collecting her mail. Just then she had one thing in mind:
calling Lou.

As the elevator doors began to slide shut, Laurie saw a
hand come around its edge to try to stop the doors from

   382

closing. Laurie tried to hit the open button but hit the close
instead. The hand pulled back, the doors closed, and the
elevator ascended.

Laurie was just unlocking her locks when she heard
Debra Engler's door open behind her.

"There were two men at your door," Debra said. ' I've
never seen them before. They rang your bell twice."

Although Laurie didn't like having Debra meddle in her
affairs, she wondered who the two men were and what they
could have wanted. It was difficult not to think of "two
men" in anything but the context relating to the overdose
cases, and the thought sent a chill down her spine. She
wondered how they'd gotten as far as her door, since she
hadn't been there to buzz them in. Then she remembered
the broken lock in the second door. She asked Debra what
they looked like.

"Didn't get a good look at their faces," Debra said ~ But
they seemed no good to me. And as I said, they rang your
bell twice."

Laurie turned back to her door and unlocked the last
lock. It occurred to her that if the two men had malicious
intentions, they could have gone up the service stairs and
broken in through her rear door in the kitchen.

Laurie pushed open her door. It creaked on its hinges,
which had been coated with a hundred layers of paint.
From her vantage point in the hall, her apartment appeared
as she had left it. She didn't hear anything abnormal or see
anything suspicious. Cautiously she stepped ove r the
threshold, ready to flee at the slightest unexpected sound.
Out of the corner of her eye, Laurie saw something c om-
ing at her. Letting out a small involuntary cry that was
more of a gasp than a scream, Laurie let go of her brief case
and raised her arms to defend herself. At the moment the
briefcase hit the floor, the cat was on her, but only Or a
second. In the next instant it had leaped to the foyer table,

   383

and with its ears held flat against its skull, it scampered into
the living room.

For a second Laurie stood in her doorway, clutching her
chest. Her heart was beating as fast as it did after several
games of racquetball. Only after she'd caught her breath did
she turn back to her door, close it, and secure the multitude
of locks.

Picking up her briefcase, Laurie went into the living
room. The manic cat rushed from his hiding place and
leaped to the top of the bookcase and from there to the top
of the valance over the windows. From that vantage point
it glared down at Laurie with playful anger.

Laurie went directly to her phone. Her answering ma-
chine light was blinking, but she didn't listen to her mes-
sages. Instead she dialed Lou's work number.
Unfortunately, he didn't pick up. Laurie hung up and
started to dial his home number. But before she could finish
dialing, her doorbell rang. Startled, she hung up.

At first she was afraid to go to the door, even to look out
the peephole. The doorbell sounded a second time. She
knew she had to act. She would see who it was, she told
herself. She didn't have to open up.

Laurie tiptoed to the door and peered out into the hall.
Two men she didn't recognize were standing there, their
faces distorted by the wide-angle lens into exaggerated cor-
pulence.

"Who is it?" Laurie asked.

"Police," a voice called.

A feeling of relief spread over her as she began to unlock
her locks. Could gingham have made good on his threat to
have her picked up? But he hadn't said he'd do it, he'd only
said he might.

After undoing the chain lock, Laurie paused. She again
put her eye to the peephole. "Do you have identification?"
she asked. She knew enough not to let anyone in on their
word alone as to who they were.

   384

The two men quickly flashed police badges in front of the
peephole. "We only want to talk with you for a moment,"
the same voice explained.

Laurie backed away from the door. Although she'd ini-
tially been relieved to learn that her visitors were police,
now she was beginning to wonder. What if they were here
to arrest her? That would mean they'd have to take her to
the police station to be booked. She'd be questioned, held,
maybe arraigned. Who knew how long that would take?
She had to talk to Lou about much more important mat-
ters. Besides, he'd undoubtedly be able to help her if she
were to be arrested.

"Just a moment," Laurie called to them. "I have to put
on some clothes."

Laurie headed straight for her kitchen and the back door.

Tony exchanged looks with Angelo. "Should we tell her
not to bother dressing?" he asked.

"Shut up!" Angelo whispered.

The click of old hardware sounded behind them. Tony
turned around to see Debra Engler's door opening a crack.
Tony lunged toward the door and clapped his hands loudly
to give Debra a scare. The tactic worked. Debra's door
slammed shut. About a dozen locks were audibly being
secured.

"For Chrissake!" Angelo whispered. "What's the matter
with you? This is no time for screwing around."

"I don't like that witch looking at us."

"Get over here!" Angelo ordered. He looked away from
Tony, shaking his head. That's when he caught a flee4.ing
glimpse of a woman's silhouette dashing by the wire-'em-
bedded, smoked glass of a door to the fire stairs.

It took Angelo a second to appreciate what was happen-
ing. "Come on," he said as soon as it hit him. "She's going
down the back stairs!"

Angelo ran over to the stairwell door and yanked it open.

385

l ony sprinted through. They both halted momentarily at
the banister and peered down a dirty stairwell that dropped
in a series of short flights to the ground floor five stories
below. They could see Laurie several floors lower and hear
the echo of her heels on the bare concrete treads.

"Get her before she reaches the street," Angelo snarled.

Tony took off like a rabbit, taking the stairs four at a
time. He gained steadily on Laurie, but wasn't able to catch
her before she went through a door on the ground floor
leading to the backyard.

Tony reached the door before it had a chance to swing
shut. He pushed through to the outside and found himself
in a rubble-strewn backyard overgrown with weeds. He
could hear Laurie's running footsteps echo as she sprinted
down a narrow passageway leading to the street. Leaping
over a short handrail, Tony ran after her. Laurie was only
twenty feet away. He'd have her in a moment.

Laurie had known that she'd not slipped out unnoticed
and that the police were behind her. She'd heard them
coming down the stairwell. As she fled, she'd questioned the
advisability of having done so. But, having started, she
couldn't stop. Now that she'd run, she was even more deter-
mined not to be caught. She knew that resisting arrest was
a crime in and of itself. On top of that, the thought of
whether they were bona fide police crossed her mind.

As she mounted the final steps to the street, Laurie knew
that one of her pursuers was almost on her. At the lip of the
steps, pushed against the wall of the building, was a collec-
tion of old, dented, metal garbage cans. In a fit of despera-
tion Laurie grabbed the top edge of one and pulled it behind
her, sending it clattering down the steps to the floor of the
pass-through to the backyard.

Seeing her pursuer stumble on the can and fall, Laurie
quickly rolled the rest of the cans to the lip of the stairs and

   386

sent them crashing down. A few pedestrians passing on the
street slowed their pace at this spectacle, but none stopped
and no one said anything.

Hoping that her pursuer was momentarily occupied,
Laurie ran down to First Avenue. She praised her hick as
the first cab she saw came over to her and stopped. ( om-
pletely out of breath, Laurie jumped in and yelled that she
wanted to go to Thirtieth Street.

As the taxi accelerated into the traffic, Laurie was a fraid
to look back. She was also trembling, wondering what she
had done now. As she thought about the consequences of
resisting arrest, she changed her mind about her destina-
tion. She leaned forward and told the driver that she wanted
to go to police headquarters instead of Thirtieth Street.

The driver didn't say anything as he turned left to head
over to Second Avenue. Laurie sat back and tried to relax.
Her chest was still heaving.

As they worked their way south on Second Avenue, Lau-
rie had a change of heart again. Worrying that Lou might
not be at police headquarters, Laurie decided her first desti-
nation was better. Scooting forward again, she told the
driver. This time he cursed but turned left to go back to
First Avenue.

As she'd done with the previous cab, Laurie had this
driver turn on Thirtieth and pull into the morgue loading
area. She was relieved to see that gingham's car had left.
After paying the fare, she ran into the morgue.

Tony paid the driver and got out of the cab. Angelo s car
was where they'd left it, with Angelo behind the wheel.
Tony climbed in.

"Well?" Angelo asked.

"I missed her," Tony said.

"That much is clear," Angelo said. "Where is she "'

"She tried to lose me," Tony said. "She had her driver

   387

make a loop. But I stayed with her. She went back to the
medical examiner's office."

Angelo leaned forward and started his car. "Cerino
doesn't know how right he was when he said that this girl
could be trouble. We'll have to nab her from the medical
examiner's office."

"Maybe it will be easier there," Tony suggested.
"Shouldn't be many people there at this hour."

"It better go more smoothly than it did here," Angelo
said as he looked back before pulling out into the street.

They rode up First Avenue in silence. Angelo had to
hand one thing to Tony: at least he was fast on his feet.

Angelo turned onto Thirtieth Street and killed the engine.
He wasn't happy to be back at the medical examiner's office
again. But what choice did they have? There could be no
more screw-ups.

"What's the plan?" Tony asked eagerly.

"I'm thinking," Angelo said. "Obviously she wasn't so
impressed with our police badges."

Laurie felt relatively safe in the dark, deserted medical
examiner's building. She got into her office and locked the
door behind her. The first thing she did was dial Lou's home
number. She was pleased when he picked up on the first
ring.

"Am I glad to hear from you," Lou said the moment
Laurie identified herself.

"Not as glad as I am to get you."

"Where are you?" Lou asked. "I've been calling your
apartment every five minutes. If I hear your answering ma-
ch~ne message one more time, I'll scream."

"I'm at my office," Laurie said. "There's been some trou-
ble."

"I heard," Lou said. "I'm sorry about your being fired.
Is it final or will you get a hearing?"

   388

"It's final at the moment. But that's not why I called.
Two men came to my apartment door a few minutes ago.
They were policemen. I got scared and ran. I think l'rn in
big trouble."

"Uniformed policemen?" Lou asked.

"No," Laurie said. "They were in street clothes. Suits."

"That's strange," Lou said. "I can't imagine any o] my
boys going to your apartment. What were their name ;?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," Laurie said.

"Don't tell me you didn't ask them their names," 1 ou
said. "That's ridiculous. You should have gotten Heir
names and badge numbers and called the police to check on
them. I mean, how do you know they were really police?"

"I didn't think of getting their names," Laurie saicl. "I
asked to see their badges."

"Come on, Laurie," Lou complained. "You've lived in
New York too long to act like that. You should know
better."

"All right!" Laurie snapped. She was still overwrought.
The last thing she needed from Lou was a lecture. "What
should I do now?"

"Nothing," Lou said. "I'll check into it. Meanwhile, if
anybody else shows up, get their names and badge num hers.
Do you think you can remember that?"

Laurie wondered if Lou was deliberately trying to pro-
voke her. She tried to remain calm. This was no time triplet
him get to her. "Let's change the subject," she laid.
"There's something even more important we have to talk
about. I think I've come up with an explanation about: my
cocaine overdose/toxicity cases, and it involves son-~x~ne
you know. I finally even have some evidence that I think
you'll find convincing. Maybe you should come over here
now. I want to show you some preliminary DNA marches.
Obviously I can't meet you here in the daytime."

"What a coincidence," Lou said. "Sounds like x`e've

   389

both made some progress. I think I've solved my gangland
murder cases. I wanted to run it by you."

"How did you manage to solve them?"

"I went by to see your boyfriend, Jordan," Lou said. "In
fact I saw him a couple of times today. I think he's getting
tired of me."

"Lou, are you deliberately trying to irritate me?" Laurie
questioned. "If so, you are doing a wonderful job. For the
tenth time, Jordan is not my boyfriend!"

"Put it this way," Lou said. ''I'm trying to get your
attention. You see, the more time I spend with that guy, the
more I think he's a creep and a sleazeball, and this is going
beyond that jealousy crap I admitted to in a moment of
weakness. I can't imagine what you see in him."

"I didn't call you to get a lecture," Laurie said wearily.

"I can't help it," Lou said. "You need some advice from
someone who cares. I don't think you should see that guy
anymore."

"OK, Dad, I'll keep it in mind." With that, she hung up
the phone. She was tired of Lou's condescending paternal-
ism, and for the moment she couldn't talk with him. She
had to give herself some time to calm down. The man could
be so infuriating, especially when she needed supports not
criticism.

Laurie's phone started ringing almost as soon as she'd
hung up, but she ignored it. She'd let Lou stew for a little
while. She unlocked her office door and walked down the
silent hallway and took the elevator to the morgue. At that
hour the morgue was desolate, with most of the skeleton
evening staff on dinner break. Bruce Pomowski, however,
was in the mortuary office. She hoped he hadn't heard
about her being fired.

"Excuse me!" Laurie called from the doorway.

Bruce looked up from his newspaper.

his the Fletcher body still here?" she asked.

390

Bruce consulted the log book. "Nope," he said. "went
out this afternoon."

"How about Andre or Haberlin?" Laurie asked.

Bruce referred to the book again. "Andre went out this
afternoon, but Haberlin is still here. The body is going out
to Long Island someplace any minute. It's in the walk-in."

"Thanks," Laurie said. She turned to leave. Obviously
Bruce hadn't heard she'd been taken off the payroll.

"Dr. Montgomery," Bruce called. "Peter Letterman was
looking for you earlier and I'm supposed to tell you to be
sure to go up and see him if I run into you. He said it was
important and that he was going to be around for a while
tonight."

Laurie felt torn. She wanted to view the Haberlin body,
thinking that a brief examination could very well substanti-
ate her suspicions. At the same time she didn't want to miss
Peter if he had something to tell her.

"Listen," Laurie said to Bruce. "I'm going to run up and
see if Peter is still here. Don't let that Haberlin body go until
I see it."

"You got it," Bruce said with a wave.
Laurie went to the fourth floor and the toxicology lab.
When she saw a light coming from Peter's door, she
breathed a sigh of relief: Peter was still there.

"Knock, knock," Laurie called out, pausing at the door.
She didn't want to give Peter a scare.

Peter looked up from a long computer printout he was
studying. 'Laurie! Am I glad to see you! I have something
I want to show you."

Laurie followed Peter to the gas chromatograph/mass
spectrometry unit. Peter picked up another computer print-
out and handed it to Laurie. She studied it with little com-
prehension.

"It's from Robert Evans," Peter said proudly. "Just as
you suggested."

   391


"What am I looking at?" Laurie asked.

Peter pointed with his pencil. "There," he said. "That's a
positive for ethylene, and it's a lot more evident than it had
been in Randall Thatcher's case. It is no laboratory error or
false positive. It's real."

"That's weird," Laurie said. She'd really come to think
the ethylene reading in the Thatcher case had been an error.

"It might be weird," Peter said, "but it's real. No doubt
about it."

"I need another favor," Laurie said. "Can you open the
DNA lab for me?"

"Sure," Peter said. "You want me to open it now?"

"If you don't mind."

Peter got his keys and led Laurie down a flight of stairs
to the lab on the third floor.

As they went in, Laurie explained what she was up to. "I
was shown a Polaroid of a match but it was just a prelimi-
nary. It concerns the Julia Myerholtz case. You probably
recognize the name."

"Certainly," Peter said. "I've run lots of samples on her."

"I want to find that Polaroid," Laurie said. "I need a
copy of it. I don't need a duplicate photograph; a copy from
the copy machine will be fine."

"No problem," Peter said. He knew exactly where to
look. Once he had the Polaroid in hand, he went to the copy
machine. Laurie followed.

While the copy machine warmed up, Peter looked at the
photo. "It's pretty obvious they don't match," he said. "Is
that what you expected?"

"No," Laurie said. "It was a shot in the dark."

"Interesting," Peter said. "Do you think it is significant?"

"Absolutely," Laurie said. "I think it means Julia was
fighting for her life."

"You think she's still in there?" Tony asked. He was
more antsy than usual. "She could have left while I was

   392

going back to get you. And if she's not in there, then we're
wasting our time sitting here like a couple of chumps. '

"You've got a good point," Angelo said. "But before we
move in I wish we could make sure she didn't call the cops.
I still don't understand why she split unless she didn't think
we were real cops. I mean, isn't she the solid-citizen to pe?
What does she have to hide from cops? It doesn't rrake
sense, and when something doesn't make sense, it means
I'm missing something. And when I'm missing something,
it scares me."

"God, you're always worrying,'? Tony said. "Let's just go
in there, get her, and be done with it."

"All right," Angelo said. "But take it easy. And bring the
bag. We're going to have to play this one by ear."

"I'm with you all the way," Tony said eagerly. Due to' the
unconsummated chase after Laurie, Tony's appetite fell ac-
tion had been honed to a razor's edge. He was a bund e of

nervous energy.

"I think we'd better put the silencers on our guns, ~ An-
gelo said. "No telling what we're going to meet. And `,, e 're
going to have to work fast."

"Great!" Tony exclaimed. With obvious excitement he
pulled out his Bantam and attached the silencer. It took him
a moment because his hand trembled with pleasurable an-
ticipation.

Angelo gave him a hard look, then shook his he:~`i in
exasperation. "Try to stay calm. Let's go!"

They got out of the car and ran across the street. find
between the two mortuary vans. They ran hunched silver,
trying to avoid the drizzle as much as possible. They entered
the same way they had that afternoon, through the morgue
loading dock. Angelo was in the lead. Tony followed with
the black doctor's bag in one hand and his gun in the tither.
In an attempt to conceal the gun, he had it partially under
his jacket.

Angelo was almost past the open door to the se,.~rity

   393

office when someone inside yelled, "Hey! You can't go in
there."

Tony collided with Angelo when his partner stopped
abruptly. A guard in a blue uniform was sitting at his desk.
In front of him was a game of solitaire.

"Where you guys think you're going?" he asked.

Before Angelo could respond, Tony raised his Bantam
and aimed it at the surprised guard's forehead. He pulled
the trigger without a moment's hesitation. The slug hit the
guard in his head, just above his left eye, so that he fell over
onto his desk, his head landing with a solid thump on his
card game. Except for the pool of blood forming on the
desk top, a passerby might have thought the man was sim-
ply asleep on the job.

"What the hell did you shoot him for?" Angelo snarled.
"You could have given me a chance to talk with him."

"He was going to give us trouble," Tony said. "You said
we had to be fast."

"What if he has a partner?" Angelo said. "What if the
partner comes back? Where will we be then?"

Tony frowned.

"Come on!" Angelo said.

They peered into the mortuary office. There was cigarette
smoke in the air and a live butt in an ashtray by the desk,
but no one was in sight. Leaving the office and advancing
cautiously into the morgue proper, Angelo glanced into the
small auxiliary autopsy room used for decomposed bodies.
The dissecting table was barely visible in the half-light.

"This place gives me the creeps," he admitted.

"Me too," Tony said. "It's nothing like the funeral home
I worked at. Look at the floor. This place is disgusting."

"Why are so many lights off?" Angelo asked.

"Saving money?" Tony suggested.

They came to the huge U-shaped mass of refrigerator
compartments stacked four-high, each with its own heavily

   394

hinged door. "You think all the bodies are in here?" Angelo
asked, pointing toward the bank of cooler doors.

"I guess so," Tony said. "This is just like in those old
movies when they have to identify somebody."

"it doesn't smell like this in the movies," Angelo saiLi.
"What the hell are all those simple coffins for'? They expect-
ing the bubonic plague?"

"Beats me," Tony said.

They wandered past the large walk-in cooler, heading for
the light that was coming through the windows of the dou-
ble doors that led into the main autopsy room. Just before
they got there, the doors burst open and out walked Bruce
Pomowski.

Everyone recoiled in surprise. Tony hid his gun behind
his back.

"You guys scared me," Bruce admitted with a nervous
laugh.

"The feeling's mutual," Angelo said.

"You must be here for the Haberlin body," Bruce said.
"Well, I got good news and bad news. The good news is i hat
it's ready. The bad news is you have to wait until one of the
doctors examines it."

"That's too bad," Angelo said. "But as long as we're
waiting around, have you seen Dr. Laurie Montgomery?"

"Yeah," Bruce said. "I just saw her a few minutes ag`)."

"Can you tell us where she went?" Angelo asked.

"She went up to Toxicology," Bruce said. He was becom-
ing curious and even a little suspicious about these two men.

"And where might Toxicology be?" Angelo asked.

"Fourth floor." Bruce tried to remember if he'd ever seen
these two on a body pickup before.

"Thanks," Angelo said. He turned, motioning for T tiny
to follow him.

"Hey, you can't go up there," said Bruce. "And what
funeral home are you from?"

395

"Spoletto," Angelo said.

"That's not the one I've been expecting," Bruce said. "I
think I'd better make a call. What are your names?"

"We're not looking for any trouble," Angelo said. "We'd
just like to talk with Laurie Montgomery."

Bruce took a step backward and eyed Angelo and Tony.
"I think I'll give Security a call."

Tony's gun appeared and pointed at the mortuary tech.
Bruce froze in place, looking cross-eyed at the barrel. Tony
pulled the trigger before Angelo could say anything. Similar
to the security man, the slug hit Bruce in the forehead, and
he swayed for a second, then crumbled to the floor.

"Damn!" Angelo said. "You can't shoot everybody."

"Hell!" Tony said. "He was about to call Security."

"A lot of good that would have done him," Angelo said.
"You already took care of Security. You have to learn to
restrain yourself."

"So I overreacted," Tony said. "At least we know the
chick's still here. We even know where to find her."

"But first we have to hide this body," Angelo said. "What
if somebody comes along." Angelo glanced around. His
eyes settled on the cooler compartments. "Let's stick him in
one of the refrigerators," Angelo said.

Quickly Angelo and Tony began checking compart-
ments, searching for an empty one. In every one the first
thing they spotted was a pair of bare feet with a manila tag
around the big toe.

"This is disgusting," Angelo said.

"Here's an empty one," Tony said. He pulled out the
drawer.

They went back to Bruce's limp body. Tony discovered
the man was still alive and making weird noises when he
breathed. "Should I give him another slug?" he asked.

"No!" Angelo snapped. He didn't want any more shoot-
ing. "It's not necessary. He won't be making much noise in
the refrigerator."

   396

Together they dragged the body to the open refrigerator
compartment and managed to lift him onto the drawer.

"Sleep tight," Tony said as he slid the drawer into the
wall and closed the door.

"Now put your goddamned gun away," Angelo c~'m-
manded.

"All right," Tony said. He stuck his Bantam into his
shoulder holster. With the silencer in place, the butt oi the
gun showed at Tony's lapel.

"Let's get up to the fourth floor," Angelo said nervously.
"This isn't going very well. We have to get the woman and
get out of here. All hell is going to break loose if someone
comes across this trail of corpses you've been leaving.''

Tony picked up his doctor's bag and hurried after in-
gelo, who'd already headed for the stairs. Angelo did not
want to chance running into anyone in the elevator.

Emerging on the fourth floor, they saw only one room
was lit. Assuming that had to be the toxicology lab, they
headed straight for it. They entered cautiously, only to find
Peter cleaning some equipment.
"Excuse me," Angelo said, "we're looking for Dr. Laurie
Montgomery. "

Peter turned around. "You just missed her," he said.
"She went down to the morgue to look at a body in the
walk-in cooler."

"Thanks," Angelo said.

"Not at all," Peter said.

Angelo took Tony by the arm and quickly led him out
into the hall. "Nice of you not to shoot him," Angelo livid
sarcastically.

The two retraced their steps, heading back downstairs to
the morgue.

After looking in the mortuary office and the main i`U-
topsy room, Laurie gave up on finding Bruce. He'd pn,~ba-
bly gone on break. She had it in her mind to ask him for

   397

help, but she decided to check the walk-in for the Haberlin
body herself.

Laurie put on rubber gloves before entering the large
refrigerator. Straining against the door's weight, she pulled
it open, reached in, and switched on the light.

The walk-in looked much as it had when she'd gone in in
search of Julia Myerholtz. Most of the bodies on the
wooden shelves had not been disturbed since her last visit.
Those on gurneys represented a new batch. Unfortunately,
there were more bodies than there had been before. In an
attempt to be methodical, she began by checking the bodies
closest to the door. As usual, all the bodies had been tagged
for identification. Laurie had to lift the sheets shrouding the
feet to check the names. After checking each gurney, she
moved it aside to allow her to work deeper into the cooler.

Finally, near the back of the walk-in, and after checking
a dozen bodies, she found the tag with Stephanie Haberlin
written on it. It was none too soon; Laurie was shivering.
Covering the feet back up, Laurie jockeyed the gurney
around to get to its head. Then she pulled back the sheet.

Laurie winced at the sight. Seeing a young person's pale
corpse was never a pleasant sight. No matter how long she
stuck with forensics, Laurie didn't think she'd ever get used
to this part of the job. With uncharacteristic reluctance,
Laurie reached over and placed her thumb and index finger
on Stephanie's upper eyelids.

For a moment Laurie hesitated, wondering what she
wished for more: to be wrong or right. Taking a deep
breath, she lifted the lids.

Laurie winced for the second time. She even felt her legs
go weak. In a split second her suspicions had been vali-
dated. She'd been correct. It could no longer be considered
a coincidence. The dead woman's eyes were gone!

"You awful, awful man," Laurie said aloud through
chattering teeth. How could any human being perpetrate
such a heinous crime? This scheme was truly diabolical.

   398

The resonant click of the cooler's latch shocked Laurie
from her musing. Anticipating Bruce, she was surprise d to
see two strangers enter, one carrying an old-fashioned doc-
tor's bag.

"Dr. Montgomery?" the tall one called out.

"Yes," Laurie answered. She was afraid she recognized
these two as the same men who'd come to her door.

"We want to talk with you downtown," Angelo said.
"Would you mind coming with us?"

"Who are you?" she demanded. She began to tremble.

"I don't think that really matters," the shorter one said
as he started pushing gurneys to the side with his free hand.
He was cutting a path to Laurie. Angelo started to move
toward her, too.

"What do you want with me?" Laurie asked, her terror
mounting.

"We just want to talk," Tony said.

Laurie was trapped. She had no place to run. She was
snared in a virtual sea of corpse-laden gurneys. Tony was
already pushing aside the last two of the remaining gurneys
that lay between them.

With no other recourse, Laurie stripped her shoulder
purse from her arm and let it drop to the floor. She then

stepped to the head of Stephanie Haberlin's gurney and
grasped the sides.

Screaming to bolster her courage, Laurie started v~heel-
ing Stephanie's gurney, desperately trying to build up speed
in the confined space. She aimed the gurney directly at the
surprised Tony. At first Tony suggested he would stand his
ground. But as Laurie's efforts accelerated, he tried to get
out of the way.

Laurie crashed the gurney into Tony with enough lc>rce
to knock him off balance as well as to cause Steph`~nie's
corpse to topple off. Haphazardly a stiff dead arm draped
itself around Tony's neck as he fought to regain his footing.

Not allowing the man to recover, Laurie grabbed another

   399

gurney and ran it into Stephanie's. Grabbing still another,
she ran it at Angelo, who slipped on the tile floor trying to
avoid being struck, and totally disappeared from view.

Tony struggled from Stephanie's embrace, pushing the
corpse away from him. He was wedged between the gur-
neys, which he attempted to push away as he pulled out his
gun. He tried to take aim, but Laurie crashed another gur-
ney into the others, throwing him off balance once again.
Angelo struggled to his feet and tried to make a space for
himself to stand upright, pushing more gurneys in Tony's
direction.

Tony fired as Laurie crashed one last gurney. The sound,
even with the silencer, was deafening within the insulated
cooler. The bullet passed over Laurie's shoulder as she
scrambled for the door. She was out of the cooler in an
instant, slamming the heavy door behind her. Frantically
she searched for a lock to secure the walk-in refrigerator,
but there wasn't one. She had no other choice but to make
a run for it. She hadn't gotten far when she heard the cooler
door open behind her.

Running as fast as she could, she rounded the corner of
the mortuary office. Seeing no one, she continued on to the
security office. Dashing inside she called out to the sleeping
guard.

"Help me!" she cried. "You've got to help me. There are
two menÄ"

When the guard did not move, Laurie desperately
reached out and roughly grabbed the man's shoulder, yank-
ing him to an upright sitting position. But to Laurie's
shock, the man's head flopped back like a rag doll, dragging
playing cards with it. With horror she saw the bullet hole in
his forehead, his unseeing eyes, and bloody froth oozing
from his mouth. Where his head had been on the desk was
a pool of partially dried blood.

Laurie screamed and let go of the guard. He collapsed
backward in the chair, his head hyperextending, and his

   400

arms limply dangling with his fingers just brushing the
floor. Laurie wheeled around to flee, but it was too late lThe
shorter of the two men came flying through the door. his
gun held out in front of him, a demonic smile spread like a
gaping wound across his face. He pointed the gun dire tly
at Laurie. At such close range she could even see a short
distance up the barrel of the silencer.

The man advanced toward her as if in slow motion i ntil
the tip of the gun was a mere inch from Laurie's nose. She
didn't move. She was paralyzed with dread.

"Don't shoot her!" cried the other, taller man, who sud-
denly appeared over Tony's shoulder. "Please don't sl.oot
her!"

"It would be so rewarding," Tony said.

"Come on," Angelo urged. "Gas her!" Angelo put the
black doctor's bag on the corner of the desk. With his foot,
he gave the desk chair a shove to get it out of the way. The
dead guard rolled out of the chair and fell to the floor. I hen
Angelo stepped into the corridor to look in both direcfl~:>lls.
He'd heard voices.

Tony lowered his gun. It had been all he could do to Rep
from firing it. Placing it in his jacket pocket, he opened the
black bag and took out the gas cylinder and the plastic long.
After inflating the bag, he stepped over to Laurie, who'd
backed up against a table.

"This will be a nice rest," Tony said.

Wide-eyed with terror, Laurie was shocked when ] ony
crammed the bag over her head. The force bent her hack
over the table. Both hands splayed out to support he' serf.
As they did, her right hand hit up against a glass paper-
weight. Clutching it, Laurie swung it underhand, hitting
Tony in the groin.

Tony's grip on the plastic bag released as he reflexively
grabbed his genitals. After their recent run-in with the hrief-
case, they were particularly sensitive.

Laurie took advantage of his pain to tear the plastic. hag

   401

from her head. The smell inside it had been sickeningly
sweet. Pushing off the table, Laurie dashed by Tony, who
was still doubled over, and then Angelo, who'd been stand-
ing guard outside.

"Goddamn it!" Angelo shouted. He started after Laurie.
Tony, partially recovered? limped after Angelo, carrying the
black bag, the plastic bag, and the gas cylinder.

Laurie ran out the way she'd come, passing the stack of
Potter's Field coffins and the walk-in refrigerator. She was
hoping to run into some of the custodial staffÄanyone who
might be able to help her.

When she saw the light in the main autopsy room, she
was encouraged. She went through the swinging doors at a
full run. Inside, Laurie was thrilled to find a man mopping
the floor. "You've got to help me!" she gasped.

The janitor was shocked by her sudden appearance.

"There are two men chasing me," Laurie cried. She
dashed to the sink and snatched up one of the large autopsy
knives. She knew it wouldn't be much help against a gun,
but it was the only defense she could think of.

The confused janitor looked at her as if she were crazy,
and before she could say anything else, the door burst
open a second time. Angelo entered at a run with his gun
drawn.

"It's over!" Angelo snarled between harsh, winded
breaths. Behind him the door opened again. Tony came
charging inside? clutching the black bag and the gas para-
phernalia in one hand, his gun in the other.

"What's happening?" the janitor demanded. His shock
had changed to fear with the sight of the guns. He gripped
his mop in both hands as if he were prepared to use it as a
weapon.

With no further provocation, Tony raised his gun and
shot the man in the head. The janitor staggered and col-
lapsed. Tony stepped over to shoot the man a second time.

402

"It's the girl we want," Angelo yelled. 'Forget the jani-
tor! Gas her!"

As he'd done in the security office, Tony inflated the
plastic bag and approached Laurie.

Paralyzed with shock from having seen the janitor 1~: illed
in front of her, Laurie was temporarily incapable of ~ ~ sist-
ing. The autopsy knife slipped from her hand and clattered
to the floor.

Tony went behind her and pulled the bag over her head.
After taking a few breaths of the sweet gas inside the bag,
Laurie reached up as if to pull the plastic off her. But her
efforts came too late. Her knees gave way and she sack to
the floor, unconscious.

"Run out and get one of those pine coffins," Angelo said.
"Make it quick!"

A few minutes later Tony returned with a coffin, nails,
and a hammer. He put the coffin down next to Laurie. '`Vith
Angelo at her head and Tony at her feet, they lifted her into
the box, then pulled off the plastic bag. Tony put on the lid
and was about to nail it shut when Angelo suggested put-
ting more of the gas inside.

Tony held the cylinder under the lid and tried to fill the
coffin. Quickly he smelled the gas. Pulling his hand o ~ t, he
closed the lid.

"That's about all I can get in," Tony said.

"Let's hope it holds her," Angelo said. "Get one of those
wagons over here." He pointed to a gurney pushed against
the far wall.

Tony wheeled the gurney over, while Angelo nailed i own
the coffin's lid. Then they both lifted the coffin onto it. [ ony
threw the plastic bag and gas cylinder into the doctor i bag
and set the bag on top of the coffin. Together he and Al tupelo
wheeled the gurney out the door. They headed for the 11,;,ad-
ing dock. Moving at a run, they passed the mortuary, ITice,
then turned and passed the security office.

   403

While Tony waited on the lip of the loading dock and
made sure the gurney didn't roll away, Angelo went to
check inside the mortuary vans. In the first one he found the
keys in the ignition. Running back to Tony, he told him
they'd use the truck. As quickly as possible, and using the
keys to unlock the rear doors, they loaded the coffin con-
taining Laurie into the back of the van. Angelo dropped the
keys into Tony's hand.

"You drive her," Angelo said. "Go directly to the pier.
I'll see you there."

Tony climbed into the front of the van and started the
engine.

"Move it out," Angelo yelled. Frantically waving, he
guided Tony as Tony backed up into Thirtieth Street. Again
Angelo could hear voices within the morgue.

"Get moving," Angelo said as he slapped the side of the
mortuary van. He watched until Tony had turned onto
First Avenue, then he sprinted over to his own car, started
it, and followed.

As soon as Angelo caught up to the van, he gave Cerino
a call from his cellular phone. "We got the merchandise,"
he said.

"Beautiful," Cerino said. "Bring her to the pier. I'll call
DocTravino. We'll meet you there.'

"This wasn't a clean operation," Angelo said. "But we
seem to be clear. No one is following us."

"As long as you got her, it's OK," Cerino said. "And
your timing is perfect. The Montego Bay departs tomorrow
morning. Our little lady doc is due for a cruise."

  404
17

8:55 P.M.  MONDAY
  MANHATTAN

Lou pulled into the morgue loading dock and parked his
car to the side. There was only one van in the drive instead
of the usual two, so he could have pulled right up lo the
entrance, but figuring the other van would be back soon, he
didn't want to be in the way.

He put his police identification card on the dash and got
out. Lou could have kicked himself for pushing Laurie as he
had on the phone. When was he going to learn to back. offs9
Criticizing Jordan was sure only to make her more defen-
sive about the man. He must have really set her off this ~rime.
He could understand why she hadn't picked up the phone
when he'd called back, but even if she was mad he would
have thought she'd have called him back. When she hadn't
gotten back to him after half an hour, Lou decided to head
over to the medical examiner's office to talk to her in per-
son. He hoped she hadn't left.

  405

Lou passed the security office and glanced in through the
window. He was a little surprised to see that no one was
there, but he assumed that the security guard was making
his rounds. Farther down the hall, Lou checked the mortu-
ary office, but it was empty as well.

Lou scratched his head. The place seemed deserted. It
was dead quiet, he thought with a laugh. He checked his
watch. It wasn't that late, and wasn't this place supposed to
be open around the clock? After all, people died twenty-
four hours a day. With a shrug of his shoulders, Lou walked
to the elevators and rode up to Laurie's floor.

As soon as he stepped off the elevator he could tell that
she wasn't there. Her door was closed and the room was
dark. But he wasn't about to give up. Not yet. He remem-
bered her having said something about some laboratory
results. Lou decided to see if he could find the right lab and
maybe then Laurie. He took the elevator down one floor,
unsure of where to find the appropriate lab. At the end of
the fourth-floor hall he saw a light. Lou walked the length
of the hall and peered in the open door.

"Excuse me," he said to the youthful man in a white lab
coat stooped over one of the room's major pieces of heavy
equipment.

Peter looked up.

"I'm looking for Laurie Montgomery," Lou said.

"You and everyone else," Peter said. "I don't know
where she is now, but half an hour ago she went down to the
morgue to look at a body in the walk-in cooler."

"Someone else been looking for her?" Lou asked.

"Yeah," Peter said. "Two men I'd never seen before."

"Thanks," Lou said. He turned back toward the elevator
and hustled down the hall. He didn't like the sound of two
strangers looking for Laurie, not after what she'd said
about two alleged plainclothes policemen coming to her
apartment.

   406

Lou went straight to the morgue level. Exiting the eleva-
tor, he was surprised he still hadn't seen a soul besides the
guy in the lab. With growing concern, he hurried down the
long hall to the walk-in cooler. Finding its door partially
ajar only added to his unease.

With mounting dread he pulled the door the rest of the
way open. What he saw was far worse than he could have
imagined. Inside the cooler, bodies were strewn helter-skel-
ter. Two gurneys were tipped on their sides. Several of the
sheets covering the bodies had been pulled aside. Even alter
a few days' experience in the autopsy room, he still didn't
have the stomach for this. And whatever had happened to
Laurie, this body-strewn battleground was hardly an auspi-
cious sign.

Lou spotted a purse among the wreckage. Pushing gur-
neys aside, he picked it up to check for ID. He snapped
open the wallet. The first thing he saw was Laurie's photo
on her driver's license.

As he rushed from the cooler, Lou's concern turned to
fear, especially if his current theory about all the gangland-
style murders was correct. Frantically he looked for some-
one, anyone. There was always someone available al. the
morgue. Seeing the light in the main autopsy room, he ran
down to it and pushed open the doors, but no one was there
either.

Turning around, Lou dashed back to the security of lice to
use the phone. Entering the room, he immediately saw the
guard's body on the floor. He knelt down and rolled the
man over. The man's unseeing eyes stared up at him. I here
was a bullet hole in his forehead. Lou checked for a pulse,
but there wasn't any. The man was dead.

Standing up, Lou snatched up the phone and dialed S'11.
As soon as an operator answered he identified himself as
Lieutenant Lou Soldano and requested a homicide unit for
the city morgue. He added that the victim was in the sccu-

   407

rity office but that he would not be able to wait for the unit
to arrive.

Slamming the phone down, Lou raced to the morgue
loading dock and jumped into his car. Starting the engine,
he backed up with a screech of his tires, leaving two lines of
rubber on the morgue's driveway. He had no other choice
than to head directly for Paul Cerino's. It was cards-on-the-
table time. He slapped his emergency light on the car's roof
and arrived at Cerino's Queens address after twenty-three
minutes of hair-raising driving.

Racing up the front steps of the Cerino home, he reached
into his shoulder holster and unsnapped the leather band
securing his .38 Smith and Wesson Detective Special. He
rang the bell impatiently. Judging by all the lights blazing,
someone had to be home.

Lou knew that he was operating on a hunch that de-
pended on his theory about the gangland slayings being
correct. But at the moment it was all he had, and his intui-
tion told him that time was of the utmost importance.

An overhead light came on above Lou's head. Then he
had the feeling that someone was looking at him through
the peephole. Finally the door opened. Gloria was standing
there dressed in one of her plain housedresses.

"Lou!" Gloria said pleasantly. "What brings you here?"

Lou shoved past her and into the house. "Where's Paul'?"
he demanded. He looked into the living room, where Greg-
ory and Steven were watching TV.

"What's the matter?" Gloria asked.

"I have to talk with Paul. Where is he?"

"He's not here," Gloria said. "Is there something
wrong?"

"Something's very wrong," Lou said. "Do you know
where Paul is'?"

"I'm not positive," Gloria said. "But I heard him on the
phone with Dr. Travino. I think he said something about
going down to the company."

   408

"You mean at the pier?" Lou asked.

Gloria nodded. "Is he in danger?" Gloria asked. X c>~.r's
distress was infectious.

Lou was already half out the door. Calling over his sl~oul-
der, he said, "I'll take care of it."

Back in his car, Lou started the engine and made a so e . p-
ing U-turn in the middle of the street. As he accelerated he
caught sight of Gloria standing on her stoop, anxio~,ly
clutching her hands to her chest.

Laurie's first sensation was nausea, but she didn't vomit,
although she retched. She woke up in stages, becoming
progressively aware of movement and uncomfo~ ta hle
bumps and jostling. She also became aware of dizziness as
if she were spinning, and a terrible sense of air hunger, as if
she were smothering.

Laurie tried to open her eyes, only to realize with a terri-
ble shock that they were already open. Wherever she was,
it was pitch black.

When she was more awake, Laurie tried to move, hut
when she did' her legs and arms immediately hit up against
a wooden surface. Exploring with her hands, she quickly
determined that she was in a box! A wave of frightful cla ~s-
trophobia passed through her like a cold wind as she real-
ized she'd been sealed into a Potter's Field coffin! A.t the

same time the memory of what happened at the medical
examiner's office flooded back with searing clarity: the
chase; those two horrible men; the dead guard, the poor
janitor murdered in cold blood. And then another lurid
thought occurred to her: what if they were planning to bury
her alive!

Gripped with terror, Laurie tried to draw up her l.n~.es,
straining against the top of the coffin. Then she tried to
kick, but it was all to no avail. Either something ,-~x-
tremely heavy was on the lid or it had been nailed firmly
down.

   409

"Ahhhh," Laurie cried as the coffin jarred severely. It was
then that she realized she was in some sort of vehicle.

Laurie tried screaming but only succeeded in hurting her
own ears. Next she tried pounding the underside of the lid
with her fists, but it was difficult in the confined space.

Abruptly the jarring stopped. The vibration of the engine
also stopped. Then there was the distant sound as if the
doors of the vehicle had opened. Laurie felt the coffin move.

"Help!" Laurie cried. "I can't breathe!"

She heard voices, but they weren't speaking with her. In
a wave of desperate panic, Laurie again tried to pound the
underside of the lid as tears came. She couldn't help herself.
She'd never been so terrified in her life.

Laurie knew she was being carried for a time. She hated
to think where they were taking her. Would they really bury
her? Would she hear the dirt raining down on the lid?

With a final thump the coffin was put down. It hadn't hit
ground. It sounded like wood.

Laurie gasped for air between sobs as a cold sweat ap-
peared on her forehead.

Lou wasn't exactly sure where the American Fresh Fruit
Company was, but he knew it was in the Green Point pier
area. He'd been there once years before and was hoping it
would come back to him.

When he got to the waterfront district, he took his emer-
gency light down and turned it off. He continued on Green-
point Avenue until he could go no further, then turned
north on West Street, the whole time scanning the aban-
doned warehouses for some sign of life.

He was beginning to feel discouraged and progressively
desperate until he saw a road marked Java Street. The name
rang a bell. Lou turned left onto it, heading ever closer to
the river. A block down stood a high chain-link fence. Over
the open gate was a sign bearing the name of Cerino's

  410

company. Several cars were parked on the inside of the gate.
Lou recognized one as Cerino's Lincoln Conti~-~ental.
Beyond the cars was a huge warehouse that extended out
over the pier. Above and behind the warehouse Lou could
see the very top of the superstructure of a ship.

Lou drove through the gate and parked next to C,. ring's
car. A wide overhead door to the warehouse was open. Lou
could just make out the rear of a van parked in the da r kness
within. He shut off his engine and got out. All he could hear
was the distant screech of some sea gulls.

Lou checked his gun but left it in his holster. He l iptoed
over to the open door and peered in for a better fool. at the
van. When he saw HEALTH AND HOSPITAL CORP. on its side,
he was encouraged. Glancing around in the darkness of the
warehouse, Lou saw nothing but the vague outlines of
stacks of bananas. No one was in sight, but toward the end
of the pier, in the direction of the river, perhaps a h untired
yards away, he could see a glow of light.

Lou debated calling for backup. Proper police procedure
required such a move, but he feared there wasn't thee. He
had to be certain Laurie wasn't in immediate danger Once
he did that, he could take the time to call for help.

Avoiding the central corridor through the banan`' ,, Lou
worked his way laterally until he found another corridor
that led out the pier. Groping ahead, he moved in the
general direction of the light.

It took him about five minutes to get abreast of th' light.
Carefully he again moved laterally until he could so e that
the light was coming from a windowed office. Insidr. were
people. Lou recognized Cerino immediately.

Inching even closer, Lou got a better view of the interior.
Most important, he saw Laurie. She was sittings. in a
straight-back chair. Lou could even see that her fir retread
gleamed with perspiration.

Sensing that Laurie was all right momentarily Lou

  411

began to carefully retrace his steps. Now he wanted to use
his radio in his car to call in some backup. With as many
people as there were in the office, he wasn't about to play
hero and go barging in.

Back at his car, Lou climbed in and picked up his police
radio. He was about to speak when he felt the press of cold
metal against the back of his neck.

"Get out of the car," a voice commanded.

Lou turned slowly and looked up into Angelo's gaunt
face.

"Out of the car."

Lou carefully replaced the microphone and got out onto
the asphalt.

"Face the car," Angelo ordered.

Angelo quickly frisked Lou, removing his gun when he
found it.

"OK," Angelo said. "Let's go down to the office. Maybe
you'd like to go on a little cruise, too."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Laurie said.
She was trembling. The coffin she'd been in was off to the
side. She was terrified that they were going to force her back
into it.

"Please, Doctor," Travino said. "I'm a doctor myself.
We speak the same language. All we want to know is how
you figured it out. How did you guess that these cases were
not the garden-variety overdoses you people see day in, day
out?"

"You must be thinking of someone else," Laurie said.
She tried to think, but it was difficult with her terror. Yet
she had the idea that the reason she was still alive was
because they were desperate to know how she'd solved the
case. Consequently she didn't want to tell them anything.

"Let me at her," Tony pleaded.

"If you don't talk with the doctor," Paul said, "I'll have
to let Tony have his way."

   412

At that moment the door to the warehouse pi oper
opened and Lou Soldano was propelled inside the office.
Angelo followed, his gun held at his side. "Company' ' he
said.

"Who is it, Angelo?" Paul demanded. His patch was still
in place over his operated eye.

"It's Lou Soldano," Angelo said. "He was about to use
his radio."

"Lou?" Cerino echoed. "What are you doing here';' '

"Keeping an eye on you," Lou said. Looking at Laurie,
he asked, "Are you all right?"

Laurie shook her head. "As well as can be expected," she
said through tears.

Angelo grabbed a chair and set it next to Laurie's. "Sit
down!" he barked.

Lou sat down, his eyes glued to Laurie. "Are you hurt?"
he asked.

"Travino," Paul said angrily, "this whole affair is ge sting
too complicated. You and your big ideas." Then to Angelo
he said: "Get someone outside to make sure Soldano was
alone. And get rid of his car. To be on the safe side let's
assume he had a chance to call in before we got him. '

Angelo snapped his fingers at several of the low~level
hoodlums who'd accompanied Paul. The men immediately
left the office.

"Want me to take care of the detective?" Tony asked.

Paul waved him away. "The fact that he is here means he
knows more than he ought to know," he said. "He's going
on the cruise, too. We'll have to talk with him just like we
have to talk with the girl. But for the moment let's get them
on the Montego Buy quickly. I'd prefer if the crew saw as
little as possible. What do you suggest?"

"Gas!" Angelo said.

"Good idea," Paul said. "Tony, you're on."

Tony leaped at the opportunity to prove himself in l:'aul's
presence. He got out a couple of plastic bags and the gas

   413

cylinder. As soon as he had the first bag inflated, he tied it
off and started on the second while the first slowly floated
toward the ceiling.

One of the hoodlums came back and reported that no one
else was around and that Soldano's car had been taken care
of.

A sudden vibrating blast from the Montego It's
horn made everybody jump. The ship was just on the other
side of the uninsulated wall of the office. Paul cursed. Tony
had let go of the second bag and some of the gas escaped
into the room.

"Is that stuff bad for us?" Cerino questioned, smelling
the gas.

"No," Dr. Travino said.

In the confusion, Laurie turned to Lou. "Do you have
your cigarettes with you?" she asked.

Lou looked at her as if he'd not heard correctly. "What
are you talking about?"

"Your cigarettes," she repeated. "Give them to me."

Lou reached into his jacket pocket. As he was about to
pull out his hand, another hand grabbed his wrist. It was the
hoodlum who'd reported on his car.

The thug glared at Lou and pulled Lou's hand from his
jacket. When he saw that Lou was only holding a pack of
cigarettes with matches under the cellophane, he let go of
Lou's arm and stepped back.

Still baffled, Lou handed the cigarettes to Laurie.

"Are you alone?" Laurie asked in a whisper.

"Unfortunately," Lou whispered back. He tried to smile
at the thug who'd grabbed his wrist. The man was still
glaring at him.

"I want you to have a cigarette," Laurie said.

"I'm sorry," Lou said. "I'm not interested in smoking at
the moment."

"Take it!" Laurie snapped.

   414

Lou looked at her in bewilderment. "All right!" he said.
"Whatever you say."

Laurie took one of the cigarettes out of the pack and
stuck it into Lou's mouth. Then she slipped out the
matches. Tearing out a match, she glanced up at the h`.`od-
lum who was watching them so intently. His expression
hadn't changed.

Laurie shielded the match and struck it. Lou leaned to-
ward her with the cigarette between his lips. But Laurie
didn't light it. Instead she used the match to fire the <:ntire
pack of matches. Once the pack started to flare, she t`~`,sed
it toward Tony and his plastic bags. In the same motto r: she
fell sideways off her chair, tackling a surprised Lou is the
process. Together they fell to the floor.

The resulting explosion was severe, especially around
Tony and upwards toward the ceiling, where the escaped
ethylene had layered and the second bag had positioned
itself. The concussion of the blast blew out all the Office
windows as well as the door and all the overhead lights,
sparing only a lamp on the desk. Tony was consumed 1~ the

fireball. Angelo was thrown against the wall, whe ~ ~ he
sagged to a sitting position, his eardrums blown out. His
hair was singed to his scalp, and he suffered some internal
damage to his lungs. All the others were knocked mor ren-
tarily senseless to the floor and superficially burned. ki few
managed to push themselves up on all fours, groaning and
totally befuddled.

On the floor, Laurie and Lou were relatively speared,
having been below any of the layered ethylene, although
both had suffered some minor burns and mild ear damage
from the severe deflagration. Laurie opened her eye; and
released her grip around Lou's middle.

"Are you all right?" she questioned. Her ears were ~ ing-
~ng.

"What the hell happened?" Lou said.

   415

Laurie scrambled to her feet. She pulled Lou's arm to get
him to his feet. 'Let's get out of here!" she said. "I'll explain
it later."

Together they stepped around and over moaning people
strewn about the floor. They coughed in the acrid smoke.

Beyond the blown-out door of the office, their feet
crunched over shattered glass. Down the corridor of bana-
nas, they saw a flashlight bobbing in the dark. Someone was
running toward them.

Lou yanked Laurie laterally away from the office in the
direction from which he'd originally come. As they huddled
behind a stack of bananas, the running footfalls drew
closer. Soon another one of Cerino's thugs stood gasping at
the threshold of the office. For a moment he stood there
with his mouth open in amazement. Then he went to his
boss's aid. Paul was sitting on the floor in front of the desk,
holding his head.

"This is our chance," Lou whispered. He held on to
Laurie as they worked their way back toward the entrance
of the warehouse. The going was slow because of the dark
and the fact that they wanted to stay away from the main
corridor in case there were other Cerino people in the area.

It took them almost ten minutes before they could see the
vague outline of the opening of the overhead door. In front
of it was the black silhouette of the morgue van. It was still
parked where it had been when Lou had entered.

"My car is probably gone," Lou whispered. "Let's see if
the keys are in the van."

They approached the van cautiously. Opening the
driver's side door, Lou felt along the steering column. His
fingers hit the keys, still dangling from the ignition.

"Thank God," he said. "They're here. Get in!"

Laurie climbed in the passenger side. Lou was already
behind the wheel.

As soon as I start this thing," Lou whispered urgently.

416

'we're out of here last. But we might not be in the clear.
There might be some shooting, so how about you going in
the back and lying down."

"Just start the van!" Laurie said.

"Come on," Lou said. "Don't argue."

"You're the one who's arguing," Laurie snapped. "Let's

go!

"Nobody's going nowhere!" a voice said to Lou's ]eit.

With a sinking feeling, Laurie and Lou looked out the
window on Lou's side. A number of faceless men in hats
were standing in the dark. A flashlight snapped on and
played over Lou's lace, then over Laurie's. They each
blinked in its glare.

"Out of the truck," the same voice ordered. "Both of
you."

With hopes dashed, Laurie and Lou climbed back out of
the van. They could not see the men for the bright light
shining at them, but there seemed to be three.

"Back to the office," the same voice commanded.

Discouraged, Laurie and Lou led the way back. Neither
of them said a word. Neither wanted to think about
Cerino's fury.

The scene at the office was still chaotic. Smoke still hung
heavily in the air. One of Cerino's goons had helped hi; boss
into the desk chair. Angelo was still sitting on the floor with
his back against the wall. He looked confused, and a trickle
of blood was dripping down his chin from the corner of his
mouth.

An additional light had been turned on, and the extent of
the damage was more apparent. Laurie was surprised by the
amount of charring. That old pharmacology text hadn't
been kidding: when it said ethylene was flammable it meant
flammable. She and Lou were lucky not to have bee r~ in-
jured more severely.

Laurie and Lou were given the same seats they'd c~ccu-

   4]7

pied only minutes before. Sitting down, Laurie got a
glimpse of Tony's burned remains. She grimaced and
looked away.

"My eye hurts," Paul wailed.

Laurie closed her eyes, not wanting to think what the
consequences were to be of her having ignited the ethylene.

"Someone help me," Cerino cried.

Laurie's eyes opened again. Something was wrong. No
one was moving. The three men who'd accompanied them
back to the office were ignoring Cerino. In fact they were

gnormg everyone.

"What's happening?" Laurie whispered to Lou.

"I don't know," he said. "Something weird is going on."

Laurie looked up at the three men. They appeared non-
chalant, picking at their nails, adjusting their ties. They
hadn't lifted a finger to help anyone. Looking in the other
direction, Laurie saw the man who'd run back into the
office just after she and Lou had gone out. He was sitting in
a chair with his head in his hands, looking at the floor.

Laurie heard the sound of footsteps approaching. It
sounded as if whoever was coming had metal taps on his
heels. Out the blasted doorway, Laurie saw beams from
several flashlights bobbing toward them.

Presently a rather dapper, darkly handsome man came to
the blown-out door. He stopped to survey the scene. He was
dressed in a dark cashmere coat over a pin-striped suit. His
hair was slicked back from his forehead.

"My God, Cerino," he said with derision. "What a mess
you have made!"

Laurie looked at Cerino. Cerino didn't answer; he didn't
even move.

"I don't believe it," Lou said.

Laurie's head spun around. She looked at Lou and saw
the shock registered on his face. "What's happening?" she
asked.

   418

"It's Vinnie Dominick," Lou said.

"Who's Vinnie Dominick?" Laurie asked.

Vinnie shook his head, surveying what was left of l tiny,
then walked over to Lou. "Detective Soldano," Vinnie aid.
"How convenient that you're here." He pulled a ce I ular
phone from his coat pocket and handed it to the detective..
"I imagine you'd like to contact your colleagues to so e if
they'd be so good as to come over here. I'm sure th,. I ).A.
would like to have a long talk with Paul Cerino."

In the background Laurie was aware of the three men
who had been lounging around before Vinnie Dow nick
arrived. They were now going around the room collecting
guns. One of them brought Lou's over to Vinnie, ltu viny
retrieved it from Angelo. Vinnie proceeded to give it track
to Lou.

In disbelief Lou looked down at the phone in one And
and his gun in the other.

"Come on, Lou," Vinnie said. "Make your call. Unl ~rtu-
nately I've got another appointment, so I can't be around
when the men in blue arrive. Besides I'm kind of a slit. sort
of guy and I wouldn't feel comfortable with all the act aim
the city would want to throw my way for saving tl~e day.
Obviously you know what Mr. Cerino has been up 1~', so
you don't need my help there. But if you don't, don't llesi-
tate to give me a call. You know how to get ahold o me,
I'm sure."

Vinnie started for the door, motioning for his me n to
follow him. As he passed Angelo he turned back to I out
"You'd better call an ambulance for Angelo here," he laid.
"He doesn't look so good." Then, looking down al: ~ ony,
he added: "The mortuary van out there will be fine I;,' this
dog turd." With that, he left.

Lou handed Laurie his gun while he used the cellular

   419

phone to call 9l1. He identified himself to the 911 operator
and gave the address. When he was finished, he took back
his gun.  I
"Who is this Vinnie character?" Laurie asked. I

"He's Cerino's main rival," Lou said. "He must have
found out what Cerino was up to and this is his way of
turning him in. Very effective, I'd say, with us here as wit-
nesses. It's also a clever way to get rid of his competition."

"You mean Vinnie knew Cerino was behind all these
overdoses?" Laurie asked. She was stunned.

"What are you talking about? Vinnie must have figured
out that Cerino was killing off patients ahead of him on
Jordan Scheffield's corneal-transplant waiting list."

"Oh, my God!" Laurie exclaimed.

"What now?" Lou asked. After the night he'd been hav-
ing, he wasn't ready for much more.

"It's twice as bad as I thought it was," Laurie said. "The
drug overdoses were really homicides to get eyes. Cerino
was having people killed who'd signed up with the Manhat-
tan Organ Repository for organ donation."

Lou glanced at Cerino. "He's more of a sociopath than
I could ever have imagined. My God, he was working both
sides of the problem: supply and demand."

Cerino lifted his head from his hands. "What was I sup-
posed to do? Wait like everybody else? I couldn't afford to
wait. In my business, every day I couldn't see, I risked
death. Is it my fault the hospitals don't have enough cor-
neas?"

Laurie tapped Lou on the shoulder. He turned to face
her.

"There's a strange irony to this whole affair," Laurie
said, shaking her head. "We argued with one another
about whose series was more socially relevant and there-
fore more important, your gangland-style murders or my
upscale overdoses, only to learn that they were intimately

  420

connected. They were just two sides of the same horrid
affair."
"You can't prove a thing," Cerino growled.
"Oh, really?" Laurie said.

421

Epilogue

JANUARY. 10:15 A.M.. WEDNESDAY
   MANHATTAN

Lou Soldano stamped the wet snow off his feet and Rallied
into the morgue. I le smiled at the man in the security otlice,
who didn't challenge him, and went directly to tht lecher
room. Quickly he changed into green scrubs.

Pausing outside the main autopsy room do. u s. he
donned a mask, then pushed through. His eyes traveled
from one end to the other, inspecting the people it each
table. Finally his eyes spotted a familiar figure that e ~ en the
bulky gown, apron, and hood could not hide.

Walking over to the table, he looked down. Laurie was
up to her elbows in a huge corpse. For the moment, ~ ye was
by herself.

"I didn't know you did whales here," Lou said.

Laurie looked up. "Hi, Lou," she said chic ~ r I filly.
"Would you mind scratching my nose?" She twists d may

423

from the table and closed her eyes as Lou complied. 'A
little lower," she said. "Ahhh. That's it." She opened her
eyes. "Thanks." She went back to her work.

"Interesting case?" Lou asked.

"Very interesting," Laurie said. "It was supposed to be a
suicide, but I'm beginning to think it belongs in your de-
partment."

Lou watched for a few minutes and shuddered. "I don't
think I'll ever get accustomed to your work."

"At least I'm working,?' Laurie said.

"That's true," Lou said. "Yet you shouldn't have been
fired in the first place. Luckily things have a way of working
out for the best."

Laurie glanced up. "I don't think the families of the
victims feel that way."

"That's true," Lou admitted. "I just meant in relation to
your job."

"Bingham ultimately was gracious about it," Laurie said.
"Not only did he give me my job back, he also admitted I
had been right. Well, partly right. I was wrong about the
idea of a contaminant."

"Well, you were right about the important part," Lou
said. "They weren't accidental, they were homicidal. And
your contribution didn't end there. In fact that's why I
stopped by. We just got an airtight indictment against
Cerino. "

Laurie straightened up. "Congratulations!" she said.

"Hey, it wasn't my doing," Lou said. "You get the credit.
First you were able to match that skin sample under Julia
Myerholtz's fingernail with Tony Ruggerio's remains. That
was critical. Next you exhumed a number of bodies until
you made a match with Kendall Fletcher's teeth on Angelo
Facciolo's forearm."

"Any forensic pathologist could have done it," Laurie
said.


"I'm not so sure," Lou said. "Anyway, faced with such
incontrovertible evidence, Angelo plea-bargained and im-
plicated Cerino. That was what we needed. It's dowel-fill
from here."

"You did pretty well yourself," Laurie said. "You god the
Kaufmans' maid to pick Angelo out of a lineup and l ony
out of mug shots."

"That wouldn't have been strong enough for an in<.iict-
ment," Lou said. "Or, even if I'd gotten an indictment, I
wouldn't have gotten a conviction. Certainly not of Cell ino.
But anyway it's over."

"I shudder to think that there are people like Cerino out
there," Laurie said. "It's the combination of intelligence
and sociopathy that is so frightening. As heinous as the
whole Cerino affair was, it had some ingenious aspects.
Imagine having his thugs put people into refrigerators to
preserve the corneal tissue longer! They knew that eve d
erroneously ascribe that to the hyperpyrexia that cocaine
toxicity causes."

"The point is," Lou said, "the vast majority of people
who play by the rules and abide by the laws don't realize
that there is a large number of people who do the opposite.
One bad side to Cerino's indictment is that Vinnie Domi-
nick is unopposed. He and Cerino used to keep each other
in check, but no longer. Organized-crime activity has gone
up in Queens with Cerino's departure from the scene not
down. "

"Now that it is all over," Laurie said, "I wonder wiry it
took us so long to figure out what was happening. I rr,~ an,
as a doctor I knew that New York is behind the times with
its medical-examiner laws and that there is a waiting list for
corneas. So why didn't I see it earlier?"

''I bet the reason you didn't see it was because it was; too
diabolical," Lou said. "It's hard for the normal mim! to
even think of such a possibility."

425

"I wish I could make myself believe that," Laurie said.
"I'm sure that it's true," Lou said.

"Perhaps," Laurie said.

"Well, I just wanted to let you know about Cerino," Lou
said. He shifted his weight clumsily.

"I'm glad you did," Laurie said. She studied him. He
avoided her eyes.

"Guess I'd better get back to my office," Lou said. He
nervously glanced around, making sure no one was paying
them any attention.

"Is there something you'd like to say?" Laurie asked.
"You're acting suspiciously familiar."

"Yeah," Lou said, finally making eye contact. "Would
you like to go out to dinner tonight, purely social, no busi-
ness?"

Laurie smiled at this replay of Lou's painful social awk-
wardness. It was particularly unexpected now that they had
worked together on the Cerino case and knew each other
better. In all other respects Lou was decisive and confident.

"We could go back to Little Italy," Lou said in response
to Laurie's hesitation.

"You never give a girl much warning," Laurie said.

Lou shrugged. "It gives me an excuse to myself if you
refuse."

"Unfortunately I have plans," Laurie said.

"Of course," Lou said hastily. "Silly of me to ask. Well,
take care." Lou abruptly turned. "Say hello to Jordan for
me," he called over his shoulder.

Laurie felt a surge of old irritation as she watched Lou
stride toward the double doors. She fought against the urge
to snap back at him. He had not lost his penchant to be
infuriating.

The doors to the autopsy room shut behind Lou, and
Laurie turned back to her job at hand. But she hesitated.

Then, stripping off her rubber gloves, her apron and

426

gown, Laurie strode from the autopsy room. The hall leas
clear. Lou had already disappeared. Guessing he was ire the
locker room, Laurie pushed directly into the men's side.

Laurie caught Lou with his scrub shirt half off, exposing
his muscled and hairy chest. Self-consciously he lowered the
garment.

"I resent your implication that I'd be seeing Jordan
Scheffield," Laurie said, her arms akimbo. "You know I ull
well he was implicated in this whole affair."

"I know he was implicated," Lou said. "But I also know
the grand jury did not indict him. I also made it a point to
learn that the Board of Medicine didn't even discipline him
even though there was a strong suspicion that he knew w hat
was going on. In fact, some people believe that Jordan
discussed the affair with Cerino but did nothing because he
liked the increase in surgery it provided. So Jordan: out
there pulling in the big bucks like nothing happened. '

"And you think I'd still be seeing him under these c ~>ndi-
tions?" Laurie asked incredulously. "That's an insult '

"I didn't know," Lou said sheepishly. i'You never men-
tioned him."

"I thought it was clear," Laurie said. "Besides, with as
close as we have been working together, you could l-rave
asked."

"I'm sorry," Lou said. "Maybe it's more that I was al raid
you were still seeing him. You remember that I adnfitted
I've always been a bit jealous of him."

"He is the last person you should feel jealous of," l curie
said. "Jordan would be lucky to have an ounce of your
honesty and integrity."

"I'd like an ounce of his schooling," Lou said. "(jr his
sophistication. He always made me feel like a second i Lass
citizen. "

"His urbanity is superficial," Laurie said. ``The only
thing he is truly interested in is money. The embarrassment

427



ROBIN COOK BLINDSIGHT
for me is that I was as blind to Jordan as I was to what
Cerino was doing. I was bowled over by the rush he gave me
and his apparent self-confidence.. You saw through his fa-
cede, but I couldn't, even when you told me directly."
"That's not your fault," Lou said. "You think better of I
people than 1. You're not the cynical bastard I am. Besides,
you're not laboring under a hangup about your back-
ground like I am."   I
You should be proud of your background," Laurie said.  I
"It's the source of your honesty."  I
"Yeah," Lou said. "But I'd still rather have gone toI
Harvard."  I
"When I told you I had plans tonight, I was hoping you
might have suggested we get together tomorrow night or
next week. As prosaic as it sounds, I'm going to my parents' I
tonight. What about you coming with me?"
"You're kidding," Lou said. "Me?"
"Yes," Laurie said, warming to the idea. "One of the
positive spinoffs of this whole affair with Cerino is my
relationship with my parents has improved dramatically.
For once my father even recognized that I'd done some-
thing he could relate to in a positive way, and I think I've
grown up a tad myself. I've even stopped rebelling. I think
dealing with this affair has finally allowed me to come more
or less to terms with my old guilt in relation to my brother's
death."
"This is starting to sound a bit out of my league," Lou
said.
"I suppose it seems sophomoric and overly analytical,"
Laurie agreed. "But the bottom line is that visiting my
parents can be fun. Lately I've been seeing them about once
a week. And I'd love for you to come along. I'd like them
to meet someone whom I really respect."
"Are you pulling my leg?" Lou asked.
"Absolutely not," Laurie said. "In fact, the more I think I

about it the more I hope you'll come. And if you .n joy
yourself, maybe you'll still be willing to take me offs. to
Little Italy tomorrow night."
"Lady," Lou said. "you got yourself a deal."