Chapter 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 occasion.
   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 paperwork the day before, Laurie was not planning on working that Sunday, yet she felt compelled to go to the office because 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 autopsy table, came over to speak with her. It was Sal D’Ambrosio, 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, Laurie went to Paul’s table. He was working on the remains of a very young woman.
   “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 said. “He’s a thirty-one-year-old banker. That’s why I thought you’d be interested. Apparently they injected themselves simultaneously.”
   “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 Laurie by his side.
   “Liver, kidney, and brain,” Laurie said. “In addition to the usual fluid samples.”
   “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 overdose. 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 particularly tragic about two young lovers losing their lives so senselessly. She began to regret anew Bingham’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 Bingham. If this Romeo and Julietstyle 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 Bingham’s home number in the directory. Taking a deep breath, she placed the call.
   Bingham 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 Bingham 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 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 lives—”
   “I know you are,” Bingham said. “But I’m also convinced 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. Bingham—” Laurie protested.
   “That’s enough, Laurie. Goodbye!”
   Laurie looked at the phone with frustration. Bingham had hung up on her. She slammed the phone down in anger. The idea that he would take the problem to the commissioner 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 Bingham had been closest to the real reason for keeping a lid on the series when he mentioned Duncan Andrews. Bingham 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 interest, maybe he could speak out. Laurie wasn’t sure he’d be inclined to get involved, but she decided to chance it. Jordan 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.
   There was only one other person to whom Laurie could turn. Although she was far from optimistic about the reception 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 number. 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 conversations with Bingham 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 complained. “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 understand 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,” Laurie 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 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 infuriatingly rude. She got her things together, including the address 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 moustache soon appeared and introduced himself as Carl Bethany. “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 doorman, 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.
   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 bodies?” 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 someone 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 because 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 Myerholtz 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 contents 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, pulling herself together.
   “That’s easily arranged,” Carl said. “Anything 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 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 cluttered 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 suggested 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 suggested.
   “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 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. “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 interested. 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 complained 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 columns beside the column of names: “Found by”; “Two Men at Scene?”
   She filled in what answers she had. The rest of the afternoon 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 information 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 Bingham. 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 newspaper. Slowly the idea of leaking the story herself began to 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 confidential.
   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 Andrews 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, successful 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 Andrews case in particular.
   “In a way it’s too bad he was the first. I think part of the reason Bingham 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 anything about this in the media at all. Nothing. Zip.”
   “There was a mention of the double death in this morning’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 compound 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 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,” Laurie 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 beforehand. 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 Bingham? 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 leaning on the mayor, who’s been leaning on Bingham. 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 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 reappeared 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 defensively. “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 compartment. Using the map light, he searched for the Kendall Fletcher entry, then read: “Kendall Fletcher, age thirty-four, Vice President Citicorp.”
   “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 wonderment.
   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 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 building. 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 Angelo.
   “Make sure there aren’t any other people up here,” Angelo 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 apartment!” 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 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 surprise. 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. Angelo’s other hand grabbed Kendall’s right wrist in an attempt to free its grip on Tony’s forearm.
   For a second the three people struggled against one another. 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, 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 corresponding to Kendall’s dentition. A few of them were bleeding.
   “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 Evanstype 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 syringe 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 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 envelope 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.”
   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 stairwell. 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 anything in the world.
   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?

Chapter 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 conscience 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-б-vis Dr. Bingham. 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 Bingham 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.
   Pausing in the kitchen on her way to the bathroom, Laurie 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. Bingham. 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 volume. 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 Laurie: Kendall Fletcher, Stephanie Haberlin, and Yvonne Andre. He mentioned the double overdose at George VanDeusen’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 papers aside searching for her address book. Finding Bob Talbot’s number, she punched it into the telephone.
   “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 Bingham’s response 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 emotions began to change. After all, her actions had come from a need to follow her conscience. And Bingham had admitted, 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. Reprimanded, 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 completed 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 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 Talbot. 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 Bingham. 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.
   “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.”
   “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 Junior, was seated at the table. The six-year-old was busy slapping 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 anymore.
   “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.
   “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 building. 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 story—her story. Her thoughts had been so focused on Bingham, she hadn’t been thinking of them. There were at 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 questions 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 admitting 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. Bingham wants to see you,” Calvin said flatly. “Unfortunately 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 interested. 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.
   Bingham’s call.”
   Embarrassed at this obvious snub, Laurie glanced at Vinnie, 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 rumpled Lou Soldano. He didn’t look happy.
   “I personally want to thank you for making my life miserable,” 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 Internal 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 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 causing?” 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 Letterman 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.
   “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 contaminant, 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 contaminant she’d expected. She thought that they might find some exotic central-nervous-system stimulant like strychnine 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 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 polyethylene 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 Bingham’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 plainclothesman.
   “Who are you?” Lou asked.
   “Officer O’Brian,” the policeman 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.
   “Sergeant Norman Carver asked me to come by to try 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 continued, “but they did have one feature in common.”
   Lou looked up. “Oh?”
   Patrick nodded. “They were all scheduled to have surgery. They were all going to have operations on their corneas.”
   “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 something after all. It couldn’t be simple coincidence.
   Looking at his stack of phone messages, Lou decided to postpone returning the calls. He’d be better off following up on this new information. After all, he already knew what his higher-ups were calling him about. They wanted to complain 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 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 carpet. They stood like errant pupils before the school principal. Paul Cerino was seated behind his massive partners desk. He was not happy.
   Dr. Travino wiped his forehead nervously with a handkerchief. 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?”
   “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 with 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. “Otherwise everything has been doing fine. And look at you, you’re doing great.”
   “Then how did this female doc 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 this 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.”
   “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?” Angelo 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 doc’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 explained 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 problems. That was two days ago and already there’s a major scandal brewing. I don’t like it.”
   “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. “Depends 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 Bingham’s secretary. She asked Laurie if she would come to Dr. Bingham’s office. Laurie had said of course.
   Bingham’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,” Bingham said finally. His face was hard, his voice firm. “You have deliberately 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. Bingham—” Laurie began.
   “I don’t want any excuses or explanations,” Bingham 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 you 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. Bingham—” Laurie started again.
   “That will be all!” Dr. Bingham shouted. The tiny capillaries that wrapped around his nostrils dilated, turning his whole nose a bright red.
   Hastily Laurie scrambled from her chair and fled out of Bingham’s office. She consciously avoided the stares of the administrative secretaries who’d undoubtedly heard Bingham’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 emptied 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 Bingham, 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 pointed to homicide? She didn’t know. The only thing she could think to do was call Lou. She went back to her office 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 Lou 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 Bingham 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 Bingham had mentioned.
   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 Fontworth. 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 Bingham 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.”
   “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 umbrella, 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 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. They hadn’t been there three minutes and already he couldn’t wait to get out.
   At the mortuary office he again asked for Vinnie. He 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 Montgomery—”
   “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 I 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 for 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 apartment now. We’re even in the neighborhood.”
   Fifteen minutes later they had parked on Nineteenth Street and were walking toward Laurie’s apartment building.
   “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.
   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?” Tony 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 beginning to doubt the wisdom of putting this hoped-for interview with Jordan ahead of returning his superior’s calls.
   Just when Lou was thinking about leaving, Jordan entered 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 newspaper 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 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 Jordan’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 appreciate 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, 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 extraordinary 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, particularly 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 happened 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, if 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 forensics. She could hardly expect a recommendation from Bingham. 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 investigated. How were the bodies discovered and were the deceased 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 after—with 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 describe the men, but he distinctly remembered their coming.
   When Laurie asked who’d found the body, Timothy replied 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 repairing 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.”
   Jose and Timothy gazed at Laurie with surprise and respect.
   “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 after 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 recognized Jose.
   “I’m sorry, Mrs. Andre,” Jose said. “I didn’t know anyone was here. This 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 office.”
   “From the medical examiner’s office here in Manhattan?” 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 misgivings 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 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 aggrieved 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 Manhattan General Hospital. I also happen to know Dr. Harold Bingham 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!” Bingham thundered after Laurie answered. 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!” Bingham shouted again. “Answer me. What the hell do you think you’re up to?”
   Laurie hung up without saying a word to Bingham. 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.

Chapter 15

   4:15 p.m., Monday
   Manhattan
   Lou Soldano was back in the surgical lounge at Manhattan General for the second time that day. But on this visit he wouldn’t have long to wait. This time he’d called the operating room supervisor and asked when Dr. Scheffield would 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 into the laundry bin. It had been Lou’s plan to catch the man in his skivvies, when he was psychologically vulnerable. It was Lou’s belief that interrogation worked better when the subject was off balance.
   “Hey, Doc,” he called softly. Jordan spun around. The 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 patients.” 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 treatment.”
   “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,” Jordan explained. He began dressing. “But the physiological infirmity was the same. Their corneas weren’t clear.”
   “But isn’t that treating the symptom and not the disease?” Lou asked.
   Jordan stopped buttoning his shirt to stare at Lou. “I think I have underestimated you,” he said. “You are actually 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 generally 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?” Lou 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 affected equally.”
   “Oh,” Lou said. Once again he was running out of questions.
   “Don’t get me wrong, Lieutenant. I’m still shocked and distressed to know that these patients of mine were murdered. But knowing that these patients were killed, I’m not at all surprised to know they were all slated for corneal transplants. As my patients, almost by definition that 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 everyone 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 Scheffield’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 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 finger. 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. She was 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 windshield. 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 building 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,” Angelo 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.
   “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 down 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 demanded. “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 Nineteenth Street.
   “She better not be bleeding on that upholstery,” Angelo 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, looking up from a piece of identification. “It’s a Maureen Wharton, 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 me—Ponti,” 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 daylight. It’s crazy. It makes no sense.”
   “I’m glad you called,” Vinnie said. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you. That snitch you set me up with, that friend of a friend of Tony Ruggerio’s girlfriend, just clued me in. He knows what they’re doing. It’s unbelievable. You’d never have figured it out.”
   “Want me to come back?” Franco asked.
   “No, stay on those two,” Vinnie said. “I’m heading 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 going 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 set 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 doors 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 no one responded.
   Looking to the left, Laurie noticed a service entrance. 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 something she’d not seen. Below the brass plate and partially hidden from view by the ivy that snaked up the building’s facade was 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 marble 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 despite Bingham’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 apartment 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 behind 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.
   “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 important.”
   “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 organizations 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 efforts.”
   “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 devoted to the donation and reallocation of human organs for transplantation.”
   “What do you mean by your “recruiting efforts’?” Laurie asked.
   “We try to get people to register as potential donors,” Gertrude said. “The simplest commitment is just to agree that in the event of an accident that renders one brain dead, one would be willing to have the appropriate organs given to a needy recipient.”
   “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 charitable 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, “particularly those who are civic-minded. People who are interested 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 information. 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 to your cause before her untimely death. Mr. Hoskins’ card was in her apartment. I don’t want to know any details, but I would appreciate knowing if she’d signed up with your organization.”
   “Did Ms. Yvonne Andre’s death occur under questionable 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 to be transplanted the donor must be in a vegetative state. In other words, everything but the brain must still be physiologically alive.”
   “Of course,” Laurie said. “I’m well aware of that caveat. Yvonne Andre was not in a vegetative state before her death. Nevertheless, her status in your organization is something I need to know.”
   “Just a moment,” Gertrude said. She walked over to her desk and punched some information into her computer terminal. “Yes,” she said. “Yvonne was registered. But that is all I can say.”
   “I appreciate what you have told me,” Laurie said. “I have one more question. Have there been any break-ins here at your offices in the last year?”
   Gertrude rolled her eyes. “I really don’t know if I’m at liberty to divulge this kind of information, but I guess it’s a matter of public record. You could always check with the police. Yes, we were broken into a couple of months ago. Luckily not too much was taken and there was no vandalism.”
   Laurie rose from her chair. “Thank you very much. You’ve been generous with your time. I really appreciate it.”
   “Would you like to take some of our literature?” Gertrude asked.
   “I would,” Laurie said. Gertrude opened a cabinet and 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 renewed, 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 Bingham still being there. She knew that on a number of evenings he also stayed late. Consequently Laurie instructed 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 Bingham’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 address. 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 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 over the threshold, ready to flee at the slightest unexpected sound.
   Out of the corner of her eye, Laurie saw something coming at her. Letting out a small involuntary cry that was more of a gasp than a scream, Laurie let go of her briefcase and raised her arms to defend herself. At the moment the briefcase hit the floor, the cat was on her, but only for a second. In the next instant it had leaped to the foyer table, 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 machine light was blinking, but she didn’t listen to her messages. 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 corpulence.
   “Who is it?” Laurie asked.
   “Police,” a voice called.
   A feeling of relief spread over her as she began to unlock her locks. Could Bingham 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.
   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 initially 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 matters. 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 fleeting glimpse of a woman’s silhouette dashing by the wire-embedded, smoked glass of a door to the fire stairs.
   It took Angelo a second to appreciate what was happening. “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. Tony 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 determined 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 collection of old, dented, metal garbage cans. In a fit of desperation 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 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 luck as the first cab she saw came over to her and stopped. Completely 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 afraid 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 destination. 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, Laurie had a change of heart again. Worrying that Lou might not be at police headquarters, Laurie decided her first destination 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 Bingham’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 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 machine message one more time, I’ll scream.”
   “I’m at my office,” Laurie said. “There’s been some trouble.”
   “I heard,” Lou said. “I’m sorry about your being fired. Is it final or will you get a hearing?”
   “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 I’m 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 of my boys going to your apartment. What were their names?”
   “I haven’t the slightest idea,” Laurie said.
   “Don’t tell me you didn’t ask them their names,” Lou said. “That’s ridiculous. You should have gotten their 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 said. “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 numbers. Do you think you can remember that?”
   Laurie wondered if Lou was deliberately trying to provoke her. She tried to remain calm. This was no time to let him get to her. “Let’s change the subject,” she said. “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 someone 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 matches. Obviously I can’t meet you here in the daytime.”
   “What a coincidence,” Lou said. “Sounds like we’ve 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 paternalism, 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 support, 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.
   “Is the Fletcher body still here?” she asked.
   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 substantiate 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 printout and handed it to Laurie. She studied it with little comprehension.
   “It’s from Robert Evans,” Peter said proudly. “Just as you suggested.”
   “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 preliminary. 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.”