{"id":3090,"date":"2026-01-03T23:04:38","date_gmt":"2026-01-03T23:04:38","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/marker-cook-robin\/"},"modified":"2026-01-03T23:04:38","modified_gmt":"2026-01-03T23:04:38","slug":"marker-cook-robin","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/marker-cook-robin\/","title":{"rendered":"Marker – Cook, Robin"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Book Preview<\/h3>\n
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MARKER<\/span><\/p>\n

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Robin Cook<\/span><\/p>\n

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G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS<\/span><\/p>\n

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Publishers Since 1838<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

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Published by the Penguin Group<\/span><\/p>\n

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Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York
\n10014, USA \u2022<\/span><\/p>\n

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Penguin Group (Canada), 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario M4V
\n3B2, Canada (a division<\/span><\/p>\n

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of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) \u00bb <\/i>Penguin Books Ltd, 80
\nStrand, London WC2R ORL,<\/span><\/p>\n

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England Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland
\n(a division of Penguin<\/span><\/p>\n

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Books Ltd) – Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road,
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Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd) Penguin
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New Zealand Ltd.) Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24
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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL,
\nEngland<\/span><\/p>\n

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Copyright \u00a9 2005 by Robin Cook<\/span><\/p>\n

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced,
\nscanned, or<\/span><\/p>\n

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distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.
\nPlease<\/span><\/p>\n

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do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials
\nin<\/span><\/p>\n

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violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.<\/span><\/p>\n

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Published simultaneously in Canada<\/span><\/p>\n

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data<\/span><\/p>\n

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Cook, Robin, date. Marker \/ Robin Cook.<\/span><\/p>\n

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p. cm.<\/span><\/p>\n

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ISBN 0-399-15293-8<\/span><\/p>\n

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I. Title.<\/span><\/p>\n

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PS3553.05545M37 2005 2005045812<\/span><\/p>\n

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813′.54\u2014dc22<\/span><\/p>\n

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Printed in the United States of America 13579 10 8642<\/span><\/p>\n

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This book is printed on acid-free paper. <\/span><\/p>\n

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BOOK DESIGN BY AMANDA DEWEY<\/span><\/p>\n

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
\nincidents either<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

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are the product of the author’s imagination or are used
\nfictitiously,<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

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and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses,<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

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companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.<\/span><\/p>\n

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For Jean and
\nCameron<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

\n

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and all they
\nmean to me<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

\n

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I
\nwould like to acknowledge my medical school, The College of Physicians and
\nSurgeons at Columbia University in New York. It was an honor and a privilege to
\nhave attended. Both my professional life and writing career have depended
\nheavily on the foundation of knowledge and experience I learned and enjoyed at
\nthat fine institution.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

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\u2014R.
\nC.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

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prologue<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

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<\/span><\/p>\n

IN THE WEE HOURS OF February 2,
\n<\/i>a cold, steady drizzle drenched the concrete spires of New York City,
\nshrouding them in a dense swirl of purplish-pink fog. Save for a few muted
\nsirens, the city that never sleeps was at a relative standstill. Yet at exactly
\nthree-seventeen A.M., two nearly simultaneous, unrelated but basically similar,
\nmicrocosmic events occurred on opposite sides of Central Park that would prove
\nto be fatefully connected. One was on a cellular level, the other on a
\nmolecular level. Although the biological consequences of these two events were
\nopposite, the events themselves were destined to cause the perpetrators\u2014all
\nstrangers\u2014to violently collide in less than two months.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

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The cellular event occurred in a
\nmoment of intense bliss and involved the forcible injection of slightly more
\nthan two hundred and fifty million sperm into a vaginal vault. Like a group of
\nanxious marathoners, the sperm mobilized quickly tapped into their
\nself-contained energy stores, and began a truly Herculean race against death: a
\nremarkably arduous and perilous race that only one could win, relegating the
\nothers to short and frustratingly futile lives.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

The first task was to penetrate
\nthe mucous plug obstructing the collapsed uterine cavity. Despite this
\nformidable barrier, the sperm rapidly triumphed as a group, although it was a
\nPyrrhic victory. Tens of millions of the initial wave of gametes were lost in a
\nform of self-sacrifice required to release their contained enzymes to make the
\npassage possible for others.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

The next ordeal for this horde
\nof minute living entities was to traverse the relatively enormous uterine
\nexpanse, almost equivalent in distance and danger to a small fish swimming the
\nlength of the Great Barrier Reef. But even this seemingly insurmountable
\nimpediment was overcome as a few thousand lucky and robust individual sperm
\nmade it to the openings of the two oviducts, leaving behind hundreds of
\nmillions of unlucky casualties.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Still, the travail was not over.
\nOnce within the undulating folds of the oviducts, the fortunate ones who’d
\nentered the correct tube were now spurred on by the chemotaxis of the
\ndescending fluid from a burst ovarian follicle. Somewhere ahead, beyond a
\ntortuous and treacherous twelve centimeters, lay the sperm’s Holy Grail, a
\nrecently released ovum crowned with a cloud of supporting cumulous cells.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Progressively goaded by the
\nirresistible chemical attraction, a contingent of the male gametes accomplished
\nthe ostensibly impossible and closed in on their target. Nearly exhausted from
\nthe long swim and from avoiding predatory macrophages who’d engulfed many of
\ntheir brethren, the number was now less than one hundred and falling rapidly.
\nNeck and neck, the survivors bore down on the hapless haploid egg in a race to
\nthe wire.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

After an astonishingly short one
\nhour and twenty-five minutes, the winning sperm gave a final desperate beat of
\nhis flagellum and collided head-on with the egg’s surrounding cumulous cells.
\nFrantically, he burrowed between the cells to bring his caplike acrosome into
\ndirect contact with the egg’s heavy protein coat to form a bond. At that
\ninstant, the race was over. As his last mortal act, the winning sperm then
\ninjected his contained nuclear material into the egg to form the male
\npronucleus.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

The other sixteen sperm that had
\nmanaged to reach the egg seconds behind the winner found themselves unable to
\nadhere to the egg’s altered protein coat. With their energy stores exhausted,
\ntheir flagella soon fell silent. There was no second place, and all the losers
\nwere soon swept up, engulfed, and carried off by the deadly maternal
\nmacrophages.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Inside the now-fertilized ovum,
\nthe female pronucleus and the male pronucleus migrated toward each other. After
\nthe dissolution of their envelopes, their nuclear material fused to form the
\nrequired forty-six chromosomes of a human somatic cell. The ovum had
\nmetamorphosed into a zygote. Within twenty-four hours, it divided in a process
\ncalled cleavage, <\/i>the first step in a programmed sequence of events that
\nwould in twenty days begin to form an embryo. A life had begun.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

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The nearly simultaneous
\nmolecular event also involved a forcible injection. On this occasion a bolus of
\nmore than a trillion molecules of a simple salt called potassium chloride
\ndissolved in a shotglass volume of sterile water was injected into a peripheral
\narm vein. The effect was almost instantaneous. Cells lining the vein
\nexperienced<\/span> a rapid passive diffusion of the potassium ions into their
\ninteriors, upsetting their electrostatic charge necessary for life and
\nfunction. Delicate nerve endings among the cells quickly sent urgent messages
\nof pain to the brain as a warning of imminent catastrophe.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Within seconds, the rest of the
\npotassium ions were streaming through the great veins and into the heart, where
\nthey were propelled with each beat out into the vast arterial tree. Although
\nprogressive dilution occurred within the plasma, the concentration was still
\nincompatible with cellular function. Of particular concern were the specialized
\ncells of the heart responsible for initiating the heartbeat, those of the
\nbrainstem responsible for the urge to breathe, and the nerves and muscle
\nspindles that carried the messages. All were quickly adversely affected. The
\nheart rate rapidly slowed, and the heartbeats grew weaker. Breathing became
\nshallow, and oxygenation inadequate. Moments later, the heart stopped
\naltogether, initiating progressive bodywide cellular death as well as clinical
\ndeath. A life had been lost. As a final blow, the dying cells leaked their
\nstore of potassium into the stagnant circulatory system, effectively masking
\nthe original lethal bolus.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

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one<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

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<\/span><\/p>\n

THE SOUND OF THE DRIPPING was
\nmetronomic. Somewhere out on the fire escape, drops of water, fueled by the
\nincessant rain, splattered against a metallic surface. To Laurie Montgomery, the
\nnoise seemed almost as loud as a kettledrum in Jack Stapleton’s otherwise
\nsilent apartment, making her wince as she anticipated each splat. The only
\ncompetition over the long hours had been the refrigerator’s compressor cycling
\non and off, the hiss and thump of the radiator as heat rose, and an occasional
\ndistant siren or horn, sounds so typical in New York that people’s minds
\ninstinctively ignored them. But Laurie was not so lucky. After tossing and
\nturning for three hours, she’d become hypersensitive to every sound around her.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie rolled over again and
\nopened her eyes. Anemic fingers of light reached around the window shade’s
\nedges, allowing her a better view of Jack’s barren and otherwise drab
\napartment. The reason she and Jack were there instead of at her apartment was
\nthe size of her bedroom: It was so small that the largest bed it could
\naccommodate was a twin, which made communal sleeping problematic. And then
\nthere was also Jack’s desire to be near to his beloved neighborhood basketball
\ncourt.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie glanced over to the radio
\nalarm clock. As its digital readout relentlessly advanced, Laurie became
\nprogressively angry. Without much sleep, she knew from sore experience she’d be
\na basket case at the medical examiner’s office that day. She wondered how in
\nGod’s name she had made it through medical school and her residency, where
\nsleep deprivation had been the name of the game. Yet Laurie sensed that her
\ncurrent inability to fall asleep wasn’t the only thing making her angry. In
\nfact, her anger was probably why she couldn’t sleep in the first place.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

It had been the middle of the
\nnight when Jack had inadvertently reminded her of her upcoming birthday, asking
\nher if she wanted to do something special to celebrate. Laurie knew it had been
\nan innocent question, coming as it did in the afterglow of love-making, but it
\nhad shattered her elaborate defense of taking each day at a time to avoid
\nthinking about the future. It seemed impossible, but she was soon to be
\nforty-three years old. Somewhere around age thirty-five the clich\u00e9 about the
\nticking reproductive clock had become true for her\u2014and now hers was sending out
\nthe alarm.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie let out an involuntary
\nsigh. In her loneliness as the hours had slid by, she’d fretted over the social
\nquagmire in which she found herself ensnared. When it came to her personal
\nlife, things hadn’t gone right since middle school. Jack was content with the
\nstatus quo, as evidenced by his relaxed silhouette and the sounds of his
\nblissful sleep, which only made things worse for Laurie. She wanted a family.
\nShe’d always assumed she’d have one, even during her comparatively wild
\ntwenties and early thirties, yet here she was, almost forty-three, living in a
\ncrummy apartment in a fringe New York neighborhood, sleeping with a man who
\ncouldn’t make up his mind about marriage or children.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

She sighed again. Earlier, she’d
\nconsciously tried to avoid disturbing Jack, but now she didn’t care. She had
\ndecided she was going to try to talk with him again, even though she knew that
\nthe issue was something he studiously preferred to ignore. But this time, she
\nwas going to demand some change. After all, why should she settle for a
\nmiserable life in an apartment more suited to a couple of penurious graduate
\nstudents than board-certified forensic pathologists, as she and Jack were, in a
\nrelationship where discussions of marriage and children were unilaterally
\nverboten?<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Yet things weren’t all bad. On
\nthe career side, it couldn’t be better. She loved her job as a medical examiner
\nat the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner of New York, where she’d been
\nworking for thirteen years, and she felt lucky she had a coworker like Jack
\nwith whom she could share the experience. Both of them were awed by the
\nintellectual stimulation that forensic pathology offered; each day they learned
\nsomething new. And they saw eye to eye on a lot of issues: Both had little
\ntolerance for mediocrity, and both were turned off by the political necessities
\nof being part of a bureaucracy. Yet as compatible as they were work-wise, it
\ndid not make up for her burgeoning desire to have a family.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Jack suddenly stirred and rolled
\nover onto his back, his fingers intertwined and hands clasped on his chest.
\nLaurie looked at his sleeping profile. In her eyes, he was a handsome man, with
\nclosely cropped, gray-streaked light brown hair, bushy eyebrows, and strong,
\nsharp features, usually sporting a wry smile, even in repose. She found him
\naggressive yet friendly, bold yet modest, challenging yet generous, and, most
\noften, playful and fun. With his quick wit, life was never dull, especially
\nwith his adolescent penchant for risk-taking. On the negative side he could be
\naggravatingly stubborn, especially about marriage and children.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie leaned toward Jack and
\nlooked more closely. He was definitely smiling, which aggravated her
\nirritation. It didn’t seem fair that he was satisfied with the status quo.
\nAlthough she was reasonably sure she loved him and believed he loved her, his
\ninability to make a commitment was literally driving her to distraction. He said
\nit wasn’t a fear of marriage or parenthood per se, but rather the vulnerability
\nthat such commitment created. At first, Laurie had been understanding: Jack had
\nsuffered the tragedy of losing his first wife and two young daughters in a
\ncommuter plane crash. She knew that he carried both the grief and the
\nresponsibility, since the accident had occurred after a family visit while he
\nwas retraining in pathology in another city. She also knew that after the
\naccident, he had struggled with severe reactive depression. But now the tragedy
\nwas almost thirteen years in the past. Laurie felt that she’d been sensitive to
\nhis needs and had been patient when they finally did start dating seriously.
\nBut now, almost four years later, Laurie felt that she’d reached her limit.
\nAfter all, she had needs, too.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

The buzz of Jack’s alarm
\nshattered the silence. Jack’s arm shot out and swatted the snooze button, then
\nretracted back into the warmth of the covers. For five minutes, peacefulness
\nreturned to the room, and Jack’s breathing regained its slow, deep, sleeping
\nrhythm. This was part of the morning routine that Laurie never saw, because
\nJack invariably was up before she was. Laurie was a night person who loved to
\nread before turning out the light, often staying up longer than she should.
\nAlmost from day one of their cohabitation, Laurie had learned to sleep through
\nthe alarm, knowing Jack would get it.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

When the alarm went off the
\nsecond time, Jack turned it off, threw back the covers, sat up, and put his
\nfeet on the floor, facing away from Laurie. She watched him stretch and could
\nhear him<\/span> yawn as he rubbed his eyes. He stood up and padded into the
\nbathroom, heedless of his nakedness. Laurie put her hands behind her head and
\nwatched him, and despite her aggravation, it was a pleasant sight. She could
\nhear him use the toilet and then flush. When he reappeared, he was again
\nrubbing his eyes as he came around to Laurie’s side of the bed to wake her.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Jack reached out to give
\nLaurie’s shoulder a shake as per usual, and then gave a start when he saw her
\neyes open, trained on him, her mouth set in an expression of irritated
\ndetermination.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“You’re awake!” Jack
\nsaid, his eyebrows arching questioningly. He knew instantly that something was
\namiss.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I haven’t been back to
\nsleep since our middle-of-the-night tryst.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“It was that good,
\nhuh?” Jack said, in hopes that humor could defuse her apparent pique.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Jack, we have to
\ntalk,” Laurie said flatly, sitting up and clutching the blanket to her
\nchest. Defiantly she locked eyes with him.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Isn’t that what we’re
\nalready doing?” Jack questioned. He immediately guessed where Laurie was
\ncoming from, and he couldn’t keep sarcasm out of his voice. Although he knew
\nhis tone was counterproductive, he couldn’t help himself. Sarcasm was a
\nprotective mannerism he’d developed over the last decade.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie started to respond, but
\nJack held up his hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but
\nI have a sneaking suspicion where this conversation is headed, and it’s not the
\ntime. I’m sorry, Laurie, but we have to be at the morgue in an hour, and
\nneither of us has showered, dressed, or eaten.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Jack, it’s never the
\ntime.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Well, then let’s put it
\nthis way: This might be the worst possible time for some kind of serious,
\nemotional discussion. It’s six-thirty on a Monday morning after a great
\nweekend, and we have to get to work. If it had been on your mind, there’d have
\nbeen a dozen<\/span> other times during the last couple of days when you could
\nhave brought it up, and I would have been happy to discuss it.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Oh, bull! Let’s face it,
\nyou never want to talk about it. Jack, I’m going to be forty-three on Thursday.
\nForty-three! I don’t have the luxury of being patient. I can’t wait for you to
\ndecide what you want to do. I’ll be postmenopausal.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

For several beats, Jack stared
\ninto Laurie’s blue-green eyes. It was clear that she wasn’t going to be
\nplacated easily. “All right,” he said, exhaling noisily as if he was
\nconceding. He averted his gaze down to his bare feet. “We’ll talk about it
\ntonight over dinner.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I need to talk about it
\nnow!” Laurie said emphatically. She reached out and lifted Jack’s chin to
\nlock eyes again. “I’ve been agonizing over our situation while you’ve been
\nsleeping. Putting it off is not an option.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Laurie, I’m going to go in
\nand take a shower. I’m telling you, there’s no time for this at the
\nmoment.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I love you, Jack,”
\nLaurie said after grabbing his arm to restrain him. “But I need more. I
\nwant to be married and have a family. I want to live someplace better than
\nthis.” She let go of Jack’s arm and swept her hand around the room to
\npoint out the peeling paint, the bare lightbulb, the bed with no headboard, the
\ntwo night tables that were empty wooden wine cases set on end, and the single
\nbureau. “It doesn’t have to be the Taj Mahal, but this is ridiculous.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“All this time, I thought
\nfour stars was adequate for you.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Save the sarcasm,”
\nLaurie snapped. “A little luxury wouldn’t hurt for as hard as we work. But
\nthat’s not the issue. It’s the relationship, which seems fine for you but isn’t
\nenough for me. That’s the bottom line.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I’m taking a shower,”
\nJack said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie gave him a crooked
\nhalf-smile. “Fine. You take a shower.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Jack nodded and started to say
\nsomething, then changed his mind. He turned and disappeared into the bathroom,
\nleaving the<\/span> door ajar. A moment later, Laurie heard the shower start
\nand the sound of the shower curtain rings scraping across the shower rod.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie exhaled. She was
\ntrembling from a combination of fatigue and emotional stress, but she was proud
\nof herself for not shedding any tears. She hated when she cried in emotional
\nsituations. How she had avoided it at the moment she had no idea, but she was
\npleased. Tears never helped, and frequently put her at a disadvantage.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

After slipping on her robe,
\nLaurie went into the closet for her suitcase. The confrontation with Jack
\nactually made her feel relieved. By responding just as she’d anticipated, Jack
\njustified what she had decided to do even before he had awakened. Opening up
\nher allotted bureau drawers, she took out her things and began packing. With
\nthe task almost complete, she heard the shower stop, and a minute later Jack
\nappeared in the doorway, briskly toweling off his head. When he caught sight of
\nLaurie and the suitcase, he stopped abruptly.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“What the hell are you
\ndoing?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I think it’s perfectly
\nclear what I’m doing,” Laurie answered.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

For a minute Jack didn’t say
\nanything, merely watching as Laurie continued her packing. “You’re
\ncarrying this too far,” he said finally. “You don’t have to
\nleave.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I think I do,” Laurie
\nresponded without looking up.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Fine!” Jack said
\nafter a beat, an edge to his voice. He ducked back through the door to finish
\ntoweling off.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

When Jack came out of the
\nbathroom, Laurie went in, carrying the day’s outfit. She made a point of
\nclosing the door, although on normal mornings, it remained open. By the time
\nLaurie emerged, fully dressed, Jack was in the kitchen. Laurie joined him for a
\nbreakfast of cold cereal and fruit. Neither took the time to sit at the tiny
\nvinyl dinette set. Both were polite, and the only conversation was “excuse
\nme” or “sorry” as they danced around each other to get in and
\nout of the refrigerator. Thanks to the narrowness of the room, it was
\nimpossible to move without touching.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

By seven, they were ready to
\nleave. Laurie squeezed her cosmetics into her suitcase and closed the lid. When
\nshe rolled it out into the living room, she saw Jack lifting his mountain bike
\nfrom its wall rack.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“You’re not riding that
\nthing to work, are you?” Laurie asked. Prior to their living together,
\nJack had used the bike to commute, as well as to run errands around the city.
\nIt had always terrified Laurie, who constantly worried that he was going to
\narrive one day at the morgue “feet first.” When they had begun to
\ncommute together, Jack had given up riding the bike, since there was no way
\nLaurie would consent to doing the same.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Well, it looks like I’ll
\nbe on my own coming back to my palace.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“It’s raining, for God’s
\nsake!”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Rain makes it more
\ninteresting.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“You know, Jack, since I’m
\nbeing honest this morning, I think I should tell you that I find this kind of
\njuvenile risk-taking of yours is not only inappropriate but also selfish, like
\nyou’re thumbing your nose at my feelings.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“That’s interesting,”
\nJack said with a smirk. “Well, let me tell you something: Riding my bike
\nhas nothing to do with your feelings. And to be honest with you, your feeling
\nthat it does seems pretty selfish to me.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Outside on 106th Street, Laurie
\nwalked west to Columbus Avenue to catch a cab. Jack pedaled east toward Central
\nPark. Neither turned to wave at the other.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

two<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

JACK HAD FORGOTTEN THE
\nexhilaration of riding his dark purple Cannondale mountain bike, but it came
\nback to him in a rush as he coasted down one of the hills after entering
\nCentral Park near 106th Street. Since the park was nearly deserted save for the
\nrare jogger, Jack had let himself go, and both the city and his suppressed
\nanxieties miraculously disappeared in the misty city-bound forest. With the
\nwind whistling in his ears, he could remember as if it were yesterday sailing
\ndown Dead Man’s Hill in South Bend, Indiana, on his beloved red-and-gold,
\nwide-tired Schwinn. He’d gotten the bike on his tenth birthday after having
\nseen it advertised on the back of a comic book. Mythologized as a symbol of his
\nhappy and carefree childhood, he’d convinced his mother to save it, and it
\ncontinued to gather dust back in the garage of his family’s home.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Rain was still falling, but not
\nhard enough to dampen Jack’s experience, despite his hearing droplets
\nsplattering against the brow of his bicycle helmet. His biggest problem was
\ntrying to see through the moisture-streaked lenses of his aerodynamic bicycling
\nsunglasses. To keep the rest of himself reasonably dry, he wore his waterproof
\nbicycle poncho, which featured ingenious little hooks for his thumbs. When he
\nlearned forward with his hands grasping the handlebars, the poncho created a
\ntentlike covering. For the most part, he avoided puddles, and when he couldn’t,
\nhe lifted his feet off the pedals to coast until he reached drier pavement.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

At the southeast corner of
\nCentral Park, Jack entered the Mid-town city streets, already clogged with
\nmorning rush-hour traffic. There had been a time when he loved to challenge the
\ntraffic, but that was when he was, in his words, a bit crazier. It was also when
\nhe was in significantly better shape. Since he hadn’t been riding much over the
\nlast few years, he didn’t have nearly the same stamina anymore. His frequent
\nbasketball playing helped, but basketball didn’t involve quite the same
\nsustained aerobics that bicycling demanded. Yet he didn’t slow down, and by the
\ntime he coasted down the ramp into the 30th Street receiving dock at the
\nmedical examiner’s office, his quadriceps were complaining. After dismounting,
\nhe stood for a moment, leaning onto his handlebars to let his circulation catch
\nup with the oxygen demand in his leg muscles.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

When the hypoxic aching of his
\nthighs had been mollified, Jack hefted his bike on his shoulder and started up
\nthe steps to the receiving dock. His legs were still rubbery, but he was eager
\nto find out what was going on at the morgue. When he’d passed the front of the
\nbuilding, he’d seen a number of TV satellite trucks parked at the curb with
\ntheir generators cranking and their antennae extended. He also had caught sight
\nof a press of people within the reception area just beyond the front doors.
\nSomething was brewing.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Jack waved a greeting to Robert
\nHarper through the window of the security office. The uniformed officer popped
\nout of his chair and stuck his head around the jamb of the open door.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Back to your old tricks,
\nDr. Stapleton?” Robert called out. “I haven’t seen that bike of yours
\nfor years.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Jack waved over his shoulder as
\nhe carried his bike into the depths of the morgue’s basement. He passed the
\nsmall autopsy room used for examining decomposing corpses and turned left just
\nbefore the central mass of drawer-shaped refrigerated compartments where bodies
\nwere stored prior to being autopsied. He had to clear a space for his bike in
\nthe area reserved for the Potter’s Field pine coffins, used for the
\nunidentified and unwanted dead. After stowing his coat and bicycle
\nparaphernalia in his locker in the changing room, Jack headed for the stairs.
\nHe passed Mike Passano, the graveyard-shift mortuary tech, who was busy
\nfinishing up his paperwork in the mortuary office. Jack waved, but Mike was too
\nengrossed to notice him.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

As Jack emerged into the central
\ncorridor on the first floor, he caught another glimpse of the crowded front
\nreception area. Even from the back of the building, he could hear the murmur of
\nexcited conversation. Something was up, and his curiosity was piqued. One of
\nthe most exciting aspects of being a medical examiner was that he never knew
\nfrom one day to the next what was in store. Coming to work was stimulating, even
\nexciting, which was a far cry from how Jack had felt in his former life as an
\nophthalmologist, when each day had been comfortable but utterly predictable.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Jack’s ophthalmology career had
\nended abruptly in 1990, when his practice had been gobbled up by the
\naggressively expanding managed-care giant AmeriCare. AmeriCare’s offer to hire
\nJack as an<\/span> employee was another slap in the face. The experience
\nforced Jack to recognize that old-school, fee-for-service medicine based on
\nclose doctor-patient relationships, where decisions were based solely on
\npatients’ needs, was rapidly disappearing. That epiphany led to his decision to
\nretrain as a forensic pathologist, hopefully freeing himself from managed care,
\nwhich he felt was more of a euphemism for “denial of care.” The final
\nirony was that AmeriCare had resurfaced to haunt Jack despite his efforts to
\ndistance himself. Thanks to a low bid for its premiums, AmeriCare had recently
\nwon a competitive contract for city employees. Jack and his colleagues now had to
\nlook to AmeriCare for their own healthcare needs.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Wishing to avoid the throng of
\nmedia, Jack set off on the back route to the ID office, where the morgue’s
\nworkday began. On a rotating basis, one of the more senior medical examiners
\narrived early to review the cases that had come in during the night, decide
\nwhich ones needed to be autopsied, and make the assignments. It was Jack’s
\nhabit to get to work early as well, even if it wasn’t his turn to be the
\nscheduler, so he could snoop through the cases and get the most challenging
\nones assigned to him. Jack had always wondered why other docs didn’t do the
\nsame thing until he realized that the majority of the others were more
\ninterested in avoidance. Jack’s curiosity invariably caused him to end up with
\nthe largest caseload. But he didn’t mind; work was Jack’s opiate for taming his
\ndemons. While he and Laurie had been practically living together, he’d gotten
\nher to come in early with him, which had been no mean feat, considering how
\nhard it was for her to get up in the morning. The thought made Jack smile. It
\nalso made him wonder if she had already arrived.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Jack suddenly stopped in his
\ntracks. Until now, he had deliberately kept the morning’s confrontation from
\nhis mind. Thoughts of his relationship with Laurie as well as memories of
\nhorrific events of his own past flooded into his consciousness. Irritably, he
\nwondered why she had felt compelled to end a beautiful weekend on such a downer
\nnote, especially since things had been going so well between them. In general,
\nhe almost felt content, a remarkable state of mind, considering he didn’t feel
\nhe deserved to be alive, much less happy.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

A wave of anger spread through
\nhim. The last thing he needed was to be reminded of his smoldering grief and
\nguilt about his late wife and daughters, which happened with any talk of
\nmarriage or children. The idea of commitment and the vulnerability it entailed,
\nespecially starting another family, was terrifying.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Get a grip,” Jack
\nmurmured to himself under his breath. He closed his eyes and roughly massaged
\nhis face with both hands. Behind his irritation and frustration with Laurie, he
\nfelt the stirrings of melancholy, an unwelcome reminder of his past struggles
\nwith depression. The problem was, he truly cared for her. Things were great,
\nexcept for the gnawing issue of children.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Dr. Stapleton, are you all
\nright?” a woman’s voice asked.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Jack peeked out through his
\nfingers. Janice Jaeger, the petite night-shift forensic investigator, was
\nstaring up at him while pulling on her coat, on her way home and apparently
\nexhausted. Her legendary dark circles made Jack wonder if she ever slept.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I’m fine,” Jack said.
\nHe took his hands away from his face and shrugged self-consciously. “Why
\ndo you ask?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I don’t think I’ve ever
\nseen you standing still, especially in the middle of the corridor.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Jack tried to think of a witty
\nretort, but nothing came to mind. Instead, he changed the subject by lamely
\nasking if she had had an interesting night.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“It was wild around
\nhere!” Janice said. “More so for the tour doctor and even Dr.
\nFontworth than me. Dr. Bingham and Dr. Washington are already here doing a
\npost, with Fontworth assisting.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“No kidding!” Jack
\nsaid. “What kind of case?” Harold Bingham was the chief, and Calvin
\nWashington was the deputy chief. Generally, neither appeared until well after
\neight in the morning, and it was rare for them to do an autopsy before the
\nnormal day began. There had to be political ramifications, which explained the
\nmedia presence. Fontworth was one of Jack’s colleagues, and had been on call
\nfor the weekend. Medical examiners didn’t come in at night unless there was a
\nproblem. Pathology residents were hired as “tour doctors” to cover
\nroutine calls requiring a physician.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“It’s a gunshot wound, but
\nit’s a police case, which is why Font-worth had to take it. As I understand it,
\nthe police had surrounded a suspect in his girlfriend’s care. When they tried
\nto arrest him, a barrage of shots was fired. There’s the question of
\nunreasonable force. You might find it interesting.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Jack inwardly winced. GSW cases
\ncould be tricky with multiple shots. Although Dr. George Fontworth was Jack’s
\nsenior by eight years at the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner, or OCME, he
\nwas, in Jack’s opinion, perfunctory. “I think I’ll stay clear with the
\nchief involved,” Jack said. “What’d you handle? Anything of
\nnote?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“The usual, but there was
\none at the Manhattan General that stood out. A young man who’d just been
\noperated on yesterday morning for a compound fracture after a fall while
\nin-line skating on Saturday in Central Park.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Jack winced anew. With his
\nsensitivities aroused, thanks to Laurie, he had a negative response at the mere
\nmention of the Manhattan General Hospital. Once an acclaimed academic center,
\nit was now an AmeriCare flagship hospital after having been targeted and taken
\nover by the cash-rich managed-care giant. Although he knew that the overall
\nlevel of medicine practiced at the institution was good, such that if he took a
\nbad flop on his bike and ended up in their trauma unit, which is where they would
\nprobably take him with the new city contract, he’d be well taken care of. At
\nthe same time it was still a managed-care establishment run by AmeriCare, and
\nhe had a visceral hatred for the company. “What made the case stand
\nout?” Jack asked, trying to conceal the emotion he felt. Reverting to
\nsarcasm, he added: “Was it a diagnostic conundrum, or was there some sort
\nof scurrilous hanky-panky involved?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Neither!” Janice
\nsighed. “It was just the way the case struck me. It was just… rather
\nsad.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Sad?” Jack
\nquestioned. He was taken aback. Janice had been working as a forensic
\ninvestigator for more than twenty years and had seen death in all its
\ninglorious permutations. “For you to say it’s sad, it’s got to be really
\nsad. What’s the scoop in a nutshell?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“He was only in his late
\ntwenties and had no medical history\u2014 specifically, no heart trouble. The
\nnarrative I got was that he’d rung his call button, but by the time the nurses
\ngot around to him five to ten minutes later\u2014that’s according to the nurses\u2014he was
\ndead. So it must have been cardiac.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“There was no resuscitation
\nattempt?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Oh, they definitely tried
\nto resuscitate him, but with no success whatsoever. They never even got a blip
\non the EKG.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“What made it so sad? The
\nman’s age?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“The age was one factor,
\nbut it wasn’t the whole story. Actually, I don’t know why it bothered me so
\nmuch. Maybe it has something to do with the nurses not responding quickly
\nenough and my thinking the poor guy knew he was in trouble but couldn’t get
\nhelp. We can all relate to that kind of a hospital nightmare. Or maybe it has
\nsomething to do with the patient’s parents, who are very sympathetic. They came
\nin from Westchester to go to the hospital, then came over here to stay near the
\nbody. They’re really broken up. I get the impression their son was their whole
\nlife. I think they’re still here.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Where? I hope they’re not
\nstuck out there in that mob of reporters?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Last thing I knew, they
\nwere in the ID room, insisting on another ID even though it had already been
\nestablished. To be considerate, the tour doctor told Mike to go ahead and do
\nanother set of Polaroids, but that was when I was called back to the General
\nfor another case. When I got back here, Mike happened to mention the couple was
\nstill spaced out in the ID room, sort of emotionally adrift, while clutching
\nthe Polaroids. And, as if still hoping the whole affair was a mistake, they
\ninsisted on viewing the body itself.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Jack felt his pulse quicken. He
\nknew all too well the emotional devastation of losing a child. “That case
\ncan’t be what has the media people all stirred up.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Heavens, no. The kind of
\ncase I’m talking about never reaches the public. That’s part of the reason it’s
\nso sad. A life wasted.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Is it the police case
\nthat’s brought in the media?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“It’s what brought them
\noriginally. Bingham announced he would make a statement after the autopsy. The
\ntour doctor told me the Spanish Harlem community is up in arms about the
\nincident. Apparently, there were something like fifty shots fired by the
\npolice. Echoes of the Diallo case in the South Bronx some years back. But to
\ntell you the truth, I think what the media is now mostly interested in is the
\nSara Cromwell case, which came in after they were already here.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Sara Cromwell, the
\nsyndicated psychologist in the Daily News?”<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Yeah, the advice diva,
\ncapable of telling anyone and everyone how to get his or her life back on
\ntrack. She was also a TV personality, you know. She hit most of the talk shows,
\nincluding Oprah. <\/i>She was pretty darn famous.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Was it an accident? Why the
\nfuss?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“No accident. She was
\napparently brutally murdered in her Park Avenue apartment. I don’t know the
\ndetails, but it was on the gory side, according to Dr. Fontworth, who had to
\nhandle that case as well. I tell you, he and the tour doctor were out all
\nnight. After<\/span> Cromwell, there was a double suicide in a mansion on
\nEighty-fourth Street, then a nightclub homicide. After that, the tour doctor
\nhad to go out for a hit-and-run on Park Avenue and two overdoses.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“What about the double
\nsuicide? Old or young?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Middle-aged. Carbon
\nmonoxide. They had their Escalade running with the garage door closed and a
\ncouple of vacuum hoses from the exhausts into the cab.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Hmmm,” Jack murmured.
\n“Any suicide notes?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Hey, no fair,” Janice
\ncomplained. “You’re grilling me about cases I didn’t handle. But as far as
\nI know there was only one note, from the woman.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Interesting,” Jack
\ncommented. “Well, I better get down to the ID room. Sounds like it’s going
\nto be a busy day. And you better get home to get some sleep.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Jack was pleased. The
\nanticipation of an interesting day swept away some of the irritation that had
\nresurfaced about the morning. If Laurie wanted to go back to her own apartment
\nfor a few days, it was fine with him! He’d just bide his time, because he
\nwasn’t going to be emotionally extorted.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Jack sped by the forensic
\ninvestigators’ office, cut through the clerical room with its banks of file
\ncabinets, and entered the communications room just beyond. He smiled at the
\nday-shift telephone operators but got no response. They were preoccupied with
\ngetting themselves organized. He waved to Sergeant Murphy when he passed the
\nNYPD detective room, but Murphy was on the phone and didn’t respond, either.
\nSome welcome, Jack mused.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Entering the ID office, Jack got
\nthe same treatment. There were three people in the room, and all three ignored
\nhim. Two were hidden behind their morning papers while Dr. Riva Mehta, Laurie’s
\noffice mate, was busy going over the sizable stack of potential cases to make
\nup the autopsy schedule. Jack got a cup of coffee from the<\/span> communal pot,
\nthen bent down the edge of Vinnie Amendola’s paper. Vinnie was one of the
\nmortuary techs and Jack’s frequent partner in the autopsy room. Vinnie’s
\nregular and early presence meant Jack could start in the autopsy room well
\nbefore anyone else.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“How come you’re not down
\nin the pit with Bingham and Washington?” Jack asked.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Beats me,” Vinnie
\nsaid, pulling his paper free. “Apparently, they called Sal. They were
\nalready going at it when I got here.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Jack! How ya doin’?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

A third person emerged from
\nbehind his paper, but the accent gave him away. It was Detective Lieutenant Lou
\nSoldano, from Homicide. Jack had met him years ago when he had first joined the
\nOffice of the Chief Medical Examiner. Convinced of the enormous contributions
\nof forensic pathology to his line of work, Lou was a frequent visitor to the
\nOCME. He was also a friend.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

With a bit of effort, the stocky
\ndetective heaved himself out of the vinyl club chair, clutching his paper in
\nhis beefy hand. With his aged trench coat, his tie loosened and the top button
\nof his shirt open, he appeared like a rumpled character out of an old film
\nnoir. His broad face sported what could have been a two-day growth of beard,
\nalthough from experience, Jack knew it was only one.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

They greeted each other with a
\nslapping, modified high-five, which Jack had learned out on the neighborhood
\nbasketball court and had jokingly taught Lou. It made both of them feel more
\nhip.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“What’s got you up this
\nearly?” Jack asked.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Up? I haven’t been to bed
\nyet,” Lou scoffed. “It’s been that kind of night. My captain is
\nworried sick about this supposed police brutality case, since the department is
\ngoing to feel real heat if the involved officers’ story doesn’t hold up. I’m
\nhoping to get an early scoop, but that’s not looking good with Bingham doing
\nthe case. He’ll probably be in there screwing around for most of the day.”
\n“What about Sara Cromwell’s case? Are you interested in that, too?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Yeah! Of course! As if I
\nhad any choice! Did you see all the media out in reception?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“They would have been hard
\nto miss,” Jack responded.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Unfortunately, they were
\nalready here on the police shooting. Guaranteed there’s going to be a lot of
\nnewspaper and TV hype for that skinny psychologist, probably more than she
\nwould have gotten had they not been hanging around. And whenever a murder gets
\na high profile in the media, I know I’ll be getting lots of pressure from above
\nto come up with a suspect. So, with that said, do me a favor and do the
\ncase.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Are you serious?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Of course I’m serious.
\nYou’re fast and you’re thorough, both of which fulfill my needs. Also, you’re
\nokay with me watching, which I can’t say about everybody around here. But if
\nyou’re not interested, maybe I can get Laurie to do it, although knowing her
\nGSW bent, she’ll probably want to get involved in the police case.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“She’s also interested in
\none of the Manhattan General cases,” Riva said in silky, British-accented
\nvoice, which was in sharp contrast to Lou’s New York twang. “She’s already
\ntaken the folder and said she wants to do that one first.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Did you see Laurie this
\nmorning?” Jack asked Lou. He and Lou shared an appreciation of Laurie
\nMontgomery. Jack knew that Lou had even once briefly dated Laurie, but it
\nhadn’t worked out. From Lou’s own admission, the problem had been Lou’s lack of
\nsocial confidence. Graciously, Lou had become a strong advocate for Jack and
\nLaurie as a couple.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Yeah, about fifteen or
\ntwenty minutes ago.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Did you talk to her?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Of course. What kind of a
\nquestion is that?”<\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Did she seem normal? What
\ndid she say?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Hey! Why the third degree?
\nI don’t remember what she said; it was something like “Hi, Lou,
\nwassup?” or something to that effect. And as far as her mental state was
\nconcerned, she was normal, even bubbly.” Lou glanced over at Riva.
\n“Was that your take, Dr. Mehta?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Riva nodded. “I’d say she
\nwas fine, maybe a little excited about all the fuss around here. She’d
\napparently had a conversation with Janice about the Manhattan General case.
\nThat’s why she wanted it.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Did she say anything about
\nme?” Jack asked Lou, leaning forward and lowering his voice.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“What’s with you
\ntoday?” Lou asked. “Is everything copacetic with you guys?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Oh, there’s always a few
\nbumps in the road,” Jack said vaguely. Laurie being “bubbly”
\nadded insult to injury, under the circumstance.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“How about assigning me the
\nCromwell case!” Jack called over to Riva.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Be my guest,” Riva
\nsaid. “Calvin left a note saying he wanted it done ASAP.” She took
\nthe folder from the “to be autopsied” pile and put it on the corner
\nof the desk. Jack grabbed it and opened it, revealing a case worksheet, a
\npartially filled-out death certificate, an inventory of medical-legal case
\nrecords, two sheets for autopsy notes, a telephone notice of death as received
\nby communications, a completed identification sheet, an investigator’s report
\ndictated by Fontworth, a sheet for the autopsy report, a lab slip for HIV
\nanalysis, and an indication that the body had been x-rayed and photographed
\nwhen it had arrived at the OCME. Jack pulled out Fontworth’s report and read
\nit. Lou did the same over Jack’s shoulder.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Were you at the
\nscene?” Jack asked Lou.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“No, I was still up in
\nHarlem when this was called in. The<\/span>
\nprecinct boys handled it initially, but when they
\nrecognized the victim, they called in my colleague, Detective Lieutenant Harvey
\nLawson. I’ve since talked with all of them. Everyone said it was a mess. Blood
\nall over the kitchen.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“What was their take?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Considering she was
\nseminude, with the apparent murder weapon sticking out of her thigh just below
\nher private parts, they thought it was a fatal sexual assault.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Private parts! So
\nrestrained.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“That’s not quite how they
\ndescribed it to me. I’m translating.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Thank you for being so
\nconsiderate. Did they mention the blood on the front of the refrigerator?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“They said there was blood
\nall over.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Did they mention blood
\nbeing inside the refrigerator, particularly on the wedge of cheese as described
\nhere in Fontworth’s report?” Jack poked the paper with his index finger.
\nJack was impressed. Despite his previous experience with Fontworth’s desultory
\nwork, the report was thorough.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Like I said, they reported
\nblood was all over the place.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“But inside the
\nrefrigerator with the door closed. That’s a bit odd.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Maybe the door was open
\nwhen she was attacked?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“So then she carefully put
\nthe cheese away? That’s more than odd in the middle of a homicide. Tell me
\nthis: Did they mention footprints in the blood besides those of the
\nvictim?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“No, they didn’t.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Fontworth’s report
\nspecifically says there were none, but quite a few of the victim’s. That’s
\nodder still.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Lou spread his hands and
\nshrugged his shoulders. “So, what’s your take?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“My take is that in this
\ncase, the autopsy is going to be significant, so let’s get the ball
\nrolling.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Jack walked over to Vinnie and slapped
\nthe back of his paper, making the tech jump.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Let’s go, Vinnie, old
\nboy,” Jack said happily. “We’ve got work to do.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Vinnie grumbled under his breath
\nbut stood up and stretched.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

At the door into the
\ncommunications room, Jack hesitated, looked back at Riva, and called out:
\n“If you don’t mind, I’d like to do that double suicide as well.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I’ll put your name on
\nthem,” Riva promised.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Three<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“HOW ABOUT THIS,”
\nLAURIE suggested. “I’ll call you just as soon as I finish and let you know
\nwhat I found. I know it won’t bring your son back, but perhaps knowing what
\nhappened will be some comfort, especially if we’re able to learn from this
\ntragedy, to keep it from happening to someone else. If by some slim chance we
\nstill don’t have any answers after the autopsy, I’ll call you after I’ve had a
\nchance to look at the microscopic and give you the definitive answers.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie knew what she was
\nsuggesting was out of the ordinary and that skirting Mrs. Donnatello in the
\npublic relations office and giving out preliminary information would annoy
\nBingham and Calvin, both of whom were sticklers for rules, if they got wind.
\nBut Laurie felt the McGillin case warranted this change of protocol.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

After talking with them for only
\na short time, she’d learned that Sean McGillin Sr. was a retired physician
\nwho’d had a large internal-medicine practice in Westchester County. He and his
\nwife, Judith, who’d been his office nurse, were not only fellow medical
\nprofessionals but also extremely simpatico. The McGillins projected a salt-of-the-earth
\nhonesty and graciousness that made Laurie like them instantly; it also made it
\nimpossible for her not to feel their pain.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I promise to keep you in
\nthe loop,” Laurie continued, hoping her reassurances would allow the
\nMcGillins to go home. They’d been at the ME’s office for hours, and it was
\nobvious that they were both exhausted. “I’ll personally watch over your
\nson.” Laurie had to glance away after her last comment, knowing it was
\ndeliberately misleading. She again caught sight of the crush of reporters in
\nthe reception area, even though she was trying to ignore them, and heard
\nmuffled cheering as coffee and donuts arrived. Laurie winced. It was
\nunfortunate that as the McGillins were suffering their private grief, a media
\ncircus was going on in the next room. It had to make it harder for the
\nMcGillins, hearing banter and laughter.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“It just isn’t fair that it
\nisn’t me who is lying downstairs in that refrigerated compartment,” Dr.
\nMcGillin said with a sad shake of his head. “I’ve had a good run at life.
\nI’m nearly seventy. I’ve had two bypass procedures, and my cholesterol’s too
\nhigh. Why am I still here, and Sean Jr. is down there? It doesn’t make sense;
\nhe’s always been a healthy, active boy, and he’s not even thirty.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Was your son’s LDH high as
\nwell?” Laurie asked. Janice hadn’t included anything about that in her
\nforensic investigator’s report.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Not in the
\nslightest,” Dr. McGillin said. “In the past, I made sure he had it
\nchecked once a year. And now that his law firm contracted with AmeriCare, which
\nrequires yearly physicals, I know he’d continue to be checked.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

After a quick glance at her
\nwatch, Laurie made direct eye contact with the McGillins, looking from one to
\nthe other. They were sitting bolt upright on the brown vinyl couch, their hands
\nfolded in their laps, clutching the identification Polaroids of their dead son.
\nRain spattered intermittently against the glass. The couple reminded her of the
\nman and woman in the painting “American Gothic.” They radiated the
\nsame resoluteness and moral virtue along with a hint of Puritanical narrowness.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

The problem for Laurie was that
\nshe was organizationally shielded from the emotional side of death, and
\nconsequently had limited experience with it. Dealing with the grieving
\nfamilies, as well as helping them through the identification process, was done
\nby others. She was also sheltered by a kind of academic distance. As a forensic
\npathologist, she saw death as a puzzle to be solved to help the living. There
\nwas also the acclimatization factor: Although death was a rare event for the
\ngeneral public, she saw it every day.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Our son was to be married
\nin the spring,” Mrs. McGillin said suddenly. She hadn’t spoken since
\nLaurie had introduced herself forty minutes earlier. “We were hoping for
\ngrandchildren.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie nodded. The reference to
\nchildren touched a tender chord in her own psyche. She tried to think of
\nsomething to say but was saved when Dr. McGillin suddenly stood up. He took his
\nwife’s hand and pulled her to her feet.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I’m sure Dr. Montgomery
\nhas to get to work,” Dr. McGillin said. He nodded as if agreeing with
\nhimself while collecting all the Polaroids and pocketing them. “It’s best
\nif we go home. We’ll leave Sean in her care.” He then took out a small pad
\nof paper and a pen from his inside jacket pocket. After writing on it, he tore
\noff the top sheet and extended it to Laurie. “This is my personal phone
\nline. I’ll be awaiting your call. I will look forward to it sometime before
\nnoon.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Surprised and relieved at this
\nsudden change of events, Laurie stood up. She took the paper and glanced at the
\nnumber to be sure it was legible. It was a 9I4 area code. “I’ll call as
\nsoon as I can.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Dr. McGillin helped his wife
\nwith her coat before putting on his own. He extended his hand toward Laurie.
\nShe shook it and noticed that it was cold.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Take good care of our
\nboy,” Dr. McGillin said. “He’s our only child.” With that, he
\nturned, opened the door to the reception area, and urged his wife forward into
\nthe press of reporters.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Desperate for news, the
\nreporters instantly fell into an expectant silence the moment the McGillins
\nappeared. Anticipating a news conference, all eyes followed their progress. The
\ncouple had advanced halfway across the reception area on their way to the main
\ndoor when someone broke the silence by yelling out: “Are you part of the
\nCromwell family?” Dr. McGillin merely shook his head without slowing his
\nprogress. “Are you related to the police custody case?” someone else
\ndemanded. Dr. McGillin shook his head again. With that, the reporters switched
\ntheir attention to Laurie. Apparently recognizing her as one of the medical
\nexaminers, a number even spilled into the ID room. An avalanche of questions
\nfollowed.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Initially ignoring the
\nreporters, Laurie went up on her tiptoes to see the McGillins exit the OCME.
\nOnly then did she look at the people pressed around her. “Sorry,” she
\nsaid, pushing microphones away. “I know nothing of those cases. You’ll
\nhave to wait for the chief.” Luckily, one of the OCME security personnel
\nhad materialized from within the reception area, and he managed to herd the
\nreporters back to where they’d come from.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Relative silence returned to the
\nID room once the connecting door had been closed. For a moment, Laurie stood
\nwith her arms hanging limply at her sides. She had Sean McGillin Jr.’s folder
\nin one hand and his father’s scribbled phone number in other. Dealing with the
\ngrieving couple had been trying, especially since she was<\/span> feeling
\npsychologically fragile herself. But there was a positive side. Knowing herself
\nas well as she did, she knew it was helpful to be involved in an emotionally
\nwrenching situation, because it put her own problems in perspective. Keeping
\nher mind occupied was a good hedge against backsliding into what she’d come to
\nrecognize as an unacceptable status quo.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Fortified to a degree, Laurie
\nheaded into the ID office while pocketing Dr. McGillin’s phone number.
\n“Where’s everybody?” she asked Riva, who was still busy with the
\nscheduling process.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“You and Jack are the only
\nones here so far, besides Bingham, Washington, and Fontworth.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“What I meant was, where
\nare Detective Soldano and Vinnie?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Jack came in and took them
\nboth down to the pit. The detective asked Jack to do the Cromwell case.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“That’s curious,”
\nLaurie remarked. Jack usually shied away from cases that attracted a lot of
\nmedia attention, and the Cromwell case certainly fell into that category.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“He seemed genuinely
\ninterested in it,” Riva said, as if reading Laurie’s mind. “He also
\nasked for the double suicide, which I didn’t expect. I had a feeling he had an
\nulterior motive, but I have no idea what it could have been.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Do you happen to know if
\nany of the other techs are here yet? I’d like to get started myself with
\nMcGillin.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I saw Marvin a few minutes
\nago. He got coffee and went downstairs.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Perfect,” Laurie said.
\nShe enjoyed working with Marvin. He’d been on evenings but had recently been
\nswitched to days. “I’ll be in the pit if you need me.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I’m going to have to
\nassign you at least one more case. It’s an overdose. I’m sorry. I know you said
\nyou had a bad night, but we’ve got a full schedule today.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“That’s fine,” Laurie
\nassured her. She walked over to get<\/span>
\nthe overdose folder. “Work’s a good way to keep
\nmy mind off my problems.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Problems? What kind of
\nproblems?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Don’t ask!” Laurie
\nsaid with a dismissive wave. “It’s the same old, same old with Jack, but
\nthis morning I laid it on the line. I know I sound like a broken record, but
\nthis time I mean it. I’m moving back to my own apartment. He’s going to have to
\nmake a decision one way or the other.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Good for you,” Riva
\nresponded. “Maybe it will give me strength.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Along with sharing office space,
\nLaurie and Riva had become good friends. Riva’s boyfriend was as resistant to
\ncommitment as Jack, but for different reasons, so she and Laurie had a lot to
\ntalk about.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

After momentarily debating
\nwhether or not to have coffee and deciding not to, for fear that it would give
\nher a tremor, Laurie started off to find Marvin. Although she was going only
\none floor down, she headed toward the elevator. She was exhausted from lack of
\nsleep, just as she knew she would be when she had been unable to fall back
\nasleep that morning. But instead of feeling irritated with herself, she was
\ncontent. She certainly wasn’t happy, because of her feelings for Jack, and she
\nknew she was going to be lonely, yet she felt she’d done what she had to do,
\nand in that way, she was satisfied.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

When Laurie passed the forensic
\ninvestigators’ office, she leaned in and asked if Janice had left. Bart Arnold,
\nthe chief investigator, told her she had but asked if he could help. Laurie
\nsaid she’d talk to her some other time and continued on her way. She had only
\nwanted to fill Janice in about the conversation she’d had with the McGillins.
\nShe thought Janice would be interested. The fact that the case had penetrated
\nJanice’s usually thick emotional skin was what had intrigued Laurie in the
\nfirst place.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Marvin was in the mortuary
\noffice, attending to his portion of the never-ending paperwork that engulfed
\nthe OCME. He had already changed into green scrubs in anticipation of getting
\ndown to work in the “pit,” the term everyone fondly used in referring
\nto the main autopsy room. He glanced up when Laurie appeared in the doorway. He
\nwas an athletic-looking African-American with the most flawless skin Laurie had
\never seen. Laurie had been instantly jealous the first time she met Marvin.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie was sensitive about her
\ncomplexion. Along with her blond coloring, she had a spattering of freckles
\nover the bridge of her nose as well as a scattering of other imperfections that
\nonly she could see. Although Laurie had gotten brown hair with auburn
\nhighlights from her father, her almost transparent skin and blue-green eyes
\ncame from her mother.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Are you ready to rock and
\nroll?” Laurie asked playfully. She knew from experience that she’d feel
\nbetter if she didn’t act tired.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“You’re on, sister!”
\nMarvin responded.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie handed over the folders.
\n“I want to do McGillin first.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“No problem,” Marvin
\nsaid, consulting the ledger for the location of the body.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie first went into the
\nlocker room to change into scrubs, then went over to the storage room to don a
\n“moon suit.” “Moon suit” was the term used by the staff to
\ndescribe the protective gear required while doing autopsies. They were
\nfashioned of completely impervious material, with attached hoods and full-face
\nmasks. Air was brought into the suit through a HEPA filter by a self-contained
\nfan, powered by a battery that had to be charged each night. The suits were not
\npopular, since they made working more difficult, but everyone accepted the
\nhandicap for peace of mind, except Jack. She knew that when Jack was on call on
\nweekends, he frequently dispensed with the moon suit on certain cases where he
\nfelt the risk of an infectious agent was low. In those circumstances, he
\nreverted<\/span> back to the traditional goggles and surgical facemask. The
\ntechs seemed content to keep his secret. If Calvin found out, there would be
\nhell to pay.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

After climbing into her gear,
\nLaurie retraced her steps to the central corridor, then walked down to the door
\nof the anteroom, where she washed and gloved. Thus prepared, she pushed into
\nthe autopsy room.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Even after working at the OCME
\nfor thirteen years, Laurie still savored the tingle of excitement she felt as
\nshe entered what she considered to be the center of action. It certainly wasn’t
\nthe visual experience, for in that regard, the tiled, windowless room with its
\nblue-white fluorescent lighting was cheerless. The eight stainless-steel tables
\nwere dented and stained from countless postmortems. Over each hung an antiquated
\nspring-loaded scale. Along the walls were exposed piping, dated X-ray view
\nboxes, old-fashioned glass-fronted cabinets containing an array of grisly
\ninstruments, and chipped soapstone sinks. More than a half century ago, it had
\nbeen a state-of-the-art facility and the pride of the OCME, but now it suffered
\nfrom lack of funds for both modernization and appropriate upkeep. Yet the
\nphysical plant didn’t faze Laurie. The setting didn’t even register in her
\nmind. Her response was based on knowing that she would see or learn something
\nnew every time she entered the room.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Of the eight tables, three were
\noccupied. One supported the corpse of Sean McGillin, or so Laurie surmised,
\nsince Marvin was scurrying around it in his final preparations. The other two,
\nclosest to where Laurie was standing, contained bodies in the middle of their
\nprocedures. Directly in front of her lay a large, dark-skinned man. Four people
\nattired in moon suits identical to Laurie’s were working over him. Although
\nreflections off the curved plastic full-face masks made identification
\ndifficult, Laurie recognized Calvin Washington. His six-foot, seven-inch,
\ntwo-hundred-fifty-pound<\/span> frame was hard to conceal. The other one she thought was
\nHarold Bingham because of his contrasting short, stocky stature. The last two
\nhad to be George Fontworth and the mortuary tech, Sal D’Ambrosio, but because
\nthey were about the same size, she couldn’t tell them apart.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie stepped over to the foot
\nof the table. Just in front of her was a drain emitting a rude sucking sound.
\nWater continuously ran down the surface of the table beneath the corpse to
\ncarry away body fluids.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Fontworth, where the hell
\ndid you learn to use a scalpel?” Bingham growled.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

It was now obvious which one of
\nthe suited figures was George. He was on the patient’s right with his hands
\nsomewhere down in the deceased’s retroperitoneal space, apparently trying to
\ntrace the track of a bullet. Laurie couldn’t help but feel a stab of sympathy
\nfor George. Whenever Bingham came into the autopsy room, he liked to assume the
\nprofessor role, but he invariably became impatient and annoyed. Even though
\nLaurie knew she could always learn from him, she disliked the aggravation of
\nworking with him. It was too stressful.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Sensing that the atmosphere
\naround table one was too charged to ask any questions, Laurie moved down toward
\ntable two. There she had no trouble recognizing Jack, Lou, and Vinnie.
\nImmediately, she sensed the atmosphere was the opposite, with some
\nsemi-suppressed laughter dying away as she arrived. Laurie was not surprised.
\nJack was famous for his black humor. The corpse was that of a thin, almost
\nemaciated, middle-aged female with brittle, bleach-blond hair. Laurie assumed
\nit was Sara Cromwell. Of particular note was the handle of a kitchen knife protruding
\nat an acute, cephalad angle from the upper, outer, anterior surface of her
\nright thigh. Laurie wasn’t surprised to see the utensil still in place. In such
\ncases, medical examiners preferred that such objects be left in situ.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I hope you are showing reasonable
\nrespect for the dead,” Laurie gibed.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Never a dull moment,”
\nLou responded.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“And I don’t know why I
\nkeep laughing at the same jokes,” Vinnie complained.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Tell me, Doctor
\nMontgomery!” Jack said in an exaggerated professorial tone. “In your
\nprofessional opinion, would you guess this penetrating entry into the thigh was
\na mortal wound?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Bending over slightly so she
\ncould better access the point of entry, Laurie looked more closely at the
\nknife. It appeared to be a small kitchen paring knife, which she guessed had a
\nblade about four inches long, which had penetrated to the haft lateral to the
\nfemur. More important, the entrance was inferior to the anterior iliac spine
\nbut in line with it.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I’d have to say it was not
\nfatal,” Laurie responded. “Its location suggests the femoral vessels
\nsurely would have been spared, so bleeding would have been minimal.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“And Dr. Montgomery, what
\ndoes the angle of entry of the weapon suggest?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I’d have to say it’s a
\nrather unorthodox way for someone to stab their victim.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“There you go,
\ngentlemen,” Jack commented smugly. “We have confirmation of my
\nassessment by the eminent Dr. Montgomery.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“But there was blood all
\nover the place,” Lou whined. “Where the hell did it come from? There
\nare no other wounds.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Ah-ha!” Jack said switching
\nto an exaggerated French accent, finger raised in the air. “I believe we
\nshall see in a few moments. Monsieur Amendola, le couteau, s’il vous
\npla\u00eet!”<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Despite the glare of the
\noverhead fluorescent lights off Vinnie’s face mask, Laurie caught him rolling
\nhis eyes as he passed a scalpel into Jack’s waiting hand. He and Jack had a
\ncurious relationship. Although it was based on mutual respect, they pretended
\nit was the opposite.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Leaving the three to their own
\ndevices, Laurie moved on. She felt a mild disappointment that Jack could be so
\noffhand and flippant. She couldn’t help but think it wasn’t a particularly good
\nsign, as if he didn’t care.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie made an effort to put the
\nproblems with Jack out of her mind as she approached the next table. Stretched out
\non its slightly angled surface was the body of a well-muscled male in his
\nmid-twenties, his head propped up on a wooden block. By reflex, she immediately
\nbegan the external exam. The individual appeared healthy. His visible skin,
\nalthough marble-white in death, was lesion-free.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

His hair was thick and dark, and
\nhis eyes were closed as if in repose. The only visible anomalies were a sutured
\nincision with a retained drain on his lower right leg, the capped-off end of an
\nintravenous line running into his left arm, and an endotracheal tube protruding
\nfrom his mouth, left over from the resuscitation attempt.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

With Marvin still busy putting
\nlabels on specimen jars, Laurie checked the body’s accession number and name.
\nConfident that she was dealing with Sean McGillin, she continued the external
\nexam, inspecting the IV site carefully. It looked entirely normal, with no
\nswelling or other evidence of extravasation of blood or IV fluid. She looked
\nmore closely at the sutured wound on the leg, the site of the operation on the
\nfractured tibia and fibula. There was no swelling or discoloration there,
\neither, suggesting that there was no infection. The drain was sutured in place
\nwith a single loose loop of black silk, and there was evidence of a minimal
\ndischarge of serous fluid. The leg itself looked like the other leg, without
\nany outward signs of venous thrombosis or clotting.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I didn’t see anything of
\nnote externally,” Marvin said when he<\/span>
\nreturned with a handful of sterile syringes and
\nspecimen jars, some containing preservatives and some without. He placed them
\nall on the edge of the table to have them immediately available.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“So far, I’d have to
\nagree,” Laurie responded. There was a lot of give-and-take between the
\ntechs and the doctors, although it varied, depending on the personalities.
\nLaurie always encouraged comments and suggestions, especially from Marvin. As
\nfar as she was concerned, the techs were a rich source of experience.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Marvin went over to the
\nglass-fronted cabinets to get the required instruments. Despite the hum of her
\nventilation fan, Laurie could hear whistling. He was always cheerful, which was
\nanother thing she liked about him.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

After checking for signs of
\nintravenous drug use and not finding any, Laurie used a nasal speculum to look
\ninside Sean’s nose. There was no suggestion of cocaine use. With a mysterious
\ndeath, drugs had to be considered, despite what his parents had said to the
\ncontrary. Next, she opened the eyelids to examine the eyes. They appeared
\nnormal, with no hemorrhages on the sclera. Opening the mouth, she made sure the
\nendotracheal tube was in the trachea and not the esophagus. Laurie had seen
\nthat on a few occasions with the predictable disastrous results.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

With all his preparations
\ncomplete, Marvin came back to the side of the table opposite Laurie and stood
\nexpectantly, waiting for the internal part of the autopsy to begin.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“All right! Let’s do
\nit!” Laurie said, reaching out with her hand as Marvin handed her a
\nscalpel.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Although Laurie had done
\nthousands of postmortems, each time she started another, it gave her a tingle
\nof excitement. Starting the actual autopsy was akin to opening a sacred book,
\nthe mysteries of which she was about to discover. With her index finger
\npressing down on the top of the scalpel, Laurie expertly made the usual
\nY-shaped incision, starting from the points of the shoulders, meeting
\nmid-sternum, and then continuing down to the pubis. With Marvin’s help, she
\nquickly reflected skin and muscle before removing the breastbone with bone
\ncutters.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Looks like a broken rib,”
\nMarvin commented, pointing to a defect on the right side of the chest.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“No hemorrhage, so it was
\npostmortem, probably from the resuscitation attempt. Some people go overboard
\nwith the chest compressions.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Ouch!” Marvin said
\nsympathetically.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Expecting blood clots or other
\nemboli, Laurie was eager to examine the great veins leading to the heart, the
\nheart itself, and the pulmonary arteries, where fatal clots would usually be
\nfound. But she resisted the temptation. She knew that it was best to follow a
\nnormal protocol, lest something be forgotten. Carefully, she examined all the
\ninternal organs in situ, then used the syringes Marvin had laid out to take
\nfluid samples for toxicological testing. A fatal reaction to a drug, toxin, or
\neven an anesthetic agent had to be considered. Less than twenty-four hours had
\nelapsed since the deceased had undergone anesthesia.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie and Marvin worked
\ntogether in silence, making certain that each sample was put into the correctly
\nlabeled specimen container. Once the fluid samples had been obtained, she began
\nto remove the internal organs. Diligently, she maintained the normal sequence,
\nand it wasn’t until a bit later that she finally turned her attention to the
\nheart.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Here comes the
\nmoney!” Marvin quipped.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie smiled. The heart was
\nindeed where she expected to find the pathology. With a few deft strokes, the
\nheart came out. She peered into the cut end of the vena cava, but there was no
\nclot. She was disappointed, since she had already noted that the pulmonary
\narteries had been clear when she’d removed the lungs.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie weighed the heart, then
\nwith a long bladed knife, began<\/span>
\nan internal examination. To her chagrin, there was
\nnothing amiss. There was no clot, and even the coronary arteries appeared
\nentirely normal.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie and Marvin’s eyes met
\nacross the opened corpse.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Damn!” Marvin
\nexhaled.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I’m surprised,”
\nLaurie said. She took a deep breath. “Well, you see to the gut and I’ll
\ntake my micro samples, then we’ll check the brain.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“You got it,” Marvin
\nsaid. He took the stomach and the intestines over to the sink to wash them out.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie took multiple tissue
\nsamples for microscopic study, particularly from the heart and the lungs.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Marvin returned the cleaned gut
\nto Laurie, who went through it carefully, taking samples as she proceeded.
\nMeanwhile, Marvin started on the head by reflecting the scalp. By the time
\nLaurie was finished with the stomach and intestines, Marvin was ready for her
\nto inspect the skull. She gave him a thumbs-up when she was through, and he
\nhefted the power-vibrating saw to cut through the bone just above the ears.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

While Marvin was busy with the
\nskull, Laurie took a scissors and opened the sutured wound on the lower leg.
\nAll looked fine within the surgical site. She then opened the long veins of the
\nlegs, tracing them from the ankles all the way up into the abdomen. There were
\nno clots.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“The brain looks normal to
\nme,” Marvin commented.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie nodded. There was no
\nswelling and no hemorrhage, and the color was normal. She felt it with her
\npracticed finger. It felt normal as well.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

A few minutes later, Laurie had
\nthe brain out, and she dropped it into a pan that Marvin held. She checked the
\ncut ends of the carotid arteries. Like everything else, they were normal. She
\nweighed the brain. Its weight was within the normal limits.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“We’re not finding
\nanything,” she said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I’m sorry,” Marvin
\nsaid.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie smiled. On top of his
\nother good qualities, he was empathetic. “You don’t need to apologize.
\nIt’s not your fault.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“It would have been nice to
\nfind something. What are you thinking now? It doesn’t look like he should have
\ndied.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I haven’t the slightest
\nidea. I’ll hope the microscopic can shed some light, but I’m not optimistic.
\nEverything looks and feels so normal. Why don’t you start winding things up
\nwhile I section the brain. I can’t think of anything else to do.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“You got it,” Marvin
\nsaid cheerfully.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

As Laurie anticipated, the
\ninterior of the brain looked like its exterior. She took the appropriate
\nsamples, then joined Marvin to suture up the body. With both of them working,
\nit took only a few minutes.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I’d like to get my next
\ncase up as soon as possible,” Laurie said. “I hope you don’t
\nmind.” She was afraid that once she sat down, her fatigue would return
\nwith a vengeance. At the moment, she was feeling better than expected.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Not at all,” Marvin
\nsaid. He was already straightening up.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie looked around the pit.
\nShe’d been so engrossed that she hadn’t seen all the activity. At that point,
\nall eight tables were in use, with at least two and sometimes more people
\nclustered about each. She glanced toward Jack’s table. He was bent over the
\nhead of another woman’s body. Apparently, he’d finished with Sara Cromwell, and
\nLou had left. Beyond Jack’s table, Calvin was still at work with Fontworth on
\nthe same body they were working on before. Bingham had apparently left to give
\nhis news conference.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“How long will the
\nturnaround take?” Laurie asked Marvin as he carried the specimen bottles
\naway.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Not long at all.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie wandered toward Jack with
\nmixed feelings. She was not<\/span> prepared for more of his levity, but after the earlier
\ntease about Cromwell, she was curious about what he’d discovered. Laurie
\nstopped at the foot of the table. Jack was concentrating intently on making a
\nmold of a lesion on the woman’s forehead, just within the hairline. Laurie
\nstood for a moment, waiting for him to acknowledge her presence. Vinnie had
\nlooked up immediately and had at least given a restrained wave.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“What did you find on your
\nfirst case?” Laurie asked finally. It seemed unlikely that he hadn’t seen
\nher, but it had to have been the case. She didn’t want to think otherwise.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Another few minutes went by
\nwithout Jack responding. She glanced back at Vinnie, who spread his hands out,
\npalms up, and shrugged his shoulders as if to indicate that there was no accounting
\nfor Jack’s behavior. Laurie stood for another beat, uncertain of what to do
\nbefore moving on. Although she was aware that Jack could become so engrossed as
\nto be oblivious of his surroundings, it was demeaning for her to stand there.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Things were not much better at
\nFontworth’s table. Even though Bingham had left, Calvin was riding poor
\nFontworth with equivalent venom as the case dragged on interminably. After a
\nquick glance at the other five tables, Laurie gave up on socializing and
\nreturned to lend Marvin a hand.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I can get one of the other
\ntechs to help,” Marvin said. He’d brought in a gurney and positioned it
\nnext to the table.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I don’t mind,” Laurie
\nsaid. There had been a time not too long ago that between cases, the examiners
\nwould go upstairs either to the ID room or the lunchroom for a quick coffee and
\nimpromptu discussions. But with the more elaborate protection apparatus they
\nwere required to wear, it was too much effort.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Once Sean McGillin’s remains had
\nbeen placed in the walk-in cooler, Marvin led Laurie to the appropriate
\ncompartment for the next case, a man named David Ellroy. The moment Marvin
\npulled<\/span> out
\nthe drawer to reveal the body of thin, undernourished, middle-aged
\nAfrican-American, Laurie remembered that it was a presumed overdose. Her
\ntrained eye immediately took in the scars and tracks on the man’s arms and legs
\nfrom his intravenous habit. Although Laurie was accustomed to overdose cases,
\nthey still had the power to evoke an emotional reaction. With less than the
\nusual control over her thoughts, her mind yanked her back to a crisp, clear,
\nflag-snapping October day in I975 when she’d rushed home from her high school,
\nthe Langley School for Girls. She lived with her parents in a large, prewar
\nflat on Park Avenue. It was the Friday before the long Columbus Day weekend,
\nand she was excited because her brother, Shelly, her only sibling, had come
\nhome the night before from Yale, where he was a freshman.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

As Laurie had gotten off the
\nelevator in their private lobby, she sensed a disturbing stillness. None of the
\nusual sounds issued forth from the laundry room door vent. Entering the
\napartment proper, she called Shelly’s name while she stashed her books on the
\nconsole table in the foyer before cutting through the kitchen. When she didn’t
\nsee Holly, she was momentarily relieved, remembering it was their maid’s day
\noff. Yelling out Shelly’s name again, she glanced in the den beyond the family
\nroom. The TV was on without sound, which heightened her uneasiness. For a
\nmoment, she watched the antics of a midday game show, wondering why the TV
\nwould be on without sound. Resuming her tour of the apartment, she called out
\nShelly’s name yet again, convinced that someone had to be home. As she passed
\nthe formal living room, she began to move faster, sensing a secret urgency.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Shelly’s door was closed. She
\nknocked, but there was no answer. She knocked again before trying the door. It
\nwas unlocked. She pushed it open only to see her beloved brother stretched out
\non the carpet, clad in only his briefs. To her horror, bloody froth oozed from
\nhis mouth, and his overall color was as pale as the bone china in the<\/span> dining-room
\nbreakfront. A tourniquet was loosely looped about his upper arm. Near his
\nhalf-open hand was a syringe. On the desk was a glassine envelope, which Laurie
\nguessed contained the speedball, a mixture of heroin and cocaine he’d bragged
\nabout the night before. Laurie had taken it all in instantly before dropping to
\nher knees to try to help.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

With some difficulty, Laurie
\npulled herself back to the present. She didn’t want to think about her vain
\nattempt to resuscitate her brother. She didn’t want to remember how cold and
\nlifeless his lips felt when she touched them with her own.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Can you help move him over
\nonto the gurney?” Marvin asked. “He’s not very heavy.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Certainly,” Laurie
\nsaid, glad to be of use. She put down David’s folder and lent a hand. A few
\nminutes later, they were on their way back to the autopsy room. Inside, when
\nMarvin maneuvered the gurney next to the table, one of the other techs helped
\nMarvin get the body onto the table. Laurie could see the dried remains of a
\nbloody froth that had issued from David’s mouth, and the image drew her back
\ninto her disturbing reverie. It wasn’t her failed attempt to resuscitate her
\nbrother that occupied her thoughts, but rather the confrontation she had to
\nendure with her parents a number of hours later.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Did you know your brother
\nwas using drugs?” her father had demanded. His face was purple with rage
\nand was mere inches away from Laurie’s face. His thumbs dug into her skin where
\nhe held her upper arms. “Answer me!”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Yes,” Laurie blurted
\nthrough tears. “Yes, yes.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Are you using drugs,
\ntoo?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“No!”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“How did you know he
\nwas?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“By accident: I found a
\nsyringe he’d gotten from your office in his shaving bag.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

There was a momentary silence as
\nher father’s eyes narrowed and his lips stretched out in a thin, cruel line.
\n“Why didn’t you tell us,” he growled. “If you told us, he’d be
\nalive.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I couldn’t,” Laurie
\nsobbed.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Why?” he shouted.
\n“Tell me why!”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Because …” Laurie
\ncried. She paused, then added: “Because he told me not to. He made me
\npromise. He said he’d never talk to me again if I did.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Well, that promise killed
\nhim,” her father hissed. “It killed him just as much as the damn
\ndrug.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

A hand gripped Laurie’s arm and
\nshe jumped. She turned to look at Marvin.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Anything special you want
\nfor this case,” Marvin asked, motioning toward David’s corpse. “It
\nlooks pretty straightforward to me.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Just the usual,”
\nLaurie said. As Marvin went to get the necessary supplies, Laurie took a deep
\nbreath to get herself under control. Intuitively, she knew she had to keep her
\nmind busy to keep it from dredging up other bad memories. Opening the folder
\nshe had in her hand, she searched through the papers to find Janice’s forensic investigator
\nreport and began reading. The body had been found along with drug paraphernalia
\nin a Dumpster, suggesting that David had died at a crack house and had been
\nthrown out with the rest of the trash. Laurie sighed. Dealing with such a case
\nwas the negative side of her job.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

An hour later and back in her
\nstreet clothes, Laurie stepped into the back elevator. The overdose case had
\nbeen routine. There had been no surprises; David Ellroy had shown the usual
\nsigns of asphyxial death with a frothy pulmonary edema. The only mildly
\ninteresting finds were multiple, tiny, discrete lesions in various organs,
\nsuggesting that he had suffered numerous episodes of infection from his habit.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

As the antiquated elevator
\nclunked upward toward the fifth floor, Laurie thought about Jack. When she’d
\nfinished with David Ellroy, he had already started his third case. Between his
\nsecond and third, he’d gone out of the room, pushing the gurney with Vinnie
\nsteering. Even from where she was standing, Laurie could hear the usual banter.
\nFive minutes later, they’d both reappeared, bringing in the new case while
\ncarrying on with the same wisecracking behavior. They then proceeded to
\ntransfer the body to the table and go through the setup before starting the
\npost. At no time through any of this did Jack make an attempt to come over to
\nLaurie’s table, engage her in conversation in any way, or even look in her
\ndirection. Laurie shrugged. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, it was
\nbecoming obvious that he was actively ignoring her. Such behavior was
\nuncharacteristic. For the nine years she’d known him, he’d never been
\npassive-aggressive.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Before Laurie went to her
\noffice, she stopped in the histology lab. In addition to the case folders, she
\nwas carrying a brown paper bag containing the tissue and toxicology samples
\nfrom McGillin. It didn’t take her long to locate the supervisor, Maureen
\nO’Conner. The full-bodied, busty redhead was sitting at a microscope, checking
\na tray of slides. She looked up as Laurie approached. A knowing smile spread
\nacross her heavily freckled face.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Now, what have we
\nhere?” Maureen questioned with her heavy brogue. She looked from Laurie to
\nthe bag Laurie was carrying. “Let me guess: tissue samples whose slides
\nyou desperately need yesterday.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie smiled guiltily. “Am
\nI really that predictable?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“With you and Dr.
\nStapleton, it’s always the same story. Whenever you two come in here, you’ve
\ngot to have the slides immediately. But let me remind you of something, sister:
\nYour patients are already dead.” Maureen laughed heartily, and a few of
\nthe other histology techs who’d overheard joined in.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie found herself chuckling
\nas well. Maureen’s ebullience was infectious, and it never varied, despite the
\nlab being chronically understaffed due to OCME budgetary restraints. Laurie
\nopened the bag, took out the tissue samples, and lined them up on the counter
\nnext to Maureen’s microscope. “Maybe if I told you why I’d like these
\nsooner rather than later, it might help.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“As busy as we are around
\nhere, a few extra hands would be more helpful than talk, but fire away.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie pulled out all the stops,
\nknowing there was no professional reason for what she was asking. She started
\nby describing how sympathetic Dr. and Mrs. McGillin were, and how their
\ndeceased son seemed to have been their whole life. She even mentioned the son’s
\nimminent marriage and the parents’ hope for grandchildren. She then admitted
\nthat she had promised to provide the couple the cause of their son’s death that
\nmorning to help their grieving. The problem was that the autopsy had failed to
\nconfirm her clinical impression. Thus, she needed the slides in hopes the
\nanswers would be forthcoming. What she didn’t explain were <\/i>her personal
\nreasons for taking on this mini-crusade.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Well, that’s quite a
\ntouching story,” Maureen said softly. She took a deep breath and then
\ngathered up the samples. “We’ll see what we can do. I promise you we’ll
\ngive it a go.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie thanked her and hurried
\nout of histology. She glanced at her watch. It was already after eleven, and
\nshe wanted to call Dr. McGillin before noon. Taking the stairs, she descended a
\nfloor and walked into the toxicology lab. Here, the atmosphere was different
\nthan in the histology lab. Instead of a babble of voices, there was the
\ncontinual hum of the sophisticated and mostly automated equipment. It took
\nLaurie a few moments to locate anyone. To her relief, she saw Peter Letterman,
\nthe assistant director. If it had been the lab director, John DeVries, Laurie
\nwould have walked out. She and John had gotten off on the wrong foot back when
\nLaurie desperately needed quicker results on a series of cocaine overdose cases
\nand had badgered the man. That was thirteen years earlier, when Laurie had
\nfirst started at the OCME, and John had held on to his animosity like a dog
\nwith a bone. Laurie had long ago given up trying to make amends.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“My favorite ME,”
\nPeter said happily, catching sight of Laurie. He was a thin, blond man with
\nandrogynous features and almost no beard. He wore his long hair in a ponytail,
\nand although he was pushing forty, he could still pass as a teenager. In
\ncontrast to John, he and Laurie got along famously. “You have something
\nfor me?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Indeed I do,” Laurie
\nsaid. She handed over the bag while warily looking around for John.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“The F\u00fchrer is down in the
\ngeneral lab, so you can relax.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“It’s my lucky day,”
\nLaurie commented.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Peter glanced in at the sample
\nbottles. “What’s the scoop? What am I looking for and why?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie told a shorter version of
\nthe same story she’d related to Maureen. At the end, she added: “I don’t
\nreally expect you to find anything, but I’ve got to be complete, especially if
\nthe microscopic doesn’t show anything.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I’ll see what I can
\ndo,” Peter said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I appreciate it,”
\nLaurie responded.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

After climbing back up the
\nsingle flight of stairs, Laurie walked down the corridor toward her office. She
\npassed Jack’s office, with its door ajar, but neither Jack nor his officemate,
\nChet McGovern, were inside. Laurie assumed that they were both still down in
\nthe pit. Coming into her own office, she immediately caught sight of her
\nsuitcase that she’d brought from Jack’s. Although she hadn’t forgotten the
\nmorning’s confrontation, seeing the suitcase brought it back with unpleasant
\nclarity. It also didn’t help that she felt let down by not finding a smoking
\ngun during Sean McGillin’s autopsy. The more she thought about it, the more
\nsurprising it was.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

How could an ostensibly healthy
\ntwenty-eight-year-old man die and the cause not be apparent from a combination
\nof a detailed history and the autopsy? In some respects, the case was mildly
\nshaking her belief in forensic pathology.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“That microscopic better
\ncome through!” Laurie voiced out loud as she sat down at her desk. She was
\nemphatic but didn’t quite know how she would act on the threat if the
\nmicroscopic failed to live up to her expectations. Leaning over, she added the
\nfolders from the morning’s cases to her sizable unfinished pile. It was
\nLaurie’s job on each case to collate all the material from the autopsy, from
\nthe forensic investigators, from the laboratories, and from any other source
\nshe needed to come up with a cause and manner of death. The meaning of
\n“cause” was obvious, whereas “manner” referred to whether
\nthe death was natural, accidental, suicidal, or homicidal, each with specific legal
\nramifications. Sometimes it took weeks for all the material to be available.
\nWhen it was, Laurie had to make her decision about the cause and manner on a
\npreponderance of evidence, meaning she had to be at least fifty-one percent
\ncertain. Of course, in the vast majority of cases, she was close to or at one
\nhundred percent certain.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie took the sheet of paper
\ncontaining Dr. McGillin’s phone number from her pocket and smoothed it out on
\nthe blotter in front of her. Although she was reluctant to call him, she knew
\nshe had to make good on her promise. The problem was, Laurie was not good at
\nany type of confrontation. It was a given that he was going to be even more let
\ndown, as there was, as of yet, no ostensible cause for his son’s untimely
\ndeath.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

With her elbows on her desk, she
\nleaned forward to massage her forehead while staring at the Westchester number.
\nShe tried to think of what to say in hopes of mitigating the impact. For a
\nfleeting moment, she considered handing the situation over to the public
\nrelations department as she was supposed to do, but she quickly<\/span> ruled that out,
\nsince she had specifically offered to make the call herself. While her mind was
\nstruggling over her prospective wording, she found herself thinking about the
\nvictim’s first name, Sean, since it was the name of a college boyfriend.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Sean Mackenzie had been a
\ncolorful fellow Wesleyan University student who’d appealed to Laurie’s
\nrebellious side. Although he wasn’t exactly a hoodlum, he’d been a bit over the
\nedge with his motorcycle, artistic craziness, and outlaw behavior, including
\nmild drug use. At the time the whole package had excited Laurie and driven her
\nparents to distraction, which was part of the attraction. But the on-again,
\noff-again relationship had been unhealthily mercurial from the start, and
\nLaurie had finally put an end to it just before joining the OCME. Now, with her
\nrelationship with Jack in question, she vaguely thought about calling Sean,
\nsince she knew he was living in the city and had become a rather successful
\nartist. But she quickly nixed the idea. There was no way she wanted to reopen
\nthat Pandora’s box.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“A penny for your
\nthoughts?” a voice asked.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie’s head popped up. Filling
\nher doorway was Jack’s athletic, six-foot frame. He was the picture of relaxed
\ninformality in his lived-in chambray shirt, knitted tie, and faded jeans.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Let’s up that to a
\nquarter,” he added. “There’s been significant inflation since I
\nlearned that phrase, and I know how valuable your thoughts are.” An impish
\nsmirk dimpled his cheeks. His lips were pressed together into a thin line.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie regarded her friend of at
\nleast a decade and lover of nearly four years. His irreverent gaiety and
\nsarcasm could at times be wearing, and this was one of them. “So you’re
\ndeigning to speak with me now?” she questioned with an equally affected
\ntone.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Jack’s smile faltered. “Of
\ncourse I’m going to talk with you. What kind of question is that?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Except for that brief
\nprofessorial game when I first came into the autopsy room, you’ve been ignoring
\nme all morning.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Ignoring you?” Jack
\nquestioned with knitted brows. “I think I should remind you we came to
\nwork separately, which was more your decision than mine, arrived at different
\ntimes, and since then, we’ve been working on our own cases.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“We work most days, and
\nmost days we communicate almost continuously, particularly when we are in the
\nsame room. I even went over to your table during your second case and asked you
\na direct question.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I didn’t see or hear you.
\nScout’s honor.” Jack held up his index and middle finger in the form of a
\nV. His smile returned.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie arched her eyebrows and
\nshrugged. She was being provocative by suggesting that she didn’t believe him,
\nbut she didn’t care. “Fine and dandy, and now I have more work to
\ndo.” She turned her attention back to the sheet with the Westchester phone
\nnumber.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“No doubt,” Jack said,
\nrefusing to rise to the bait or be dismissed. “How were your cases this
\nmorning?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie looked up but not at
\nJack. “One was routine and rather uninteresting. The other was
\ndisappointing.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“In what regard?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I’d promised a couple
\nwhose son died at the Manhattan General to find out what killed him and let
\nthem know immediately, but the autopsy was clean; there was no gross pathology
\nwhatsoever. Now I’ve got to call and say we have to wait for the microscopic to
\nbe available. I know they are going to be disappointed, and I am, too.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Janice briefed me on that
\ncase,” Jack said. “You didn’t find any emboli?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Nothing!”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“And the heart?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie looked back at Jack.
\n“The heart, the lungs, and the great vessels were all completely
\nnormal.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I’ll wager you find
\nsomething with the heart’s conduction system or maybe micro emboli in the
\nbrainstem. You took adequate samples for toxicology? That would be my second
\nthought.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I did,” Laurie said.
\n“I’d also kept in mind he’d had anesthesia less than twenty-four hours
\nago.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Well, sorry your cases
\nwere a letdown. Mine were the opposite. In fact, I’d have to say they were
\nfun.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Fun?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Truly! Both turned out to
\nbe the absolute opposite of what everybody thought.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“How so?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“The first case was this
\nwell-known psychologist.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Sara Cromwell.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Supposedly, it was a
\nbrutal murder during a sexual assault.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I saw the knife,
\nremember?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“That was what threw
\neverybody for a loop. You see there was no other wound, and she hadn’t been
\nraped.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“How could all the blood
\nthat was described come from that single, nonfatal stab wound?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“It didn’t.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Jack stared at Laurie with a
\nslight smile of anticipation. Laurie stared back. She was in no mood to play
\ngames. “So where did it come from?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Any ideas?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Why don’t you just tell
\nme?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I think you’d be able to
\nguess if you thought about it for a minute. I mean, you did look at how gaunt
\nshe was, didn’t you?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Jack, if you want to tell
\nme, tell me. Otherwise, I have to make my call.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“The blood was from her
\nstomach. It turns out there was a fatal<\/span>
\nengorgement of food, causing a rupture of her stomach
\nand the lower part of her esophagus. Obviously, the woman had bulimia, and
\npushed herself over the edge. Can you believe it? Everybody was convinced it
\nwas homicide and it turns out to be accidental.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“What about the knife
\nsticking out of her thigh?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“That was the real teaser.
\nIt was self-inflicted, but not on purpose. In her final moments, while she was
\npuking blood and putting away the cheese, she slipped on her own blood and fell
\non the knife she was holding. Isn’t it too much? I tell you: This is going to
\nbe a good case to present at our Thursday conference.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

For a moment, Laurie stared at
\nJack’s satisfied face. The story had touched a chord in her inner life. There
\nhad been a time when she’d had self-esteem problems after her brother’s death,
\ncausing her to have a brush with anorexia and bulimia. It was a secret she
\nhadn’t shared with anyone.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“And my next two cases were
\nequally intriguing. It was a double suicide. Did you hear about it?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Vaguely,” Laurie
\nresponded. She was still thinking about bulimia.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I tell you, I have to give
\nold Fontworth credit,” Jack said. “I’d always considered him less
\nthan meticulous, but last night he seemed to have done a bang-up job. With the
\ndouble suicide, he found a heavy Mag-Lite flashlight on the front seat of the
\nSUV along with the victims and was smart enough to bring it with the bodies. He
\nalso noted the driver’s-side door was ajar.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“What was important about
\nthe flashlight?” Laurie asked.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Plenty,” Jack
\nreplied. “First of all, let me say I was a bit suspicious when there was
\nonly one suicide note. In double suicides, it’s usual to have two notes or one
\nthat is written by both parties. I mean, it makes sense, since they are doing
\nit together. Anyway, that put up a red flag. Since the note was presumably from
\nthe woman, I elected to autopsy her first. What I expected to find after the
\nfact<\/span> was
\nsomething toxicological, like a knock-out drug or the like. I didn’t expect to
\nfind anything on gross, but I did. She had a literal indentation on her
\nforehead just above the hairline that was curiously curved.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Jack paused. His smile returned.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Don’t tell me the
\nflashlight and the indentation matched.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“You got it! A perfect match!
\nIt seems that the whole affair was an elaborate setup by the husband, who had
\nprepared the scene and probably even wrote the note. After he knocked out his
\nwife, got her into the passenger seat of the SUV, and started the engine, he
\nprobably went back in the house to wait. When he thought enough time had
\npassed, he returned to check that his wife was dead, but didn’t realize how
\nquickly one can succumb to carbon monoxide if the level is high enough.
\nClimbing behind the wheel, he rapidly fell unconscious and ended up joining his
\nwife.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“What a story!” Laurie
\ncommented.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Isn’t it ironic? I mean,
\nit was supposed to be a double suicide, and instead the manner of death turns
\nout to be homicidal for the wife and accidental for the husband. Forensic
\npathology certainly can surprise.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie nodded. She distinctly
\nremembered having the same thought before she started her overdose case.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Even the police case is
\nturning out to be opposite of what was expected.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“How so?” Laurie
\nasked.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Everybody has been
\nassuming it was a case of justifiable homicide by the police, since the police
\nacknowledged shooting him a number of times, but Calvin just told me that as
\nnear as they can determine, it was suicide. They’ve been able to ascertain that
\nthe victim shot himself through the heart before he was hit by any of the
\npolice rounds.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“That should help quiet the
\nneighborhood.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“We should hope,” Jack
\nsaid. “Anyway, it was an interesting morning, to say the least, and I just
\nthought you’d like to hear that we’ve had a rash of cases this morning where
\nthe manner of death was the opposite of what was expected. With that said, are
\nyou going to pop down for some lunch soon?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I don’t know. I’m not
\nterribly hungry, and I’ve got a lot to do.” “Well, maybe I’ll catch
\nyou down there. If not, I’ll see you later.” Laurie waved at Jack as he
\ndisappeared down the hall. She turned her attention back to Sean McGillin Sr.’s
\nphone number. She thought about what Jack had said about forensic surprises and
\nconsidered what that could mean for Sean McGillin Jr. She’d expected his manner
\nof death to be natural, a fatal clot or fat emboli or even a congenital
\nanomaly. Since she’d not found anything of the kind, at least so far, she was
\nnow entertaining the idea that the cause of death could’ve been accidental,
\nsuch as an unexpected late complication with anesthesia. But if the cause of
\ndeath were to be truly opposite, like the cases Jack had just described, it
\nwould have to have been homicidal.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie mulled the idea. It
\nseemed far-fetched, but then she thought about Sara Cromwell and how only
\nminutes earlier, she would have thought it totally far-fetched that her manner
\nof death was accidental. Sean Jr.’s autopsy had already surprised her with its
\nlack of findings. Could the case surprise her once more? She doubted it, but
\nthen again, she couldn’t rule it out completely.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

four<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

DESPITE LAURIE’S CONCERNS to the
\ncontrary, the phone conversation with Dr. McGillin turned out be surprisingly
\ncivil. He had accepted that the autopsy had failed to show any pathology with
\nunexpected equanimity. It was as if he had taken the information as a
\ncompliment about his adored son, corroborating the idea that the boy was indeed
\nperfect, inside and out.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Having expected to be angrily
\nchastised for not delivering on her promise, or at the very least anticipating
\nhaving to weather passive-aggressive disappointment, Laurie felt even more
\nbeholden to the man when he maintained his composure. He had even gone to the
\nextent of thanking her for her efforts on his son’s behalf and for spending
\ntime with them in their hour of need. If she had been<\/span> willing before to
\nbend the rules by providing the man with the cause of his son’s demise, she’d
\nnow become determined to get him that information.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

After hanging up the phone with
\nSean Sr., Laurie spent some time pondering the case while staring blankly ahead
\nat her cork-board with its various notes, reminders, and business cards. She
\ntried to think of a way to speed up the process, but her hands were tied. She
\nhad to wait for Maureen and Peter, and hope that they would respond to her
\nappeal.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Time melted away effortlessly.
\nRiva came in and said hello as she dumped folders on her desk and took her
\nseat. Laurie returned the greeting by reflex without turning around. Her mind
\nby then had switched to Jack and his irritatingly insouciant joviality, and
\nwhat that meant about their relationship. Although she hated to admit it, it
\nwas becoming progressively apparent that he was happy she’d decided to leave.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

In a circular fashion, thoughts
\nof Jack brought her back to Sean Jr.’s case as she recalled Jack’s comments
\nabout forensics occasionally revealing that the causation and manner of death
\nwere the opposite of what was assumed. Laurie again considered the possibility
\nthat Sean’s death could have been a homicide. She couldn’t help but remember
\nseveral infamous episodes of serial homicides that had occurred in healthcare
\ninstitutions, particularly one rather recently that had continued undetected
\nfor an unconscionably long time. Such a scenario had to be considered, although
\nshe recognized that all the involved patients in those series were aged,
\nchronically ill individuals and that there was an inkling of an imaginable,
\nalbeit sick motive. Not one of the victims had been a vigorous, healthy
\ntwenty-eight-year-old whose whole life was still ahead of him.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie was certain that homicide
\nwas extremely implausible, and she wasn’t going to worry about it, especially
\nsince Peter’s toxicology screen would pick up an overdose of insulin or digoxin
\nor<\/span> another
\npotentially lethal drug akin to those implicated in the previous institutional
\nmurders. After all, that was what the toxicology screen was all about. In her
\nmind, Sean Jr.’s death had to be either natural, which was most probable, or
\naccidental. Yet what was she going to do if the microscopic and the
\ntoxicological turned out to be negative? Such a concern seemed reasonable,
\nconsidering the autopsy itself had been so surprisingly clean. From her
\nexperience, it was rare not to find some pathology, even in a twenty-eight-year-old,
\nand even if the abnormalities were not associated with the demise.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

To prepare for such an
\neventuality, Laurie needed as much information as possible. Although the usual
\ncourse of action in such a case would be to wait for the microscopic and the
\ntoxicological to come back, she decided to be proactive to save time.
\nImpulsively, she snatched the receiver and called down to the forensic
\ninvestigator’s office. Bart Arnold picked up on the second ring.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I posted a Sean McGillin
\nthis morning,” Laurie said. “He was an inpatient over at the
\nManhattan General. I’d like to get a copy of his hospital chart.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I’m aware of the case. Did
\nwe not get what you need?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“The forensic
\ninvestigator’s report is fine. To be honest, I’m on a fishing expedition. The post
\nwas negative, and I’m a little desperate. There’s kind of a time
\nconstraint.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I’ll put the request in
\nimmediately.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie replaced the receiver
\nwhile racking her brain in hopes of coming up with something else that would be
\nuseful if everything turned out to be negative.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“What’s wrong?” Riva
\nasked. She had swung around in her desk chair after overhearing Laurie’s
\nconversation with Bart. “Knowing how tired you are, I thought I’d given
\nyou straightforward cases. I’m sorry.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie assured her officemate
\nthat she needn’t apologize. Laurie admitted that she was creating a problem
\nwhen there really wasn’t one, probably to keep from obsessing about her social
\nlife.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Do you want to talk about
\nit?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“You mean my social
\nlife?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I mean Jack and what you
\ndid this morning.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Not particularly,”
\nLaurie responded. She waved a hand as if swatting a nonexistent fly.
\n“There’s not much to say that you and I haven’t hashed over before ad
\nnauseam. The reality is that I don’t want to be stuck in a never-never-land
\nrelationship, which is what I’ve been settling for over the last couple of
\nyears. I want a family. It’s that simple. I guess what’s really irking me is
\nthat Jack is being such an ass by acting so blasted cheerful.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I’ve noticed,” Riva
\nagreed. “I think it is an act.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Who’s to know,”
\nLaurie responded. She laughed at herself. “I’m pathetic! Anyway, let me
\ntell you about the McGillin case.” Quickly, Laurie related the whole
\nstory, including the details of the conversations she’d had with the parents
\nand then subsequently with Jack.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“It’s not going to be a
\nhomicide,” Riva said emphatically.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I know!” Laurie
\nagreed. “What’s bothering me at this point is not being able to live up to
\nthe promise I made to the parents. I was so sure I’d be able to tell them today
\nwhat killed their boy, and now I have to sit on my hands and wait for Maureen
\nand Peter. My compulsiveness is driving me batty.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“If it’s any consolation,
\nmy opinion is that Jack was right about the microscopic being the key. I think
\nyou’ll find the pathology in the heart, especially with a strong family history
\nof elevated LDH and heart disease.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie started to concur, but
\nher phone rang. Twisting around, she answered it, expecting some quick tidbit
\nof information on one of her cases, which is what the vast majority of her
\ncalls were about.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Instead, her eyebrows arched in
\nsurprise. Covering the mouthpiece, she looked back at Riva and whispered.
\n“You’re not going to believe it! It’s my father!”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Riva’s face reflected equal
\ndisbelief. She hastily motioned for Laurie to find out the occasion for the
\ncall. Phone contact was restricted to Laurie’s mother, and that was rarely at
\nwork.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I’m sorry to disturb
\nyou,” Dr. Sheldon Montgomery said. He spoke in a resonant voice with a
\nhint of an English accent, despite his never having lived in Great Britain.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“You’re not disturbing
\nme,” Laurie answered. “I’m sitting here at my desk.” She was
\nintensely curious why her father was calling, but resisted the temptation to
\nask directly, fearful such a question would sound too unfriendly. Their
\nrelationship had never been anything special. As a self-absorbed, workaholic
\ncardiac surgeon who’d demanded perfection from everyone, including himself,
\nhe’d been emotionally distant and generally unavailable. Laurie had tried
\nvainly to break through to him, constantly pushing herself to excel at school
\nand in other activities, which is what she thought he wanted. Unfortunately, it
\nnever worked. Then came her brother’s untimely death, which Sheldon blamed on
\nher. What little relationship they’d had deteriorated even further.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I’m at the hospital,”
\nhe said. His tone was matter-of-fact, as if he was telling her the weather.
\n“I’m here with your mother.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“What is Mother doing at
\nthe hospital?” Laurie asked. For Sheldon to be at the hospital was not out
\nof the ordinary. Although he was retired from private practice now that he was
\nin his early eighties, he still frequently went to the hospital. Laurie had no
\nidea what he did. Her mother, Dorothy, never went to the hospital despite being
\nactive in various hospital fund-raising activities. The last time Laurie
\nremembered her mother being in the hospital was for her second facelift fifteen
\nyears earlier, and even then, Laurie had learned of the admission after the
\nfact.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“She had surgery this
\nmorning,” Sheldon said. “She is doing fine. In fact, she is rather
\nchipper.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie sat up a bit straighter.
\n“Surgery? What happened? Was it an emergency?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“No. It was a scheduled
\nprocedure. Unfortunately, your mother had a mastectomy for breast cancer.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“My word!” Laurie managed.
\n“I had no idea. I just spoke with her on Saturday. She didn’t mention
\nanything about surgery or cancer.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“You know your mother, and
\nhow she likes to ignore unpleasant issues. She was particularly insistent on
\nshielding you from unnecessary concern until this was behind her.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie looked at Riva with
\ndisbelief. As close as their desks were in the small office, Riva could hear
\nboth sides. Riva rolled her dark eyes and shook her head.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“What stage was the
\ncancer?” Laurie asked solicitously.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“A very early stage with no
\napparent nodal involvement,” Sheldon said. “Things are going to be
\nfine. The prognosis is excellent, although she’ll have to undergo further
\ntreatment.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“And you say she is doing
\nwell?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Very well indeed. She’s
\nalready taken some nourishment orally, and she’s back to her old self by being
\ngenuinely demanding.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Can I speak with
\nher?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Unfortunately, that would
\nbe rather difficult. You see, I’m not in the room at the moment. I’m at the
\nnurses’ station. I was hoping you’d be able to come over here to see her this
\nafternoon. There is an associated aspect to all this that I would like to
\ndiscuss with you.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I will be right
\nover,” Laurie said. She hung up the phone before turning back to Riva.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Is it true you had no idea
\nabout any of this?” Riva asked.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Not a clue. There wasn’t
\neven the slightest hint. I don’t know whether to be angry, hurt, or sad.
\nActually, it’s pathetic.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

What a dysfunctional family! I
\ncan’t believe it. I’m almost forty-three and a doctor, and my mother still
\ntreats me like a child about illness. Can you imagine, she wanted to shield me
\nfrom unnecessary concern?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Our family is just the
\nopposite. Everybody knows everything about everybody. It’s the opposite
\nextreme, but I don’t advocate it, either. I think the best is somewhere in
\nbetween.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie got up and stretched. She
\nwaited for a moment of dizziness to pass. Her fatigue had come back with a
\nvengeance after sitting at her desk. She then got her coat from behind the
\ndoor. When she considered the differences between her family and Riva’s, she
\nthought she would pick Riva’s, although she certainly wouldn’t choose to live
\nat home like Riva did. She and Riva were the same age.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Want me to answer your
\nphone?” Riva asked.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“If you won’t mind,
\nespecially if it’s either Maureen or Peter. Leave any messages on my
\ncorkboard.” Laurie got out a package of Post-its and plopped them on her
\nblotter. “I’ve got to come back here. I’m not going to take my suitcase
\nwith me.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie stepped into the hall and
\nbriefly considered going down to Jack’s office to tell him about her mother,
\nthen decided to skip it. Even though she was certain he’d ultimately be
\nsympathetic, she had had quite enough of his levity and didn’t want to risk
\nhaving to deal with anymore.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

On the first floor, Laurie took
\na quick detour into the administration office. Calvin’s door was ajar.
\nUnchallenged by the two busy secretaries, Laurie glanced in to see the deputy
\nchief hunched over his desk. A standard-sized pen looked like a miniature in
\nhis huge hand. She knocked on the open door, and Calvin raised his intimidating
\nface and drilled Laurie with his coal-black eyes. There had been times when
\nLaurie had clashed with the deputy chief, since he was both a stickler for
\nrules and a politically savvy individual willing to bend those rules on
\noccasion. From Laurie’s perspective, it was an untenable combination. The
\noccasional political demands of being a medical examiner were the only part of
\nthe job Laurie didn’t like.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie mentioned that she was
\nleaving early to visit her mom in the hospital. Calvin waved her away without a
\nquestion. Laurie didn’t have to clear such a thing with him, but she had been
\ntrying of late to be a little more politically sensitive herself, at least on a
\npersonal level.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Outside, the rain had finally
\nstopped, making it easier to hail a taxi. The ride uptown went quickly, and in
\nless than a half hour she was deposited at the front steps of the University
\nHospital. During the drive, she had tried to imagine what her father had meant
\nby “an associated aspect” of her mother’s illness that he wished to
\ndiscuss. She truly had no idea. It was such an oblique statement, but she
\nassumed he meant some limitations of her mother’s activity.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

The hospital’s lobby was in its
\nusual afternoon uproar with visiting hours in full swing. Laurie had to wait in
\nline at the information booth to find out her mother’s room number, castigating
\nherself for failing to get it earlier. Armed with the information, she took the
\nproper elevators up to the proper floor and walked past the nurses’ station,
\nwhere a number of people were busy at work. No one looked up at her. It was the
\nVIP wing, which meant the corridor was carpeted and the walls were hung with
\noriginal, donated oil paintings. Laurie found herself glancing into the rooms
\nas she passed like a voyeur, reminding her of her first year of clinical
\nresidency.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Her mother’s door was ajar like
\nmost of the others, and Laurie walked right in. Her mother was in a typical
\nhospital bed with the guardrails up, an intravenous running slowly into her
\nleft arm. Instead of the usual hospital garb, she was wearing a pink silk robe.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

She was sitting up with a number
\nof pillows behind her. Her medium-length, silver-gray hair, which normally
\nbillowed on top of her head, was pressed down like an old-fashioned bathing
\ncap. Her color was gray without her makeup, and her skin seemed to be pulled
\ntighter than usual over her facial bones, and her eyes had retracted as if she
\nwas slightly dehydrated. She appeared fragile and vulnerable, and although
\nLaurie knew she was petite, she looked particularly tiny in the large bed. She
\nalso looked older than she did less than a week before, when Laurie had seen
\nher for lunch. There had been no conversation about cancer or imminent
\nhospitalization.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“Come in, my dear,”
\nDorothy said, waving with her free hand. “Pull a chair over. Sheldon told
\nme he had called you. I wasn’t going to bother you until I was home. This is
\nall very silly. It’s just not worth getting all upset over.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Laurie glanced over at her
\nfather, who was reading The Wall Street Journal <\/i>in a club chair by the
\nwindow. He glanced up, gave a little wave and a wan smile, and then went back
\nto his paper.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Advancing to the side of the
\nbed, Laurie took her mother’s free hand and gave it a squeeze. The bones felt
\ndelicate and the skin cool. “How are you, Mother?”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

“I’m just fine. Give me a
\nkiss and then sit down.”<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Read the full book by downloading it below.<\/p>\n

DOWNLOAD EPUB<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Book Preview MARKER \u00a0 \u00a0 Robin Cook \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS Publishers Since 1838 Published by the Penguin Group Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA \u2022 Penguin Group (Canada), 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario M4V 3B2, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3089,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[167],"class_list":["post-3090","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-robin-cook"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3090","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3090"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3090\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3089"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3090"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3090"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3090"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}