Chromosome 6

CHAPTER 14

MARCH 6, 1997

6:45 A.M.

NEW YORK CITY

WITH a burst of speed, Jack made the green light at the intersection of First Avenue and Thirtieth Street and sailed across without slowing down. Angling the bike up the morgue’s driveway, he didn’t brake until the last minute. Moments later, he had the bike locked and was on his way to the office of Janice Jaeger, the night forensic investigator.

Jack was keyed up. After near conclusive identification of his floater as Carlo Franconi, Jack had gotten little sleep. He’d been on and off the phone with Janice, finally imploring her to get copies of all of Franconi’s records from the Manhattan General Hospital. Her preliminary investigation had determined that Franconi had been hospitalized there.

Jack had also had Janice get the phone numbers of the European human organ distribution organizations from Bart Arnold’s desk. Because of the six-hour-time difference, Jack had started calling after three a.m. He was most interested in the organization called Euro Transplant Foundation in the Netherlands. When they had no record of a Carlo Franconi as a recent liver recipient, Jack called all the national organizations whose numbers he had. They included organizations in France, England, Italy, Sweden, Hungary, and Spain. No one had heard of Carlo Franconi. On top of that, most of the people he had spoken with said that it would be rare for a foreign national to get such a transplant because most of the countries had waiting lists comprised of their own citizens.

After only a few hours of sleep, Jack’s curiosity had awakened him. Unable to get back to sleep, he’d decided to get into the morgue early to go over the material that Janice had collected.

“My word, you are eager,” Janice commented as Jack came into her office.

“This is the kind of case that makes forensics fun,” Jack said. “How’d you do at the MGH?”

“I got a lot of material,” Janice said. “Mr. Franconi had multiple admissions over the years, mostly for hepatitis and cirrhosis.”

“Ah, the plot thickens,” Jack said. “When was the last admission?”

“About two months ago,” Janice said. “But no transplant. There is mention of it, but if he had one, he didn’t have it at the MGH.” She handed Jack a large folder.

Jack hefted the package and smiled. “Guess I got a lot of reading to do.”

“It looked pretty repetitive to me,” Janice said.

“What about his doctor?” Jack asked. “Has he had one in particular or has he been playing the field?”

“One for the most part,” Janice said. “Dr. Daniel Levitz on Fifth Avenue between Sixty-fourth and Sixty-fifth Street. His office number is written on the outside of your parcel.”

“You are efficient,” Jack said.

“I try to do my best,” Janice said. “Have any luck with those European organ distribution organizations?”

“A complete strikeout,” Jack said. “Have Bart give me a call as soon as he comes in. We have to go back and retry all the transplant centers in this country now that we have a name.”

“If Bart’s not in by the time I leave, I’ll put a note on his desk,” Janice said.

Jack whistled as he walked through communications on his way to the ID room. He could taste the coffee already while dreaming of the euphoria that the first cup of the day always gave him. But when he arrived he could see he was too early. Vinnie Amendola was just in the process of making it.

“Hurry up with that coffee,” Jack said, as he dropped his heavy package onto the metal desk Vinnie used to read his newspaper. “It’s an emergency this morning.”

Vinnie didn’t answer, which was out of character, and Jack noticed. “Are you still in a bad mood?” he asked.

Vinnie still didn’t answer, but Jack’s mind was already elsewhere. He’d seen the headlines on Vinnie’s paper: Franconi’s Body Found. Beneath the headline in slightly smaller print was: “Franconi’s corpse languishing in the Medical Examiner’s Office for twenty-four hours before identity established.”

Jack sat down to read the article. As usual, it was written in a sarcastic bent with the implication that the city’s medical examiners were bunglers. Jack thought it was interesting that while the journalist had had enough information to write the article, he didn’t appear to know that the body had been headless and handless in a deliberate attempt to conceal its identity. Nor did it mention anything about the shotgun wound to its right upper quadrant.

After finishing with the coffee preparation, Vinnie came over to stand next to the desk while Jack read. Impatiently, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. When Jack finally looked up Vinnie said irritably: “Do you mind! I’d like to have my paper.”

“You see this article?” Jack asked, slapping the front page.

“Yeah, I seen it,” Vinnie said.

Jack resisted the temptation to correct his English. Instead he said: “Did it surprise you? I mean, when we did the autopsy yesterday, did it ever cross your mind it might have been the missing Franconi?”

“No, why should it?” Vinnie said.

“I’m not saying it should,” Jack said. “I’m just asking if it did.”

“No,” Vinnie said. “Let me have my paper! Why don’t you buy your own? You’re always reading mine.”

Jack stood up, pushed Vinnie’s paper toward him, and lifted the bundle from Janice. “You really are out of sorts lately. Maybe you need a vacation. You’re fast becoming a grumpy old man.”

“At least I’m not a cheapskate,” Vinnie said. He picked up his paper and readjusted the pages that Jack had gotten out of alignment.

Jack went to the coffeemaker and poured himself a brimming cup. He took it over to the scheduling desk. While sipping contentedly, he went through the multitude of Franconi’s hospital admissions. On his first perusal of the material, he just wanted the basics, so he read each discharge summary page. As Janice had already told him, the admissions were mostly due to liver problems starting from a bout of hepatitis he contracted in Naples, Italy.

Laurie arrived next. Before she even had her coat off, she asked Jack if he’d seen the paper or heard the morning news. Jack told her he’d seen the Post.

“Was it your doing?” Laurie asked, as she folded her coat and put it on a chair.

“What are you talking about?”

“The leak that we tentatively identified Franconi with your floater,” Laurie said.

Jack gave a little laugh of disbelief. “I’m surprised you’d even ask. Why would I do such a thing?”

“I don’t know, except you were so excited about it last night,” Laurie said. “But I didn’t mean any offense. I was just surprised to see it in the news so quickly.”

“You and me both,” Jack said. “Maybe it was Lou.”

“I think that would surprise me even more than you,” Laurie said.

“Why me?” Jack said. He sounded hurt.

“Last year you leaked the plague story,” Laurie said.

“That was a completely different situation,” Jack said defensively. “That was to save people.”

“Well, don’t get mad,” Laurie said. To change the subject she asked: “What kind of cases do we have for today?”

“I didn’t look,” Jack admitted. “But the pile is small and I have a request. If possible, I’d like to have a paper day or really a research day.”

Laurie bent over and counted the autopsy folders. “Only ten cases; no problem,” she said. “I think I’ll only do one myself. Now that Franconi’s body is back, I’m even more interested to find out how it left here in the first place. The more I’ve thought about it, the more I believe it had to have been an inside job in some form or fashion.”

There was a splashing sound followed by loud cursing. Both Laurie and Jack looked over at Vinnie, who’d jumped up to a standing position. He’d spilled his coffee all over his desk and even onto his lap.

“Watch out for Vinnie,” Jack warned Laurie. “He’s again in a foul mood.”

“Are you all right, Vinnie?” Laurie called out.

“I’m okay,” Vinnie said. He walked stiff-legged over to the coffeepot to get some paper towels.

“I’m a little confused,” Jack said to Laurie. “Why does Franconi’s return make you more interested in his disappearance?”

“Mainly because of what you found during the autopsy,” Laurie said. “At first I thought that whoever stole the body had done it out of pure spite, like the killer wanted to deny the man a proper funeral, something like that. But now it seems that the body was taken to destroy the liver. That’s weird. Initially I thought that solving the riddle of how the body disappeared was simply a challenge. Now I think if I can figure out how the body disappeared, we might be able to find out who did it.”

“I’m beginning to understand what Lou said about feeling stupid about your ability to make associations,” Jack said. “With Franconi’s disappearance I always thought the ‘why’ was more important than the ‘how.’ You’re suggesting they are related.”

“Exactly,” Laurie said. “The ‘how’ will lead to the ‘who,’ and the ‘who’ will explain the ‘why.’ ”

“And you think someone who works here is involved,” Jack said.

“I’m afraid I do,” Laurie said. “I don’t see how they could have pulled it off without someone on the inside. But I still have no clue how it happened.”

After his call to Siegfried, Raymond’s brain had finally succumbed to the high levels of hypnotic medication circulating in his bloodstream from the two sleeping pills. He slept soundly through the remaining early hours. The next thing he was aware of was Darlene opening the curtains to let in the daylight. It was almost eight o’clock, the time he’d asked to be awakened.

“Feel better, dear?” Darlene asked. She made Raymond sit forward so she could fluff up his pillow.

“I do,” Raymond admitted, although his mind was fuzzy from the sleeping pills.

“I even made you your favorite breakfast,” Darlene said. She went over to the bureau and lifted a wicker tray. She carried it over to the bed and placed it across Raymond’s lap.

Raymond’s eyes traveled around the tray. There was fresh-squeezed orange juice, two strips of bacon, a single-egg omelette, toast, and fresh coffee. In a side pocket was the morning paper.

“How’s that?” Darlene asked proudly.

“Perfect,” Raymond said. He reached up and gave her a kiss.

“Let me know when you want more coffee,” Darlene said. Then she left the room.

With childlike pleasure Raymond buttered his toast and sipped his orange juice. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing quite so wonderful as the smell of coffee and bacon in the morning.

Taking a bite of both bacon and omelette at the same time to savor the combined tastes, Raymond lifted the paper, opened it, and glanced at the headlines.

He gasped, inadvertently inhaling some of his food. He coughed so hard, he bucked the wicker tray off the bed. It crashed upside down on the carpet.

Darlene came running into the room and stood wringing her hands, while Raymond went through series of coughing jags that turned him tomato red.

“Water!” he squeaked between fits.

Darlene dashed into the bathroom and returned with a glass. Raymond clutched it and managed to drink a small amount. The bacon and egg that he’d had in his mouth was now distributed in an arc around the bed.

“Are you all right?” Darlene asked. “Should I call 911?”

“The wrong way down,” Raymond croaked. He pointed to his Adam’s apple.

It took Raymond five minutes to recover. By that time, his throat was sore and his voice hoarse. Darlene had cleaned up most of the mess he’d caused except for the coffee stain on the white carpet.

“Did you see the paper?” Raymond asked Darlene.

She shook her head, so Raymond spread it out for her.

“Oh, my,” she said.

“Oh, my!” Raymond repeated sarcastically. “And you were wondering why I was still worried about Franconi!” Raymond forcibly crumpled the paper.

“What are you going to do?” Darlene asked.

“I suppose I have to go back and see Vinnie Dominick,” Raymond said. “He promised me the body was gone. Some job he did!”

The phone rang and Raymond jumped.

“Do you want me to answer it?” Darlene asked.

Raymond nodded. He wondered who could be calling so early.

Darlene picked up the phone and said hello followed by several yeses. Then she put the phone on hold.

“It’s Dr. Waller Anderson,” Darlene said with a smile. “He wants to come on board.”

Raymond exhaled. Until then he’d not been aware he’d been holding his breath. “Tell him we’re pleased, but that I’ll have to call him later.”

Darlene did as she was told and then hung up the phone. “At least that was good news,” she said.

Raymond rubbed his forehead and audibly groaned. “I just wish everything would go as well as the business side.”

The phone rang again. Raymond motioned for Darlene to answer it. After saying hello and listening for a moment, her smile quickly faded. She put the phone on hold and told Raymond it was Taylor Cabot.

Raymond swallowed hard. His already irritated throat had gone dry. He took a quick swig of water and took the receiver.

“Hello, sir!” Raymond managed. His voice was still hoarse.

“I’m calling from my car phone,” Taylor said. “So I won’t be too specific. But I have just been informed of the reemergence of a problem I thought had been taken care of. What I said earlier about this issue still stands. I hope you understand.”

“Of course, sir,” Raymond squeaked. “I will…”

Raymond stopped speaking. He took the phone away from his ear and looked at it. Taylor had cut him off.

“Just what I need,” Raymond said, as he handed the phone back to Darlene. “Another threat from Cabot to close down the program.”

Raymond put his feet over the side of the bed. As he stood up and slipped on his robe, he could still feel the remnants of yesterday’s headache. “I have to go find Vinnie Dominick’s number. I need another miracle.”

By eight o’clock Laurie and the others were down in the “pit” starting their autopsies. Jack had stayed in the ID room to read through the records of Carlo Franconi’s hospital admissions. When he noticed the time, he went back to the forensics area to find out why the chief investigator, Bart Arnold, had not come in that day. Jack was surprised when he found the man in his office.

“Didn’t Janice talk to you this morning?” Jack asked. He and Bart were good enough friends so that Jack thought nothing of marching right into Bart’s office and plopping himself down.

“I just came in fifteen minutes ago,” Bart said. “Janice was already gone.”

“Wasn’t there a message on your desk?” Jack asked.

Bart started to peek around under the clutter. Bart’s desk looked strikingly similar to Jack’s. Bart pulled out a note which he read aloud: “Important! Call Jack Stapleton immediately.” It was signed “Janice.”

“Sorry,” Bart said. “I’d have seen it eventually.” He smiled weakly, knowing there was no excuse.

“I suppose you’ve heard that my floater has been just about conclusively identified as Carlo Franconi,” Jack said.

“So I’ve heard,” Bart said.

“That means I want you to go back to UNOS and all the centers that do liver transplantation with the name.”

“That’s a lot easier than asking them to check if any of their recent transplants is missing,” Bart said. “With all the phone numbers handy I can do that in a flash.”

“I spent most of the night on the phone with the organizations in Europe responsible for organ allocation,” Jack said. “I came up with zilch.”

“Did you talk to Euro Transplant in the Netherlands?” Bart asked.

“I called them first,” Jack said. “They had no record of a Franconi.”

“Then it’s pretty safe to say that Franconi didn’t have his transplant in Europe,” Bart said. “Euro Transplant keeps tabs on the whole continent.”

“The next thing I want is for someone to go visit Franconi’s mother and talk her into giving a blood sample. I want Ted Lynch to run a mitochondrial DNA match with the floater. That will clinch the identity, so it will no longer be presumptive. Also have the investigator ask the woman if her son had a liver transplant. It will be interesting to hear what she has to say.”

Bart wrote Jack’s requests down. “What else?” Bart asked.

“I think that’s it for now,” Jack said. “Janice told me Franconi’s doctor’s name is Daniel Levitz. Is that anyone you have come in contact with?”

“If it’s the Levitz on Fifth, then I’ve come in contact with him.”

“What was your take?” Jack asked.

“High-profile practice with wealthy clientele. He’s a good internist as far as I could tell. The curious thing is that he takes care of a lot of the crime families, so it’s not surprising he was taking care of Carlo Franconi.”

“Different families?” Jack questioned. “Even families in competition with each other?”

“Strange, isn’t it?” Bart said. “It must be one big headache for the poor receptionist who does the scheduling. Can you imagine having two rival crime figures with their bodyguards in the waiting room at the same time?”

“Life’s stranger than fiction,” Jack said.

“Do you want me to go to Dr. Levitz and get what I can on Franconi?” Bart asked.

“I think I’ll do that myself,” Jack said. “I have a sneaking suspicion that when talking with Franconi’s doctor what’s unsaid is going to be more important than what is said. You concentrate on finding out where Franconi got his transplant. I think that’s going to be the key piece of information in this case. Who knows, it might just explain everything.”

“There you are!” a robust voice boomed. Both Jack and Bart looked up to see the doorway literally filled with the imposing figure of Dr. Calvin Washington, the deputy chief.

“I’ve been looking all over for you, Stapleton,” Calvin growled. “Come on! The chief wants to see you.”

Jack gave Bart a wink before getting to his feet. “Probably just another of the many awards he’s given me.”

“I wouldn’t be so glib if I were you,” Calvin snapped, as he made room for Jack to pass. “Once again, you got the old man all riled up.”

Jack followed Calvin to the administration area. Just before going into the front office, Jack caught a glimpse of the waiting room. There were more than the usual number of journalists.

“Something going on?” Jack asked.

“As if I have to tell you,” Calvin grunted.

Jack didn’t understand, but he didn’t have a chance to ask more. Calvin was already asking Mrs. Sanford, Bingham’s secretary, if they could go into the chiefs office.

As it turned out, the timing wasn’t good, and Jack was relegated to sitting on the bench that faced Mrs. Sanford’s desk. Obviously, she was as upset as her boss and treated Jack to several disapproving looks. Jack felt like a naughty schoolboy waiting to see the principal. Calvin used the time by disappearing into his own office to make a few phone calls.

Having a reasonable idea of what the chief was upset about, Jack tried to come up with an explanation. Unfortunately, none came to mind. After all, he could have waited to get Franconi’s X rays until Bingham’s arrival that morning.

“You can go in now,” Mrs. Sanford said, without looking up from her typing. She’d noticed the light on her extension phone had gone out, meaning the chief was off the phone.

Jack entered the chiefs office with a sense of déjà vu. A year ago, during a series of infectious disease cases, Jack had managed to drive the chief to distraction, and there had been several such confrontations.

“Get in here and sit down,” Bingham said roughly.

Jack took the seat in front of the man’s desk. Bingham had aged in the last few years. He looked considerably older than sixty-three. He glared at Jack through his wire-rimmed glasses. Despite his jowls and sagging flesh, Jack saw that his eyes were as intense and intelligent as ever.

“I was just beginning to think you were really fitting in around here, and now this,” Bingham said.

Jack didn’t respond. He felt it best not to say anything until he was asked a question.

“Can I at least ask why?” Bingham said obligingly in his deep, husky voice.

Jack shrugged. “Curiosity,” Jack said. “I was excited and I couldn’t wait.”

“Curiosity!” Bingham roared. “That was the same lame excuse you used last year when you disregarded my orders and went over to the MGH.”

“At least I’m consistent,” Jack said.

Bingham moaned. “And now here comes the impertinence. You really haven’t changed much, have you?”

“My basketball has improved,” Jack said.

Jack heard the door open. He turned to see Calvin slip into the room. Calvin folded his massive arms across his chest and stood to the side like an elite harem guard.

“I’m not getting anywhere with him,” Bingham complained to Calvin, as if Jack were no longer in the room. “I thought you said his behavior had improved.”

“It had, until this episode,” Calvin said. He then glared down at Jack. “What irks me,” Calvin said, finally addressing Jack, “is that you know damn well that releases from the medical examiner’s office are to come from Dr. Bingham or through public relations, period! You examiner grunts are not to take it upon yourselves to divulge information. The reality is that this job is highly politicized, and in the face of our current problems we certainly don’t need more bad press.”

“Time out,” Jack said. “Something’s not right here. I’m not sure we’re talking the same language.”

“You can say that again,” Bingham asserted.

“What I mean is,” Jack said, “I don’t think we are talking about the same issue. When I came in here, I thought I was being called onto the carpet because I bullied the janitor into giving me keys for this office so I could find Franconi’s films.”

“Hell, no!” Bingham yelled. He pointed his finger at Jack’s nose. “It’s because you leaked the story about Franconi’s body being discovered here at the morgue after it had been stolen. What did you think? This would somehow advance your career?”

“Hold up,” Jack said. “First, I’m not all that excited about advancing my career. Second, I was not responsible for this story getting to the media.”

“You’re not?” Bingham asked.

“Certainly, you’re not suggesting that Laurie Montgomery was responsible?” Calvin asked.

“Not at all,” Jack said. “But it wasn’t me. Look, to tell you the truth, I don’t even think it’s a story.”

“That’s not how the media feels,” Bingham said. “Nor the mayor for that matter. He’s already called me twice this morning, asking what kind of circus we’re running around here. This Franconi business continues to make us look bad in the eyes of the entire city-particularly when news about our own office takes us by surprise.”

“The real story about Franconi isn’t about his body going on an overnight out of the morgue,” Jack said. “It’s about the fact that the man seemingly had a liver transplant that no one knows about, that’s hard to detect by DNA analysis, and that somebody wanted to hide it.”

Bingham looked up at Calvin, who raised his hands defensively. “This is the first I’ve heard about this,” he said.

Jack gave a rapid summary of his autopsy findings and then told about Ted Lynch’s confusing DNA analysis results.

“This sounds weird,” Bingham said. He took off his glasses and wiped his rheumy eyes. “It also sounds bad, considering that I want this whole Franconi business to fade away. If there is something truly screwy going on like Franconi getting an unauthorized liver, then that’s not going to happen.”

“I’ll know more today,” Jack said. “I’ve got Bart Arnold contacting all the transplant centers around the country, John DeVries up in the lab running assays for immunosuppressants, Maureen O’Conner in histology pushing through the slides, and Ted doing a six polymarker DNA test, which he contends is foolproof. By this afternoon, we’ll know for sure whether there’d been a transplant, and, if we’re lucky, where it had taken place.”

Bingham squinted across his desk at Jack. “And you’re sure you didn’t leak today’s newspaper story to the media?”

“Scout’s honor,” Jack said, holding up two fingers to form a V.

“All right, I apologize,” Bingham said. “But listen, Stapleton, keep this all under your hat. And don’t go irritating everyone under the sun, so that I start getting calls complaining about your behavior. You have a knack for getting under people’s skin. And finally, promise me that nothing goes to the media unless it goes through me. Understand?”

“As clear as a crystal,” Jack said.

Jack could rarely find an excuse to get out on his mountain bike during the day, so that it was with a good deal of pleasure that he pedaled with the traffic up First Avenue on his way to visit Dr. Daniel Levitz. There was no sun, but the temperature was pleasantly in the fifties, heralding the coming spring. For Jack, spring was the best season in New York City.

With his bike safely secured to a no parking sign, Jack walked up to the sidewalk entrance of Dr. Daniel Levitz’s office. Jack had called ahead to make sure the doctor was in, but he’d specifically avoided making an appointment. It was Jack’s feeling that a surprise visit might be more fruitful. If Franconi had had a transplant, there was definitely something surreptitious about it.

“Your name please?” the silver-haired matronly receptionist asked.

Jack flashed open his medical examiner badge. Its shiny surface and official appearance confused most people into thinking it was a police badge. In situations like this, Jack didn’t explain the difference. The badge never failed to cause a reaction.

“I must see the doctor,” Jack said, slipping his badge back inside his pocket. “The sooner the better.”

When the receptionist regained her voice, she asked for Jack’s name. When he gave it, he left off the title of doctor so as not to clarify the nature of his employ.

The receptionist immediately scraped back her chair and disappeared into the depths of the office.

Jack’s eyes roamed the waiting room. It was generous in size and lavishly decorated. It was a far cry from the utilitarian waiting room he’d had when he’d been a practicing ophthalmologist. That had been before the retraining necessitated by the managed-care invasion. To Jack, it seemed like a previous life, and in many ways it was.

There were five well-dressed people in the waiting room. All eyed Jack clandestinely as they continued to peruse their respective magazines. As they noisily flipped the pages, Jack sensed an aura of irritation, as if they knew he was about to upset the schedule and relegate them to additional waiting. Jack hoped none of them were notorious crime figures who might consider such an inconvenience a reason for revenge.

The receptionist reappeared, and with embarrassing subservience, she guided Jack back to the doctor’s private study. Once Jack was inside, she closed the door.

Dr. Levitz was not in the room. Jack sat in one of the two chairs facing the desk and surveyed the surroundings. There were the usual framed diplomas and licenses, the family pictures, and even the stacks of unread medical journals. It was all familiar to Jack and gave him a shudder. From his current vantage point, he wondered how he’d lasted as long as he had in a similar, confining environment.

Dr. Daniel Levitz came through a second door. He was dressed in his white coat complete with pocket full of tongue depressors and assorted pens. A stethoscope hung from his neck. Compared with Jack’s muscular, thick-shouldered, six-foot frame, Dr. Levitz was rather short and almost fragile in appearance.

Jack immediately noticed the man’s nervous tics, which involved slight twists and nods of his head. Dr. Levitz gave no indication he was aware of these movements. He shook hands stiffly with Jack and then retreated behind the vast expanse of his desk.

“I’m very busy,” Dr. Levitz said. “But, of course, I always have time for the police.”

“I’m not the police,” Jack said. “I’m Dr. Jack Stapleton from the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner of New York.”

Dr. Levitz’s head twitched as did his sparse mustache. He appeared to swallow. “Oh,” he commented.

“I wanted to talk to you briefly about one of your patients,” Jack said.

“My patients’ conditions are confidential,” Dr. Levitz said, as if by rote.

“Of course,” Jack said. He smiled. “That is, of course, until they have died and become a medical examiner’s case. You see, I want to ask you about Mr. Carlo Franconi.”

Jack watched as Dr. Levitz went through a number of bizarre motions, making Jack glad the man had not gone into brain surgery.

“I still respect my patients’ confidentiality,” he said.

“I can understand your position from an ethical point of view,” Jack said. “But I should remind you that we medical examiners in the State of New York have subpoena power in such a circumstance. So, why don’t we just have a conversation? Who knows, we might be able to clear things up.”

“What do you want to know?” Dr. Levitz asked.

“I learned from reading Mr. Franconi’s extensive hospital history that he’d had a long bout with liver problems leading to liver failure,” Jack said.

Dr. Levitz nodded, which caused his right shoulder to jerk several times. Jack waited until these involuntary movements subsided.

“To come right to the point,” Jack said, “the big question is whether or not Mr. Franconi had a liver transplant.”

At first Levitz did not speak. He merely twitched. Jack was determined to wait the man out.

“I don’t know anything about a liver transplant,” Dr. Levitz said finally.

“When did you see him last?” Jack asked.

Dr. Levitz picked up his phone and asked one of his assistants to bring in Mr. Carlo Franconi’s record.

“It will just be a moment,” Dr. Levitz said.

“In one of Mr. Franconi’s hospital admissions about three years ago, you specifically wrote that it was your opinion that a transplant would be necessary. Do you remember writing that?”

“Not specifically,” Dr. Levitz said. “But I was aware of a deteriorating condition, as well as Mr. Franconi’s failure to stop drinking.”

“But you never mentioned it again,” Jack said. “I found that surprising when it was easy to see a gradual but relentless deterioration in his liver function tests over the next couple of years.”

“A doctor can only do so much to influence his patient’s behavior,” Dr. Levitz said.

The door opened and the deferential receptionist brought in a fat folder. Wordlessly she placed it on Dr. Levitz’s desk and withdrew.

Dr. Levitz picked it up and, after a quick glance, said that he’d seen Carlo Franconi a month previously.

“What did you see him for?”

“An upper respiratory infection,” Dr. Levitz said. “I prescribed some antibiotic. Apparently, it worked.”

“Did you examine him?”

“Of course!” Dr. Levitz said with indignation. “I always examine my patients.”

“Had he had a liver transplant?”

“Well, I didn’t do a complete physical,” Dr. Levitz explained. “I examined him appropriately in reference to his complaint and his symptoms.”

“You didn’t even feel his liver, knowing his history?” Jack asked.

“I didn’t write it down if I did,” Dr. Levitz said.

“Did you do any blood work that would reflect liver function?” Jack asked.

“Only a bilirubin,” Dr. Levitz said.

“Why only a bilirubin?”

“He’d been jaundiced in the past,” Dr. Levitz said. “He looked better, but I wanted to document it.”

“What was the result?” Jack asked.

“It was within normal limits,” Dr. Levitz said.

“So, except for his upper respiratory infection, he was doing quite well,” Jack said.

“Yes, I suppose you could say that,” Dr. Levitz said.

“Almost like a miracle,” Jack said. “Especially as you’ve already mentioned the man was unwilling to curb his alcohol intake.”

“Perhaps he finally had stopped,” Dr. Levitz said. “After all, people can change.”

“Would you mind if I looked at his record?” Jack asked.

“Yes, I would mind,” Dr. Levitz said. “I’ve already stated my ethical position about confidentiality. If you want these records, you will have to subpoena them. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be obstructive.”

“That’s quite all right,” Jack said agreeably. He stood up. “I’ll let the state’s attorney’s office know how you feel. Meanwhile, thanks for your time, and if you don’t mind, I’ll probably be talking with you in the near future. There’s something very strange about this case, and I intend to get to the bottom of it.”

Jack smiled to himself, as he undid the locks on his bike. It was so obvious that Dr. Levitz knew more than he was willing to say. How much more, Jack didn’t know, but certainly it added to the intrigue. Jack had an intuitive sense that not only was this the most interesting case he’d had so far in his forensics career, it might be the most interesting case he’d ever have.

Returning to the morgue, he stashed his bike in the usual location, went up to his office to drop off his coat, then went directly to the DNA lab. But Ted wasn’t ready for him.

“I need a couple more hours,” Ted said. “And I’ll call you! You don’t have to come up here.”

Disappointed but undeterred, Jack descended a floor to histology and checked on the progress of his permanent microscopic sections on what was now labeled the Franconi case.

“My god!” Maureen complained. “What do you expect, miracles? I’m rushing your slides through ahead of everybody else, but still you’ll be lucky to get them today.”

Still trying to keep his spirits up and his curiosity at bay, Jack rode the elevator down to the second floor and sought out John DeVries in the lab.

“The assays for cyclosporin A and FK506 are not easy,” John snapped. “Besides, we’re backed up as it is. You can’t expect instant service with the budget I have to work with.”

“Okay!” Jack said agreeably, as he backed out of the lab. He knew that John was an irascible individual, and if aroused, he could be passive aggressive. If that happened, it might be weeks before Jack got the test results.

Descending yet another floor, Jack went into Bart Arnold’s office and implored the man to give him something since he’d struck out every place else.

“I’ve made a lot of calls,” Bart said. “But you know the situation with voice mail. You almost never get anyone on the phone anymore. So, I got a lot of messages out there, waiting for callbacks.”

“Jeez,” Jack complained. “I feel like a teenage girl with a new dress, waiting to get asked to the prom.”

“Sorry,” Bart said. “If it’s any consolation, we did manage to get a blood sample from Franconi’s mother. It’s already up in the DNA lab.”

“Was the mother asked whether her son had a liver transplant?”

“Absolutely,” Bard said. “Mrs. Franconi assured the investigator that she didn’t know anything about a transplant. But she did admit that her son had been much healthier lately.”

“To what did she attribute his sudden health?” Jack asked.

“She says he went away to a spa someplace and came back a new man.”

“Did she happen to say where?” Jack questioned.

“She didn’t know,” Bart said. “At least that’s what she told the investigator, and the investigator told me that she thought she was telling the truth.”

Jack nodded as he got to his feet. “Figures,” he said. “Getting a bona fide tip from the mother would have been much too easy.”

“I’ll keep you informed as soon as I start getting callbacks,” Bart said.

“Thanks,” Jack said.

Feeling frustrated, Jack walked through communications to the ID room. He thought maybe some coffee would cheer him up. He was surprised to find Lieutenant Detective Lou Soldano busily helping himself to a cup.

“Uh-oh,” Lou said. “Caught red-handed.”

Jack eyed the homicide detective. He looked better than he had in days. Not only was the top button of his shirt buttoned, but his tie was cinched up in place. On top of that, he was close shaven and his hair was combed.

“You look almost human today,” Jack said.

“I feel that way,” Lou said. “I got my first decent night’s sleep in days. Where’s Laurie?”

“In the pit, I presume,” Jack said.

“I gotta pat her on the back again for making that association with your floater after watching the video,” Lou said. “All of us down at headquarters think it might lead to a break in this case. Already we’ve gotten a couple of good tips from our informers because it’s stimulated a lot of talk in the streets, especially over in Queens.”

“Laurie and I were surprised to see it in the papers this morning,” Jack commented. “That was a lot faster than we expected. Do you have any idea who was the source?”

“I was,” Lou said innocently. “But I was careful not to give any details other than the fact that the body had been identified. Why, is there a problem?”

“Only that Bingham went mildly ballistic,” Jack said. “And I was hauled in as the culprit.”

“Gosh, I’m sorry,” Lou said. “It didn’t dawn on me it could cause a problem here. I guess I should have run it by you. Well, I owe you.”

“Forget it,” Jack said. “It’s already patched up.” He poured himself some coffee, shoveled in some sugar, and added a dollop of cream.

“At least it had the desired effect on the street,” Lou said. “And we learned something important already. The people who killed him were definitely not the same people who took his body and mauled it.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Jack said.

“No?” Lou questioned. “I thought that was the general consensus around here. At least that’s what Laurie said.”

“She now thinks the people that took the body did it because they didn’t want anyone to know he’d had a liver transplant,” Jack said. “I still favor the idea it was done to conceal the individual’s identity.”

“Really,” Lou said pensively, sipping his coffee. “That doesn’t make any sense to me. You see we’re reasonably sure the body was taken on orders from the Lucia crime family, the direct competitors of the Vaccarros, who we understand had Franconi killed.”

“Good grief!” Jack exclaimed. “Are you sure about that?”

“Reasonably,” Lou said. “The informer who divulged it is usually reliable. Of course, we don’t have any names. That’s the frustrating part.”

“Just the idea that organized crime is involved is appalling,” Jack said. “It means that the Lucia people are somehow involved in organ transplants. If that doesn’t make you lose sleep, nothing will.”

“Calm down!” Raymond yelled into the phone. The moment he’d been about to leave the apartment, the phone had rung. When he heard it was Dr. Daniel Levitz on the line, he’d taken the call.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Daniel shouted back. “You’ve seen the papers. They have Franconi’s body! And already a medical examiner by the name of Dr. Jack Stapleton has been in my office asking for Franconi’s records.”

“You didn’t give them, did you?” Raymond asked.

“Of course not!” Daniel snapped. “But he condescendingly reminded me that he could subpoena them. I’m telling you, this guy was very direct and very aggressive, and he vowed to get to the bottom of the case. He suspects Franconi had a transplant. He asked me directly.”

“Do your records have any information at all about his transplant or our program?” Raymond asked.

“No, I followed your suggestions in that regard to the letter,” Daniel said. “But it’s going to look very strange if anybody looks at my records. After all, I’d been documenting Franconi’s deteriorating status for years. Then all of a sudden, his liver function studies are normal without any explanation, nothing! Not even a comment. I’m telling you there’ll be questions, and I don’t know whether I can handle them. I’m very upset. I wish I’d never gotten involved in all this.”

“Now let’s not get carried away,” Raymond said with a calmness that he himself did not feel. “There’s no way Stapleton could get to the bottom of the case. Our concern about an autopsy was purely hypothetical and based on an infinitesimally small chance someone with the IQ of Einstein could figure out the source of the transplant. It’s not going to happen. But I appreciate your calling me about Dr. Stapleton’s visit. As it turns out, I’m on my way this very minute to have a meeting with Vinnie Dominick. With his resources, I’m sure he’ll be able to take care of everything. After all, to a large measure, he’s responsible for the present situation.”

As soon as he could, Raymond got off the phone. Appeasing Dr. Daniel Levitz wasn’t doing anything for his own anxiety. After advising Darlene what to say in the unlikely chance Taylor Cabot called back, he left the apartment. Catching a taxi at the corner of Madison and Sixty-fourth, he instructed the cabbie how to get to Corona Avenue in Elmhurst.

The scene at the Neopolitan Restaurant was exactly the same as it had been the day before, with the addition of the stale smell of a couple of hundred more cigarettes. Vinnie Dominick was sitting in the same booth and his minions were lounging on the same bar stools. The obese bearded man was again busily washing glassware.

Raymond lost no time. After coming through the heavy red velvet drape at the door, he made a beeline for Vinnie’s booth and slid in without invitation. He pushed forward the crumpled newspaper, which he’d painstakingly smoothed out, across the table.

Vinnie gazed down at the headlines nonchalantly.

“As you can see, there’s a problem,” Raymond said. “You promised me the body was gone. Obviously, you screwed up.”

Vinnie picked up his cigarette, took a long drag, then blew the smoke at the ceiling.

“Doc,” Vinnie said. “You never fail but to amaze me. You either have a lot of nerve or you’re crazy. I don’t tolerate this kind of disrespect even from my trusted lieutenants. Either you reword what you just said to me or get up and get yourself lost before I get really pissed.”

Raymond swallowed hard while he got a finger between his neck and his shirt and adjusted his collar. Remembering to whom he was speaking gave him a chill. A mere nod from Vinnie Dominick could find him bobbing around in the East River.

“I’m sorry,” Raymond said meekly. “I’m not myself. I’m very upset. After I saw the headlines, I got a call from the CEO of GenSys, threatening the whole program. I also got a call from Franconi’s doctor, who told me he’d been approached by one of the medical examiners. An ME named Jack Stapleton dropped by his office wanting to see Franconi’s records.”

“Angelo!” Vinnie called out. “Come over here!”

Angelo ambled over to the booth. Vinnie asked him if he knew a Dr. Jack Stapleton at the morgue. Angelo shook his head.

“I’ve never seen him,” Angelo said. “But Vinnie Amendola mentioned him when he called this morning. He said Stapleton was all fired up about Franconi because Franconi is his case.”

“You see, I’ve gotten a few calls myself,” Vinnie said. “Not only did I get a call from Vinnie Amendola who’s still sweating it because we leaned on him to help us get Franconi out of the morgue. I also got another call from my wife’s brother who runs the funeral home that took the body out. Seems that Dr. Laurie Montgomery paid a visit and was asking about a body that doesn’t exist.”

“I’m sorry that this has all gone so badly,” Raymond said.

“You and me both,” Vinnie said. “To tell you the truth, I can’t understand how they got the body back. We went to some effort knowing the ground was too hard to bury it out in Westchester. So we took it way the hell out off Coney Island and dumped it into the ocean.”

“Obviously, something went wrong,” Raymond said. “With all due respect, what can be done at this point?”

“As far as the body is concerned, we can’t do anything. Vinnie Amendola told Angelo that the autopsy was already done. So that’s that.”

Raymond moaned and cradled his head. His headache had intensified.

“Just a second, Doc,” Vinnie said. “I want to reassure you about something. Since I knew the reason why an autopsy might cause problems for your program, I had Angelo and Carlo destroy Franconi’s liver.”

Raymond raised his head. A ray of hope had appeared on the horizon. “How did you do that?” he asked.

“With a shotgun,” Vinnie said. “They blasted the hell out of the liver. They totally destroyed this whole portion of the abdomen.” Vinnie made a circling motion with his hand over his right upper quadrant. “Right, Angelo?”

Angelo nodded. “The entire magazine of a pump action Remington. The guy’s gut looked like hamburger.”

“So I don’t think you have as much to worry about as you think,” Vinnie said to Raymond.

“If Franconi’s liver was totally destroyed, why is Jack Stapleton asking whether Franconi had a transplant?” Raymond asked.

“Is he?” Vinnie asked.

“He asked Dr. Levitz directly,” Raymond said.

Vinnie shrugged. “He must have gotten a clue some other way. At any rate, the problem now seems to be focused on these two characters: Dr. Jack Stapleton and Dr. Laurie Montgomery.”

Raymond raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“As I already told you, Doc,” Vinnie continued. “If it weren’t for Vinnie Junior and his bum kidneys, I wouldn’t have gotten involved in all this. The fact that I’ve since gotten my wife’s brother into this situation compounds my problem. Now that I got him involved I can’t leave him dangling, you see what I’m saying? So, here’s what I’m thinking. I’ll have Angelo and Franco pay a visit to these two doctors and take care of things. Would you mind that, Angelo?”

Raymond looked hopefully at Angelo, and for the first time since Raymond had seen Angelo, Angelo smiled. It wasn’t much of a smile because all the scar tissue precluded most facial movement, but it was a smile nonetheless.

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting Laurie Montgomery for five years,” Angelo said.

“I suspected as much,” Vinnie said. “Can you get their addresses from Vinnie Amendola?”

“I’m sure he’ll be happy to give us Dr. Stapleton’s,” Angelo said. “He wants this messy situation cleared up as much as anybody. As far as Laurie Montgomery is concerned, I already know her address.”

Vinnie stubbed out his cigarette and raised his own eyebrows. “So, Doc, what do you think of the idea of Angelo and Franco visiting the two pesky medical examiners and convincing them to see things our way? They have to be convinced that they are causing us considerable inconvenience, if you know what I mean.” A wry smile appeared on his face, and he winked.

Raymond let out a little laugh of relief. “I can’t think of a better solution.” He worked his way along the curved, velvet banquette seat and stood up. “Thank you, Mr. Dominick. I’m much obliged, and apologize again for my thoughtless outburst when I first arrived.”

“Hold on, Doc,” Vinnie said. “We haven’t discussed compensation yet.”

“I thought this would be covered under the rubric of our prior agreement,” Raymond said, trying to sound businesslike without offending Vinnie. “After all, Franconi’s body was not supposed to reappear.”

“That’s not the way I see it,” Vinnie said. “This is an extra. Since you’ve already bargained away the tuition issue, I’m afraid we’re now talking about recouping some of my initiation fee. What about twenty thousand? That sounds like a nice round figure.”

Raymond was outraged, but he managed to stifle a response. He also remembered what happened the last time he tried to bargain with Vinnie Dominick: the cost doubled.

“It might take me a little time to get that kind of money together,” Raymond said.

“That’s fine, Doc,” Vinnie said. “Just as long as we have an agreement. From my end, I’ll get Angelo and Franco right on it.”

“Wonderful,” Raymond managed to say before leaving.

“Are you serious about this?” Angelo asked Vinnie.

“I’m afraid so,” Vinnie said. “I guess it wasn’t such a smart idea to get my brother-in-law involved in all this, although at the time we didn’t have much choice. One way or the other, I got to clean it up otherwise my wife will have my balls. The only good part is that I was able to get the good doc to pay for what I’d have to do anyway.”

“When do you want us to take care of those two?” Angelo asked.

“The sooner the better,” Vinnie said. “In fact, you’d better do it tonight!”