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three

"HOW ABOUT THIS," LAURIE suggested. "I'll call you just as soon as I finish and let you know what I found. I know it won't bring your son back, but perhaps knowing what happened will be some comfort, especially if we're able to learn from this tragedy, to keep it from happening to someone else. If by some slim chance we still don't have any answers after the autopsy, I'll call you after I've had a chance to look at the microscopic and give you the definitive answers."

Laurie knew what she was suggesting was out of the ordinary and that skirting Mrs. Donnatello in the public relations office and giving out preliminary information would annoy Bingham and Calvin, both of whom were sticklers for rules, if they got wind. But Laurie felt the McGillin case warranted this change of protocol.

After talking with them for only a short time, she'd learned that Sean McGillin Sr. was a retired physician who'd had a large internal-medicine practice in Westchester County. He and his wife, Judith, who'd been his office nurse, were not only fellow medical professionals but also extremely simpatico. The McGillins projected a salt-of-the-earth honesty and graciousness that made Laurie like them instantly; it also made it impossible for her not to feel their pain.

"I promise to keep you in the loop," Laurie continued, hoping her reassurances would allow the McGillins to go home. They'd been at the ME's office for hours, and it was obvious that they were both exhausted. "I'll personally watch over your son." Laurie had to glance away after her last comment, knowing it was deliberately misleading. She again caught sight of the crush of reporters in the reception area, even though she was trying to ignore them, and heard muffled cheering as coffee and donuts arrived. Laurie winced. It was unfortunate that as the McGillins were suffering their private grief, a media circus was going on in the next room. It had to make it harder for the McGillins, hearing banter and laughter.

"It just isn't fair that it isn't me who is lying downstairs in that refrigerated compartment," Dr. McGillin said with a sad shake of his head. "I've had a good run at life. I'm nearly seventy. I've had two bypass procedures, and my cholesterol's too high. Why am I still here, and Sean Jr. is down there? It doesn't make sense; he's always been a healthy, active boy, and he's not even thirty."

"Was your son's LDH high as well?" Laurie asked. Janice hadn't included anything about that in her forensic investigator's report.

"Not in the slightest," Dr. McGillin said. "In the past, I made sure he had it checked once a year. And now that his law firm contracted with AmeriCare, which requires yearly physicals, I know he'd continue to be checked."

After a quick glance at her watch, Laurie made direct eye contact with the McGillins, looking from one to the other. They were sitting bolt upright on the brown vinyl couch, their hands folded in their laps, clutching the identification Polaroids of their dead son. Rain spattered intermittently against the glass. The couple reminded her of the man and woman in the painting "American Gothic." They radiated the same resoluteness and moral virtue along with a hint of Puritanical narrowness.

The problem for Laurie was that she was organizationally shielded from the emotional side of death, and consequently had limited experience with it. Dealing with the grieving families, as well as helping them through the identification process, was done by others. She was also sheltered by a kind of academic distance. As a forensic pathologist, she saw death as a puzzle to be solved to help the living. There was also the acclimatization factor: Although death was a rare event for the general public, she saw it every day.

"Our son was to be married in the spring," Mrs. McGillin said suddenly. She hadn't spoken since Laurie had introduced herself forty minutes earlier. "We were hoping for grandchildren."

Laurie nodded. The reference to children touched a tender chord in her own psyche. She tried to think of something to say but was saved when Dr. McGillin suddenly stood up. He took his wife's hand and pulled her to her feet.

"I'm sure Dr. Montgomery has to get to work," Dr. McGillin said. He nodded as if agreeing with himself while collecting all the Polaroids and pocketing them. "It's best if we go home. We'll leave Sean in her care." He then took out a small pad of paper and a pen from his inside jacket pocket. After writing on it, he tore off the top sheet and extended it to Laurie. "This is my personal phone line. I'll be awaiting your call. I will look forward to it sometime before noon."

Surprised and relieved at this sudden change of events, Laurie stood up. She took the paper and glanced at the number to be sure it was legible. It was a 9I4 area code. "I'll call as soon as I can."

Dr. McGillin helped his wife with her coat before putting on his own. He extended his hand toward Laurie. She shook it and noticed that it was cold.

"Take good care of our boy," Dr. McGillin said. "He's our only child." With that, he turned, opened the door to the reception area, and urged his wife forward into the press of reporters.

Desperate for news, the reporters instantly fell into an expectant silence the moment the McGillins appeared. Anticipating a news conference, all eyes followed their progress. The couple had advanced halfway across the reception area on their way to the main door when someone broke the silence by yelling out: "Are you part of the Cromwell family?" Dr. McGillin merely shook his head without slowing his progress. "Are you related to the police custody case?" someone else demanded. Dr. McGillin shook his head again. With that, the reporters switched their attention to Laurie. Apparently recognizing her as one of the medical examiners, a number even spilled into the ID room. An avalanche of questions followed.

Initially ignoring the reporters, Laurie went up on her tiptoes to see the McGillins exit the OCME. Only then did she look at the people pressed around her. "Sorry," she said, pushing microphones away. "I know nothing of those cases. You'll have to wait for the chief." Luckily, one of the OCME security personnel had materialized from within the reception area, and he managed to herd the reporters back to where they'd come from.

Relative silence returned to the ID room once the connecting door had been closed. For a moment, Laurie stood with her arms hanging limply at her sides. She had Sean McGillin Jr.'s folder in one hand and his father's scribbled phone number in other. Dealing with the grieving couple had been trying, especially since she was feeling psychologically fragile herself. But there was a positive side. Knowing herself as well as she did, she knew it was helpful to be involved in an emotionally wrenching situation, because it put her own problems in perspective. Keeping her mind occupied was a good hedge against backsliding into what she'd come to recognize as an unacceptable status quo.

Fortified to a degree, Laurie headed into the ID office while pocketing Dr. McGillin's phone number. "Where's everybody?" she asked Riva, who was still busy with the scheduling process.

"You and Jack are the only ones here so far, besides Bingham, Washington, and Fontworth."

"What I meant was, where are Detective Soldano and Vinnie?"

"Jack came in and took them both down to the pit. The detective asked Jack to do the Cromwell case."

"That's curious," Laurie remarked. Jack usually shied away from cases that attracted a lot of media attention, and the Cromwell case certainly fell into that category.

"He seemed genuinely interested in it," Riva said, as if reading Laurie's mind. "He also asked for the double suicide, which I didn't expect. I had a feeling he had an ulterior motive, but I have no idea what it could have been."

"Do you happen to know if any of the other techs are here yet? I'd like to get started myself with McGillin."

"I saw Marvin a few minutes ago. He got coffee and went downstairs."

"Perfect," Laurie said. She enjoyed working with Marvin. He'd been on evenings but had recently been switched to days. "I'll be in the pit if you need me."

"I'm going to have to assign you at least one more case. It's an overdose. I'm sorry. I know you said you had a bad night, but we've got a full schedule today."

"That's fine," Laurie assured her. She walked over to get the overdose folder. "Work's a good way to keep my mind off my problems."

"Problems? What kind of problems?"

"Don't ask!" Laurie said with a dismissive wave. "It's the same old, same old with Jack, but this morning I laid it on the line. I know I sound like a broken record, but this time I mean it. I'm moving back to my own apartment. He's going to have to make a decision one way or the other."

"Good for you," Riva responded. "Maybe it will give me strength."

Along with sharing office space, Laurie and Riva had become good friends. Riva's boyfriend was as resistant to commitment as Jack, but for different reasons, so she and Laurie had a lot to talk about.

After momentarily debating whether or not to have coffee and deciding not to, for fear that it would give her a tremor, Laurie started off to find Marvin. Although she was going only one floor down, she headed toward the elevator. She was exhausted from lack of sleep, just as she knew she would be when she had been unable to fall back asleep that morning. But instead of feeling irritated with herself, she was content. She certainly wasn't happy, because of her feelings for Jack, and she knew she was going to be lonely, yet she felt she'd done what she had to do, and in that way, she was satisfied.

When Laurie passed the forensic investigators' office, she leaned in and asked if Janice had left. Bart Arnold, the chief investigator, told her she had but asked if he could help. Laurie said she'd talk to her some other time and continued on her way. She had only wanted to fill Janice in about the conversation she'd had with the McGillins. She thought Janice would be interested. The fact that the case had penetrated Janice's usually thick emotional skin was what had intrigued Laurie in the first place.

Marvin was in the mortuary office, attending to his portion of the never-ending paperwork that engulfed the OCME. He had already changed into green scrubs in anticipation of getting down to work in the "pit," the term everyone fondly used in referring to the main autopsy room. He glanced up when Laurie appeared in the doorway. He was an athletic-looking African-American with the most flawless skin Laurie had ever seen. Laurie had been instantly jealous the first time she met Marvin.

Laurie was sensitive about her complexion. Along with her blond coloring, she had a spattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose as well as a scattering of other imperfections that only she could see. Although Laurie had gotten brown hair with auburn highlights from her father, her almost transparent skin and blue-green eyes came from her mother.

"Are you ready to rock and roll?" Laurie asked playfully. She knew from experience that she'd feel better if she didn't act tired.

"You're on, sister!" Marvin responded.

Laurie handed over the folders. "I want to do McGillin first."

"No problem," Marvin said, consulting the ledger for the location of the body.

Laurie first went into the locker room to change into scrubs, then went over to the storage room to don a "moon suit." "Moon suit" was the term used by the staff to describe the protective gear required while doing autopsies. They were fashioned of completely impervious material, with attached hoods and full-face masks. Air was brought into the suit through a HEPA filter by a self-contained fan, powered by a battery that had to be charged each night. The suits were not popular, since they made working more difficult, but everyone accepted the handicap for peace of mind, except Jack. She knew that when Jack was on call on weekends, he frequently dispensed with the moon suit on certain cases where he felt the risk of an infectious agent was low. In those circumstances, he reverted back to the traditional goggles and surgical facemask. The techs seemed content to keep his secret. If Calvin found out, there would be hell to pay.

After climbing into her gear, Laurie retraced her steps to the central corridor, then walked down to the door of the anteroom, where she washed and gloved. Thus prepared, she pushed into the autopsy room.

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

Of the eight tables, three were occupied. One supported the corpse of Sean McGillin, or so Laurie surmised, since Marvin was scurrying around it in his final preparations. The other two, closest to where Laurie was standing, contained bodies in the middle of their procedures. Directly in front of her lay a large, dark-skinned man. Four people attired in moon suits identical to Laurie's were working over him. Although reflections off the curved plastic full-face masks made identification difficult, Laurie recognized Calvin Washington. His six-foot, seven-inch, two-hundred-fifty-pound frame was hard to conceal. The other one she thought was Harold Bingham because of his contrasting short, stocky stature. The last two had to be George Fontworth and the mortuary tech, Sal D'Ambrosio, but because they were about the same size, she couldn't tell them apart.

Laurie stepped over to the foot of the table. Just in front of her was a drain emitting a rude sucking sound. Water continuously ran down the surface of the table beneath the corpse to carry away body fluids.

"Fontworth, where the hell did you learn to use a scalpel?" Bingham growled.

It was now obvious which one of the suited figures was George. He was on the patient's right with his hands somewhere down in the deceased's retroperitoneal space, apparently trying to trace the track of a bullet. Laurie couldn't help but feel a stab of sympathy for George. Whenever Bingham came into the autopsy room, he liked to assume the professor role, but he invariably became impatient and annoyed. Even though Laurie knew she could always learn from him, she disliked the aggravation of working with him. It was too stressful.

Sensing that the atmosphere around table one was too charged to ask any questions, Laurie moved down toward table two. There she had no trouble recognizing Jack, Lou, and Vinnie. Immediately, she sensed the atmosphere was the opposite, with some semi-suppressed laughter dying away as she arrived. Laurie was not surprised. Jack was famous for his black humor. The corpse was that of a thin, almost emaciated, middle-aged female with brittle, bleach-blond hair. Laurie assumed it was Sara Cromwell. Of particular note was the handle of a kitchen knife protruding at an acute, cephalad angle from the upper, outer, anterior surface of her right thigh. Laurie wasn't surprised to see the utensil still in place. In such cases, medical examiners preferred that such objects be left in situ.

"I hope you are showing reasonable respect for the dead," Laurie gibed.

"Never a dull moment," Lou responded.

"And I don't know why I keep laughing at the same jokes," Vinnie complained.

"Tell me, Doctor Montgomery!" Jack said in an exaggerated professorial tone. "In your professional opinion, would you guess this penetrating entry into the thigh was a mortal wound?"

Bending over slightly so she could better access the point of entry, Laurie looked more closely at the knife. It appeared to be a small kitchen paring knife, which she guessed had a blade about four inches long, which had penetrated to the haft lateral to the femur. More important, the entrance was inferior to the anterior iliac spine but in line with it.

"I'd have to say it was not fatal," Laurie responded. "Its location suggests the femoral vessels surely would have been spared, so bleeding would have been minimal."

"And Dr. Montgomery, what does the angle of entry of the weapon suggest?"

"I'd have to say it's a rather unorthodox way for someone to stab their victim."

"There you go, gentlemen," Jack commented smugly. "We have confirmation of my assessment by the eminent Dr. Montgomery."

"But there was blood all over the place," Lou whined. "Where the hell did it come from? There are no other wounds."

"Ah-ha!" Jack said switching to an exaggerated French accent, finger raised in the air. "I believe we shall see in a few moments. Monsieur Amendola, le couteau, s'il vous plaît!"

Despite the glare of the overhead fluorescent lights off Vinnie's face mask, Laurie caught him rolling his eyes as he passed a scalpel into Jack's waiting hand. He and Jack had a curious relationship. Although it was based on mutual respect, they pretended it was the opposite.

Leaving the three to their own devices, Laurie moved on. She felt a mild disappointment that Jack could be so offhand and flippant. She couldn't help but think it wasn't a particularly good sign, as if he didn't care.

Laurie made an effort to put the problems with Jack out of her mind as she approached the next table. Stretched out on its slightly angled surface was the body of a well-muscled male in his mid-twenties, his head propped up on a wooden block. By reflex, she immediately began the external exam. The individual appeared healthy. His visible skin, although marble-white in death, was lesion-free.

His hair was thick and dark, and his eyes were closed as if in repose. The only visible anomalies were a sutured incision with a retained drain on his lower right leg, the capped-off end of an intravenous line running into his left arm, and an endotracheal tube protruding from his mouth, left over from the resuscitation attempt.

With Marvin still busy putting labels on specimen jars, Laurie checked the body's accession number and name. Confident that she was dealing with Sean McGillin, she continued the external exam, inspecting the IV site carefully. It looked entirely normal, with no swelling or other evidence of extravasation of blood or IV fluid. She looked more closely at the sutured wound on the leg, the site of the operation on the fractured tibia and fibula. There was no swelling or discoloration there, either, suggesting that there was no infection. The drain was sutured in place with a single loose loop of black silk, and there was evidence of a minimal discharge of serous fluid. The leg itself looked like the other leg, without any outward signs of venous thrombosis or clotting.

"I didn't see anything of note externally," Marvin said when he returned with a handful of sterile syringes and specimen jars, some containing preservatives and some without. He placed them all on the edge of the table to have them immediately available.

"So far, I'd have to agree," Laurie responded. There was a lot of give-and-take between the techs and the doctors, although it varied, depending on the personalities. Laurie always encouraged comments and suggestions, especially from Marvin. As far as she was concerned, the techs were a rich source of experience.

Marvin went over to the glass-fronted cabinets to get the required instruments. Despite the hum of her ventilation fan, Laurie could hear whistling. He was always cheerful, which was another thing she liked about him.

After checking for signs of intravenous drug use and not finding any, Laurie used a nasal speculum to look inside Sean's nose. There was no suggestion of cocaine use. With a mysterious death, drugs had to be considered, despite what his parents had said to the contrary. Next, she opened the eyelids to examine the eyes. They appeared normal, with no hemorrhages on the sclera. Opening the mouth, she made sure the endotracheal tube was in the trachea and not the esophagus. Laurie had seen that on a few occasions with the predictable disastrous results.

With all his preparations complete, Marvin came back to the side of the table opposite Laurie and stood expectantly, waiting for the internal part of the autopsy to begin.

"All right! Let's do it!" Laurie said, reaching out with her hand as Marvin handed her a scalpel.

Although Laurie had done thousands of postmortems, each time she started another, it gave her a tingle of excitement. Starting the actual autopsy was akin to opening a sacred book, the mysteries of which she was about to discover. With her index finger pressing down on the top of the scalpel, Laurie expertly made the usual Y-shaped incision, starting from the points of the shoulders, meeting mid-sternum, and then continuing down to the pubis. With Marvin's help, she quickly reflected skin and muscle before removing the breastbone with bone cutters.

"Looks like a broken rib," Marvin commented, pointing to a defect on the right side of the chest.

"No hemorrhage, so it was postmortem, probably from the resuscitation attempt. Some people go overboard with the chest compressions."

"Ouch!" Marvin said sympathetically.

Expecting blood clots or other emboli, Laurie was eager to examine the great veins leading to the heart, the heart itself, and the pulmonary arteries, where fatal clots would usually be found. But she resisted the temptation. She knew that it was best to follow a normal protocol, lest something be forgotten. Carefully, she examined all the internal organs in situ, then used the syringes Marvin had laid out to take fluid samples for toxicological testing. A fatal reaction to a drug, toxin, or even an anesthetic agent had to be considered. Less than twenty-four hours had elapsed since the deceased had undergone anesthesia.

Laurie and Marvin worked together in silence, making certain that each sample was put into the correctly labeled specimen container. Once the fluid samples had been obtained, she began to remove the internal organs. Diligently, she maintained the normal sequence, and it wasn't until a bit later that she finally turned her attention to the heart.

"Here comes the money!" Marvin quipped.

Laurie smiled. The heart was indeed where she expected to find the pathology. With a few deft strokes, the heart came out. She peered into the cut end of the vena cava, but there was no clot. She was disappointed, since she had already noted that the pulmonary arteries had been clear when she'd removed the lungs.

Laurie weighed the heart, then with a long bladed knife, began an internal examination. To her chagrin, there was nothing amiss. There was no clot, and even the coronary arteries appeared entirely normal.

Laurie and Marvin's eyes met across the opened corpse.

"Damn!" Marvin exhaled.

"I'm surprised," Laurie said. She took a deep breath. "Well, you see to the gut and I'll take my micro samples, then we'll check the brain."

"You got it," Marvin said. He took the stomach and the intestines over to the sink to wash them out.

Laurie took multiple tissue samples for microscopic study, particularly from the heart and the lungs.

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

While Marvin was busy with the skull, Laurie took a scissors and opened the sutured wound on the lower leg. All looked fine within the surgical site. She then opened the long veins of the legs, tracing them from the ankles all the way up into the abdomen. There were no clots.

"The brain looks normal to me," Marvin commented.

Laurie nodded. There was no swelling and no hemorrhage, and the color was normal. She felt it with her practiced finger. It felt normal as well.

A few minutes later, Laurie had the brain out, and she dropped it into a pan that Marvin held. She checked the cut ends of the carotid arteries. Like everything else, they were normal. She weighed the brain. Its weight was within the normal limits.

"We're not finding anything," she said.

"I'm sorry," Marvin said.

Laurie smiled. On top of his other good qualities, he was empathetic. "You don't need to apologize. It's not your fault."

"It would have been nice to find something. What are you thinking now? It doesn't look like he should have died."

"I haven't the slightest idea. I'll hope the microscopic can shed some light, but I'm not optimistic. Everything looks and feels so normal. Why don't you start winding things up while I section the brain. I can't think of anything else to do."

"You got it," Marvin said cheerfully.

As Laurie anticipated, the interior of the brain looked like its exterior. She took the appropriate samples, then joined Marvin to suture up the body. With both of them working, it took only a few minutes.

"I'd like to get my next case up as soon as possible," Laurie said. "I hope you don't mind." She was afraid that once she sat down, her fatigue would return with a vengeance. At the moment, she was feeling better than expected.

"Not at all," Marvin said. He was already straightening up.

Laurie looked around the pit. She'd been so engrossed that she hadn't seen all the activity. At that point, all eight tables were in use, with at least two and sometimes more people clustered about each. She glanced toward Jack's table. He was bent over the head of another woman's body. Apparently, he'd finished with Sara Cromwell, and Lou had left. Beyond Jack's table, Calvin was still at work with Fontworth on the same body they were working on before. Bingham had apparently left to give his news conference.

"How long will the turnaround take?" Laurie asked Marvin as he carried the specimen bottles away.

"Not long at all."

Laurie wandered toward Jack with mixed feelings. She was not prepared for more of his levity, but after the earlier tease about Cromwell, she was curious about what he'd discovered. Laurie stopped at the foot of the table. Jack was concentrating intently on making a mold of a lesion on the woman's forehead, just within the hairline. Laurie stood for a moment, waiting for him to acknowledge her presence. Vinnie had looked up immediately and had at least given a restrained wave.

"What did you find on your first case?" Laurie asked finally. It seemed unlikely that he hadn't seen her, but it had to have been the case. She didn't want to think otherwise.

Another few minutes went by without Jack responding. She glanced back at Vinnie, who spread his hands out, palms up, and shrugged his shoulders as if to indicate that there was no accounting for Jack's behavior. Laurie stood for another beat, uncertain of what to do before moving on. Although she was aware that Jack could become so engrossed as to be oblivious of his surroundings, it was demeaning for her to stand there.

Things were not much better at Fontworth's table. Even though Bingham had left, Calvin was riding poor Fontworth with equivalent venom as the case dragged on interminably. After a quick glance at the other five tables, Laurie gave up on socializing and returned to lend Marvin a hand.

"I can get one of the other techs to help," Marvin said. He'd brought in a gurney and positioned it next to the table.

"I don't mind," Laurie said. There had been a time not too long ago that between cases, the examiners would go upstairs either to the ID room or the lunchroom for a quick coffee and impromptu discussions. But with the more elaborate protection apparatus they were required to wear, it was too much effort.

Once Sean McGillin's remains had been placed in the walk-in cooler, Marvin led Laurie to the appropriate compartment for the next case, a man named David Ellroy. The moment Marvin pulled out the drawer to reveal the body of thin, undernourished, middle-aged African-American, Laurie remembered that it was a presumed overdose. Her trained eye immediately took in the scars and tracks on the man's arms and legs from his intravenous habit. Although Laurie was accustomed to overdose cases, they still had the power to evoke an emotional reaction. With less than the usual control over her thoughts, her mind yanked her back to a crisp, clear, flag-snapping October day in I975 when she'd rushed home from her high school, the Langley School for Girls. She lived with her parents in a large, prewar flat on Park Avenue. It was the Friday before the long Columbus Day weekend, and she was excited because her brother, Shelly, her only sibling, had come home the night before from Yale, where he was a freshman.

As Laurie had gotten off the elevator in their private lobby, she sensed a disturbing stillness. None of the usual sounds issued forth from the laundry room door vent. Entering the apartment proper, she called Shelly's name while she stashed her books on the console table in the foyer before cutting through the kitchen. When she didn't see Holly, she was momentarily relieved, remembering it was their maid's day off. Yelling out Shelly's name again, she glanced in the den beyond the family room. The TV was on without sound, which heightened her uneasiness. For a moment, she watched the antics of a midday game show, wondering why the TV would be on without sound. Resuming her tour of the apartment, she called out Shelly's name yet again, convinced that someone had to be home. As she passed the formal living room, she began to move faster, sensing a secret urgency.

Shelly's door was closed. She knocked, but there was no answer. She knocked again before trying the door. It was unlocked. She pushed it open only to see her beloved brother stretched out on the carpet, clad in only his briefs. To her horror, bloody froth oozed from his mouth, and his overall color was as pale as the bone china in the dining-room breakfront. A tourniquet was loosely looped about his upper arm. Near his half-open hand was a syringe. On the desk was a glassine envelope, which Laurie guessed contained the speedball, a mixture of heroin and cocaine he'd bragged about the night before. Laurie had taken it all in instantly before dropping to her knees to try to help.

With some difficulty, Laurie pulled herself back to the present. She didn't want to think about her vain attempt to resuscitate her brother. She didn't want to remember how cold and lifeless his lips felt when she touched them with her own.

"Can you help move him over onto the gurney?" Marvin asked. "He's not very heavy."

"Certainly," Laurie said, glad to be of use. She put down David's folder and lent a hand. A few minutes later, they were on their way back to the autopsy room. Inside, when Marvin maneuvered the gurney next to the table, one of the other techs helped Marvin get the body onto the table. Laurie could see the dried remains of a bloody froth that had issued from David's mouth, and the image drew her back into her disturbing reverie. It wasn't her failed attempt to resuscitate her brother that occupied her thoughts, but rather the confrontation she had to endure with her parents a number of hours later.

"Did you know your brother was using drugs?" her father had demanded. His face was purple with rage and was mere inches away from Laurie's face. His thumbs dug into her skin where he held her upper arms. "Answer me!"

"Yes," Laurie blurted through tears. "Yes, yes."

"Are you using drugs, too?"

"No!"

"How did you know he was?"

"By accident: I found a syringe he'd gotten from your office in his shaving bag."

There was a momentary silence as her father's eyes narrowed and his lips stretched out in a thin, cruel line. "Why didn't you tell us," he growled. "If you told us, he'd be alive."

"I couldn't," Laurie sobbed.

"Why?" he shouted. "Tell me why!"

"Because…" Laurie cried. She paused, then added: "Because he told me not to. He made me promise. He said he'd never talk to me again if I did."

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

A hand gripped Laurie's arm and she jumped. She turned to look at Marvin.

"Anything special you want for this case," Marvin asked, motioning toward David's corpse. "It looks pretty straightforward to me."

"Just the usual," Laurie said. As Marvin went to get the necessary supplies, Laurie took a deep breath to get herself under control. Intuitively, she knew she had to keep her mind busy to keep it from dredging up other bad memories. Opening the folder she had in her hand, she searched through the papers to find Janice's forensic investigator report and began reading. The body had been found along with drug paraphernalia in a Dumpster, suggesting that David had died at a crack house and had been thrown out with the rest of the trash. Laurie sighed. Dealing with such a case was the negative side of her job.

An hour later and back in her street clothes, Laurie stepped into the back elevator. The overdose case had been routine. There had been no surprises; David Ellroy had shown the usual signs of asphyxial death with a frothy pulmonary edema. The only mildly interesting finds were multiple, tiny, discrete lesions in various organs, suggesting that he had suffered numerous episodes of infection from his habit.

As the antiquated elevator clunked upward toward the fifth floor, Laurie thought about Jack. When she'd finished with David Ellroy, he had already started his third case. Between his second and third, he'd gone out of the room, pushing the gurney with Vinnie steering. Even from where she was standing, Laurie could hear the usual banter. Five minutes later, they'd both reappeared, bringing in the new case while carrying on with the same wisecracking behavior. They then proceeded to transfer the body to the table and go through the setup before starting the post. At no time through any of this did Jack make an attempt to come over to Laurie's table, engage her in conversation in any way, or even look in her direction. Laurie shrugged. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, it was becoming obvious that he was actively ignoring her. Such behavior was uncharacteristic. For the nine years she'd known him, he'd never been passive-aggressive.

Before Laurie went to her office, she stopped in the histology lab. In addition to the case folders, she was carrying a brown paper bag containing the tissue and toxicology samples from McGillin. It didn't take her long to locate the supervisor, Maureen O'Conner. The full-bodied, busty redhead was sitting at a microscope, checking a tray of slides. She looked up as Laurie approached. A knowing smile spread across her heavily freckled face.

"Now, what have we here?" Maureen questioned with her heavy brogue. She looked from Laurie to the bag Laurie was carrying. "Let me guess: tissue samples whose slides you desperately need yesterday."

Laurie smiled guiltily. "Am I really that predictable?"

"With you and Dr. Stapleton, it's always the same story. Whenever you two come in here, you've got to have the slides immediately. But let me remind you of something, sister: Your patients are already dead." Maureen laughed heartily, and a few of the other histology techs who'd overheard joined in.

Laurie found herself chuckling as well. Maureen's ebullience was infectious, and it never varied, despite the lab being chronically understaffed due to OCME budgetary restraints. Laurie opened the bag, took out the tissue samples, and lined them up on the counter next to Maureen's microscope. "Maybe if I told you why I'd like these sooner rather than later, it might help."

"As busy as we are around here, a few extra hands would be more helpful than talk, but fire away."

Laurie pulled out all the stops, knowing there was no professional reason for what she was asking. She started by describing how sympathetic Dr. and Mrs. McGillin were, and how their deceased son seemed to have been their whole life. She even mentioned the son's imminent marriage and the parents' hope for grandchildren. She then admitted that she had promised to provide the couple the cause of their son's death that morning to help their grieving. The problem was that the autopsy had failed to confirm her clinical impression. Thus, she needed the slides in hopes the answers would be forthcoming. What she didn't explain were her personal reasons for taking on this mini-crusade.

"Well, that's quite a touching story," Maureen said softly. She took a deep breath and then gathered up the samples. "We'll see what we can do. I promise you we'll give it a go."

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

"My favorite ME," Peter said happily, catching sight of Laurie. He was a thin, blond man with androgynous features and almost no beard. He wore his long hair in a ponytail, and although he was pushing forty, he could still pass as a teenager. In contrast to John, he and Laurie got along famously. "You have something for me?"

"Indeed I do," Laurie said. She handed over the bag while warily looking around for John.

"The Führer is down in the general lab, so you can relax."

"It's my lucky day," Laurie commented.

Peter glanced in at the sample bottles. "What's the scoop? What am I looking for and why?"

Laurie told a shorter version of the same story she'd related to Maureen. At the end, she added: "I don't really expect you to find anything, but I've got to be complete, especially if the microscopic doesn't show anything."

"I'll see what I can do," Peter said.

"I appreciate it," Laurie responded.

After climbing back up the single flight of stairs, Laurie walked down the corridor toward her office. She passed Jack's office, with its door ajar, but neither Jack nor his officemate, Chet McGovern, were inside. Laurie assumed that they were both still down in the pit. Coming into her own office, she immediately caught sight of her suitcase that she'd brought from Jack's. Although she hadn't forgotten the morning's confrontation, seeing the suitcase brought it back with unpleasant clarity. It also didn't help that she felt let down by not finding a smoking gun during Sean McGillin's autopsy. The more she thought about it, the more surprising it was.

How could an ostensibly healthy twenty-eight-year-old man die and the cause not be apparent from a combination of a detailed history and the autopsy? In some respects, the case was mildly shaking her belief in forensic pathology.

"That microscopic better come through!" Laurie voiced out loud as she sat down at her desk. She was emphatic but didn't quite know how she would act on the threat if the microscopic failed to live up to her expectations. Leaning over, she added the folders from the morning's cases to her sizable unfinished pile. It was Laurie's job on each case to collate all the material from the autopsy, from the forensic investigators, from the laboratories, and from any other source she needed to come up with a cause and manner of death. The meaning of "cause" was obvious, whereas "manner" referred to whether the death was natural, accidental, suicidal, or homicidal, each with specific legal ramifications. Sometimes it took weeks for all the material to be available. When it was, Laurie had to make her decision about the cause and manner on a preponderance of evidence, meaning she had to be at least fifty-one percent certain. Of course, in the vast majority of cases, she was close to or at one hundred percent certain.

Laurie took the sheet of paper containing Dr. McGillin's phone number from her pocket and smoothed it out on the blotter in front of her. Although she was reluctant to call him, she knew she had to make good on her promise. The problem was, Laurie was not good at any type of confrontation. It was a given that he was going to be even more let down, as there was, as of yet, no ostensible cause for his son's untimely death.

With her elbows on her desk, she leaned forward to massage her forehead while staring at the Westchester number. She tried to think of what to say in hopes of mitigating the impact. For a fleeting moment, she considered handing the situation over to the public relations department as she was supposed to do, but she quickly ruled that out, since she had specifically offered to make the call herself. While her mind was struggling over her prospective wording, she found herself thinking about the victim's first name, Sean, since it was the name of a college boyfriend.

Sean Mackenzie had been a colorful fellow Wesleyan University student who'd appealed to Laurie's rebellious side. Although he wasn't exactly a hoodlum, he'd been a bit over the edge with his motorcycle, artistic craziness, and outlaw behavior, including mild drug use. At the time the whole package had excited Laurie and driven her parents to distraction, which was part of the attraction. But the on-again, off-again relationship had been unhealthily mercurial from the start, and Laurie had finally put an end to it just before joining the OCME. Now, with her relationship with Jack in question, she vaguely thought about calling Sean, since she knew he was living in the city and had become a rather successful artist. But she quickly nixed the idea. There was no way she wanted to reopen that Pandora's box.

"A penny for your thoughts?" a voice asked.

Laurie's head popped up. Filling her doorway was Jack's athletic, six-foot frame. He was the picture of relaxed informality in his lived-in chambray shirt, knitted tie, and faded jeans.

"Let's up that to a quarter," he added. "There's been significant inflation since I learned that phrase, and I know how valuable your thoughts are." An impish smirk dimpled his cheeks. His lips were pressed together into a thin line.

Laurie regarded her friend of at least a decade and lover of nearly four years. His irreverent gaiety and sarcasm could at times be wearing, and this was one of them. "So you're deigning to speak with me now?" she questioned with an equally affected tone.

Jack's smile faltered. "Of course I'm going to talk with you. What kind of question is that?"

"Except for that brief professorial game when I first came into the autopsy room, you've been ignoring me all morning."

"Ignoring you?" Jack questioned with knitted brows. "I think I should remind you we came to work separately, which was more your decision than mine, arrived at different times, and since then, we've been working on our own cases."

"We work most days, and most days we communicate almost continuously, particularly when we are in the same room. I even went over to your table during your second case and asked you a direct question."

"I didn't see or hear you. Scout's honor." Jack held up his index and middle finger in the form of a V. His smile returned.

Laurie arched her eyebrows and shrugged. She was being provocative by suggesting that she didn't believe him, but she didn't care. "Fine and dandy, and now I have more work to do." She turned her attention back to the sheet with the Westchester phone number.

"No doubt," Jack said, refusing to rise to the bait or be dismissed. "How were your cases this morning?"

Laurie looked up but not at Jack. "One was routine and rather uninteresting. The other was disappointing."

"In what regard?"

"I'd promised a couple whose son died at the Manhattan General to find out what killed him and let them know immediately, but the autopsy was clean; there was no gross pathology whatsoever. Now I've got to call and say we have to wait for the microscopic to be available. I know they are going to be disappointed, and I am, too."

"Janice briefed me on that case," Jack said. "You didn't find any emboli?"

"Nothing!"

"And the heart?"

Laurie looked back at Jack. "The heart, the lungs, and the great vessels were all completely normal."

"I'll wager you find something with the heart's conduction system or maybe micro emboli in the brainstem. You took adequate samples for toxicology? That would be my second thought."

"I did," Laurie said. "I'd also kept in mind he'd had anesthesia less than twenty-four hours ago."

"Well, sorry your cases were a letdown. Mine were the opposite. In fact, I'd have to say they were fun."

"Fun?"

"Truly! Both turned out to be the absolute opposite of what everybody thought."

"How so?"

"The first case was this well-known psychologist."

"Sara Cromwell."

"Supposedly, it was a brutal murder during a sexual assault."

"I saw the knife, remember?"

"That was what threw everybody for a loop. You see there was no other wound, and she hadn't been raped."

"How could all the blood that was described come from that single, nonfatal stab wound?"

"It didn't."

Jack stared at Laurie with a slight smile of anticipation. Laurie stared back. She was in no mood to play games. "So where did it come from?"

"Any ideas?"

"Why don't you just tell me?"

"I think you'd be able to guess if you thought about it for a minute. I mean, you did look at how gaunt she was, didn't you?"

"Jack, if you want to tell me, tell me. Otherwise, I have to make my call."

"The blood was from her stomach. It turns out there was a fatal engorgement of food, causing a rupture of her stomach and the lower part of her esophagus. Obviously, the woman had bulimia, and pushed herself over the edge. Can you believe it? Everybody was convinced it was homicide and it turns out to be accidental."

"What about the knife sticking out of her thigh?"

"That was the real teaser. It was self-inflicted, but not on purpose. In her final moments, while she was puking blood and putting away the cheese, she slipped on her own blood and fell on the knife she was holding. Isn't it too much? I tell you: This is going to be a good case to present at our Thursday conference."

For a moment, Laurie stared at Jack's satisfied face. The story had touched a chord in her inner life. There had been a time when she'd had self-esteem problems after her brother's death, causing her to have a brush with anorexia and bulimia. It was a secret she hadn't shared with anyone.

"And my next two cases were equally intriguing. It was a double suicide. Did you hear about it?"

"Vaguely," Laurie responded. She was still thinking about bulimia.

"I tell you, I have to give old Fontworth credit," Jack said. "I'd always considered him less than meticulous, but last night he seemed to have done a bang-up job. With the double suicide, he found a heavy Mag-Lite flashlight on the front seat of the SUV along with the victims and was smart enough to bring it with the bodies. He also noted the driver's-side door was ajar."

"What was important about the flashlight?" Laurie asked.

"Plenty," Jack replied. "First of all, let me say I was a bit suspicious when there was only one suicide note. In double suicides, it's usual to have two notes or one that is written by both parties. I mean, it makes sense, since they are doing it together. Anyway, that put up a red flag. Since the note was presumably from the woman, I elected to autopsy her first. What I expected to find after the fact was something toxicological, like a knock-out drug or the like. I didn't expect to find anything on gross, but I did. She had a literal indentation on her forehead just above the hairline that was curiously curved."

Jack paused. His smile returned.

"Don't tell me the flashlight and the indentation matched."

"You got it! A perfect match! It seems that the whole affair was an elaborate setup by the husband, who had prepared the scene and probably even wrote the note. After he knocked out his wife, got her into the passenger seat of the SUV, and started the engine, he probably went back in the house to wait. When he thought enough time had passed, he returned to check that his wife was dead, but didn't realize how quickly one can succumb to carbon monoxide if the level is high enough. Climbing behind the wheel, he rapidly fell unconscious and ended up joining his wife."

"What a story!" Laurie commented.

"Isn't it ironic? I mean, it was supposed to be a double suicide, and instead the manner of death turns out to be homicidal for the wife and accidental for the husband. Forensic pathology certainly can surprise."

Laurie nodded. She distinctly remembered having the same thought before she started her overdose case.

"Even the police case is turning out to be opposite of what was expected."

"How so?" Laurie asked.

"Everybody has been assuming it was a case of justifiable homicide by the police, since the police acknowledged shooting him a number of times, but Calvin just told me that as near as they can determine, it was suicide. They've been able to ascertain that the victim shot himself through the heart before he was hit by any of the police rounds."

"That should help quiet the neighborhood."

"We should hope," Jack said. "Anyway, it was an interesting morning, to say the least, and I just thought you'd like to hear that we've had a rash of cases this morning where the manner of death was the opposite of what was expected. With that said, are you going to pop down for some lunch soon?"

"I don't know. I'm not terribly hungry, and I've got a lot to do." "Well, maybe I'll catch you down there. If not, I'll see you later." Laurie waved at Jack as he disappeared down the hall. She turned her attention back to Sean McGillin Sr.'s phone number. She thought about what Jack had said about forensic surprises and considered what that could mean for Sean McGillin Jr. She'd expected his manner of death to be natural, a fatal clot or fat emboli or even a congenital anomaly. Since she'd not found anything of the kind, at least so far, she was now entertaining the idea that the cause of death could've been accidental, such as an unexpected late complication with anesthesia. But if the cause of death were to be truly opposite, like the cases Jack had just described, it would have to have been homicidal.

Laurie mulled the idea. It seemed far-fetched, but then she thought about Sara Cromwell and how only minutes earlier, she would have thought it totally far-fetched that her manner of death was accidental. Sean Jr.'s autopsy had already surprised her with its lack of findings. Could the case surprise her once more? She doubted it, but then again, she couldn't rule it out completely.