Had Dr. Wier and Paula not been fast acting, there might not be anything to analyze until the weekend, and waiting couldn’t be a worse idea. Depending on what we’re dealing with, someone else might die, and up ahead I see the open door as I follow the empty corridor, passing labs and other work spaces that are dark at this early hour.

Inside the large-scale X-ray control room Anne’s desk is empty, her pocketbook and keys on top of it. Through a leaded-glass window I can see her in the room on the other side, standing at the creamy-white large-bore CT scanner, a lab coat on over her jeans, talking to Luke Zenner, who’s changed into scrubs. On the table in front of them is Elisa Vandersteel’s pouched body, and I open the door connecting the control and scan rooms.

“You’re just who I need to see,” I say to Luke as I walk in.

I explain it’s possible that Molly Hinders and Elisa Vandersteel aren’t accidental deaths. They may be homicides that are connected, and I also let them know about Briggs. Luke and Anne begin asking questions I can’t answer. They get increasingly upset.

“We can’t get into it now,” I finally tell them because we really can’t. “We need to save our feelings for later. We have to focus and find out what’s killing these people, and if it’s electrical malfunctions, flukes or deliberate, such as some weapon we’ve not seen before.”

“It’s hard to imagine everything suddenly happening is coincidental,” Luke says, and his eyes are hard and he’s clenching his jaw.

“When you’re done,” I continue, “photograph the burns before excising them, and the tissue goes straight to Paula. Of primary interest are the very fine linear whitish leathery burns on her upper back and lower posterior neck, and also the top of her right hand and wrist.”

“I’ll need to take off the paper bags anyway,” Luke says. “So I’ll just do all of it in here, get everything ready for the labs. Then I’ll have her moved into the decomp room.”

“I’m going upstairs to clean up,” I reply.

“Now that’s an idea. Nothing like cleaning up before you do an autopsy in the decomp room,” Anne says drolly, and she gives me an idea.

“I understand there have been some problems with the ventilation in there,” I point out, and Anne gets a blank look on her plain but pleasant face, then she frowns, and then she gets it.