“All right,” Ted said. “I’ll tell you what I can do. I can run a polymarker which compares areas on chromosomes four, six, seven, nine, eleven, and nineteen. A chance match will be in the billions to one. And for my own peace of mind, I’ll even sequence the DQ alpha on both the liver sample and the patient to try to figure out how they could have matched.”

“I’ll be appreciative whatever you can do,” Jack said.

“I’ll even go up and start tonight,” Ted said. “That way I can have the results tomorrow.”

“What a sport!” Jack said. He put out his hand and Ted slapped it.

After Ted left, Jack switched off the light under his microscope. He felt as if the slide had been mocking him with its puzzling details. He’d been looking at it for so long his eyes hurt.

For a few minutes, Jack sat at his desk and gazed at the clutter of unfinished cases. Folders were stacked in uneven piles. Even his own conservative estimate had the figure somewhere between twenty-five and thirty. That was more than usual. Paperwork had never been Jack’s forte, and it got worse when he became enmeshed in a particular case.

Cursing under his breath from frustration at his own ineptitude, Jack pushed back from his desk and grabbed his bomber jacket from the hook on the back of his office door. He’d had as much sitting and thinking as he was capable of. He needed some mindless, hard exercise, and his neighborhood basketball court was beckoning.

The view of the New York City skyline from the George Washington Bridge was breathtaking. Franco Ponti tried to turn his head to appreciate it, but it was difficult because of the rush-hour traffic. Franco was behind the wheel of a stolen Ford sedan on the way to Englewood, New Jersey. Angelo Facciolo was sitting in the front passenger seat, staring out the windshield. Both men were wearing gloves.

“Get a load of the view to the left,” Franco said. “Look at all those lights. You can see the whole freakin’ island, even the Statue of Liberty.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen it already,” Angelo said moodily.

“What’s the matter with you?” Franco asked. “You’re acting like you’re on the rag.”

“I don’t like this kind of job,” Angelo said. “It reminds me of when Cerino went berserk and sent me and Tony Ruggerio all over the goddamn city doing the same kind of shit. We should stick to our usual work, dealing with the usual people.”

“Vinnie Dominick is not Pauli Cerino,” Franco said. “And what’s so bad about picking up some easy extra cash?”

“The cash is fine,” Angelo agreed. “It’s the risk I don’t like.”

“What do you mean?” Franco questioned. “There’s no risk. We’re professionals. We don’t take risks.”

“There’s always the unexpected,” Angelo said. “And as far as I’m concerned, the unexpected has already occurred.”

Franco glanced over at Angelo’s scarred face silhouetted in the half light of the car’s interior. He could tell that Angelo was dead serious. “What are you talking about?” he questioned.