As Michael promised, the trip took only a short time, especially once they got on the Van Wyck Expressway. While they were traveling, Laurie found out that Michael had been driving a cab for over thirty years. He was a loquacious and opinionated man who also exuded a paternal charm.

“Would you know where Gold Road is in Ozone Park?” Laurie asked. She felt privileged to have found an experienced taxi driver. She’d remembered the address of the Spoletto Funeral Home from the Rolodex in the mortuary office. The street name had stuck in her mind as making a metaphorical statement about the undertaking business.

“Gold Road,” Michael said. “No problem. It’s a continuation of Eighty-ninth Street. You looking for a house or what?”

“I’m looking for the Spoletto Funeral Home,” Laurie said.

“I’ll have you there in no time,” Michael said.

Laurie sat back with a contented feeling, only half listening to Michael’s nonstop chatter. For the moment luck seemed to be on her side. The reason she’d decided to visit the Spoletto Funeral Home was because Jack had been wrong about it. The home did have a mob connection, and even though it was with the wrong family according to Lou, the fact that it was associated at all was suspicious to Laurie.

True to his promise, within a surprisingly short time Michael pulled up to a three-storied white clapboard house wedged between several brick tenements. It had Greek-style columns holding up the roof of a wide front porch. A glazed, internally lit sign in the middle of a postage stamp–sized lawn read: “Spoletto Funeral Home, a family business, two generations of caring.”

The establishment was in full operation. Lights were on in all the windows. A few cigarette smokers were on the porch. Other people were visible through the ground-floor windows.

Michael was about to terminate the meter when Laurie spoke up: “Would you mind waiting for me?” she asked. “I’m certain I’ll only be a few minutes, and I imagine it would be hard catching a cab from here.”

“Sure, lady,” Michael said. “No problem.”

“Would you mind if I left my briefcase?” Laurie asked. “There’s absolutely nothing of value in it.”

“It will be safe just the same,” Michael said.

Laurie got out and started up the front walk, feeling unnerved. She could remember as if it were yesterday the case Dr. Dick Katzenburg had presented at the Thursday afternoon conference five years earlier. A man in his twenties had been essentially embalmed alive in the Spoletto Funeral Home after having been involved in throwing battery acid in Pauli Cerino’s face.

Laurie shuddered but forced herself up the front steps. She was never going to be completely free from the Cerino affair.

The people smoking cigarettes ignored her. Soft organ music could be heard through the closed front door. Laurie tried the door. It was unlocked, and she walked in.

Save for the music there was little sound. The floors were heavily carpeted. Small groups of people were standing around the entrance hall but they conversed in hushed whispers.