“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 immuno sup-pressants, 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?”