What had sparked her interest in telephoning was the outside chance that either one of the pickups could have been bogus. She thought the chances were slim, since the night tech, Mike Passano, had said the homes had called before coming and presumably he was familiar with the people.

As Laurie expected, the pickups indeed were legitimate, both managers attesting to the fact that the bodies had come in to their respective homes and were at that time on view.

Laurie went back to the logbook and looked again at the names of the two arrivals. To be complete, she copied them down along with their accession numbers. The names were familiar to her, since she’d assigned them as autopsies the following morning to Paul Plodgett. But she wasn’t as interested in the arrivals as the departures. The arrivals had come in with longtime ME employees, whereas the bodies that had gone out had done so with strangers.

Feeling frustrated, Laurie drummed her pencil on the desk surface. She was sure she had to be missing something. Once again, her eye caught the Rolodex which was open to the Spoletto Funeral Home. In the very back of Laurie’s mind, the name made a hazy association. For a moment, she struggled with her memory. Why was that name familiar? Then she remembered. It had been during the Cerino affair. A man had been murdered in the Spoletto Funeral Home on orders from Paul Cerino, Franconi’s predecessor.

Laurie pocketed her memo, pushed away from the desk and returned to the fifth floor. She walked directly to Jack’s office. The door was ajar. She knocked on the jamb. Both Jack and Chet looked up from their respective labors.

“I had a thought,” Laurie said to Jack.

“Just one?” Jack quipped.

Laurie threw her pencil at him, which he easily evaded. She plopped down in the chair to his right and told him about the mob connection with the Spoletto Funeral Home.

“Good grief, Laurie,” Jack complained. “Just because there is a mob hit in a funeral home, doesn’t mean that it is mob-connected.”

“You don’t think so?” Laurie asked. Jack didn’t have to answer. She could see by his expression. And, now that she thought about her idea, she understood it was a ridiculous notion. She’d been grabbing for straws.

“Besides,” Jack said. “Why won’t you just leave this alone?”

“I told you,” Laurie said. “It’s a personal thing.”

“Maybe I can channel your efforts into a more positive direction,” Jack said. He motioned toward his microscope. “Take a look at a frozen section. Tell me what you think.”

Laurie got up from the chair and leaned over the microscope. “What is this, the shotgun entrance wound?” she asked.

“Just as sharp as usual,” Jack commented. “You’re right on the money.”

“Well, it’s not a hard call,” Laurie said. “I’d say the muzzle was within inches of the skin.”

“My opinion exactly,” Jack said. “Anything else?”

“My gosh, there’s absolutely no extravasation of blood!” Laurie said. “None at all, so this had to have been a postmortem wound.” She raised her head and looked at Jack. She was amazed. She’d assumed it had been the mortal wound.