“What about the bullets?” Laurie asked. “Same gun?”

“We’ve packed them off to the police lab for ballistics,” Jack said. “It was hard to say if they came from the same gun or not because of their distortion. One of them made direct contact with the tenth rib and was flattened. Even the second one wasn’t in good shape. I think it grazed the vertebral column.”

“What caliber?” Laurie asked.

“Couldn’t tell from mere observation,” Jack said.

“What did Vinnie say?” Laurie asked. “He’s become pretty good at guessing.”

“Vinnie’s worthless today,” Jack said. “He’s been in the worst mood I’ve ever seen him in. I asked him what he thought, but he wouldn’t say. He told me it was my job, and that he wasn’t paid enough to be giving his opinions all the time.”

“You know, I had a case similar to this back during that awful Cerino affair,” Laurie said. She stared off and for a moment, her eyes glazed over. “The victim was a secretary of the doctor who was involved with the conspiracy. Of course, she’d not had a liver transplant, but the head and the hands were gone, and I did make the identification because of her surgical history.”

“Someday you’ll have to tell me that whole grisly story,” Jack said. “You keep dropping tantalizing bits and pieces.”

Laurie sighed. “I wish I could just forget the whole thing. It still gives me nightmares.”

Raymond glanced at his watch as he opened the Fifth Avenue door to Dr. Daniel Levitz’s office. It was two forty-five. Raymond had called the doctor three times starting just after eleven A.M., without success. On each occasion, the receptionist had promised Dr. Levitz would phone back, but he hadn’t. In his agitated state, Raymond found the discourtesy aggravating. Since Dr. Levitz’s office was just around the corner from Raymond’s apartment, Raymond thought it was better to walk over than sit by the phone.

“Dr. Raymond Lyons,” Raymond said with authority to the receptionist. “I’m here to see Dr. Levitz.”

“Yes, Dr. Lyons,” the receptionist said. She had the same cultivated, matronly look as Dr. Anderson’s receptionist. “I don’t have you down on my appointment sheet. Is the doctor expecting you?”

“Not exactly,” Raymond said.

“Well, I’ll let the doctor know you are here,” the receptionist said noncommittally.

Raymond took a seat in the crowded waiting room. He picked up one of the usual doctor waiting-room magazines and flipped the pages without focusing on the images. His agitation was becoming tinged with irritation, and he began to wonder if it had been a bad decision to come to Dr. Levitz’s office.

The job of checking on the first of the other two transplant patients had been easy. With one phone call Raymond had spoken with the recruiting doctor in Dallas, Texas. The doctor had assured Raymond that his kidney-transplant patient, a prominent local businessman, was doing superbly and was in no way a possible candidate for an autopsy. Before hanging up the doctor had promised Raymond to inform him if the situation were ever to change.