The M.E. took out a pocket dictator and switched it on. He knelt beside the aluminum case and used a tape measure. “The object is inside an aluminum camera case with the trade name Halliburton affixed to it.” He recited the measurements of the container, then he flipped open the securing catches and opened the case. A small cloud of some sort was released.

He continued to dictate. “The case contains the human head of a female Caucasian; the hair is dark brown. The head is frozen and is packed in dry ice.” There was a rattling noise. “On lifting the head from the case I observe that it is wearing cosmetic makeup and the hair is neatly coiffed.” There was the rattling noise again. “I am returning the head to the case and closing it,” he said, snapping the case shut.

The M.E. stood up. “As soon as they’ve processed the exterior of the case I’ll take it to the morgue, and we’ll try to get a cause of death for you.”

“I think you’ll find,” Stone said, “that the cause of death is exsanguination as the result of a severed carotid artery and jugular vein, and that the implement used was a large, partly serrated hunting knife wielded by an enraged male unsub.”

“That’s pretty good,” the M.E. said.

“I’m quoting another doctor,” Stone replied. “The rest of her is in the custody of the M.E. of Morris County, New Jersey. The detective in charge is Lieutenant Charles Sample of Morristown.”

A tech came in and went to work on the aluminum case.

“Come on,” Dino said to Stone, “I’ll buy you some lunch.”

Stone stood up. “I’ll watch you eat,” he said.

47

Stone sat at a table in the back room of P. J. Clarke’s and watched Dino devour a steak. His own lunch was a single beer, which he sipped occasionally. “I don’t know how you can eat that,” he said.

Dino carved a chunk off the steak and stuffed it in his mouth. “Why? It’s a decent piece of meat. Not as good as the strip steak they used to serve, though; I don’t know why they took that off the menu.”

“I’m not talking about the quality of the steak.”

“Oh, come on, Stone. You and I have attended a passel of corpses and autopsies over the years; what’s the big deal with a head in a box?”

“I knew her, that’s the big deal. You knew her, too.”

“You’re like most people, I guess: You confuse the remains with the person. A corpse—or part of a corpse—is a shell, a husk that once contained a human being. It deserves respect but not sentimentality.”

“You’re getting awfully philosophical in your old age,” Stone said.

“That’s always been my philosophy. Haven’t we talked about this before?”

“No.”