“Fine,” Jack said. “There’s no way that bullet was fired by the victim. It was definitely a homicide. The hands could not have had any gunpowder residue on them.”

“Good,” Bingham said. “Have it on my desk ASAP! The family is going to be pleased.”

Jack was about to leave for the second time when he stopped himself and again turned back to Bingham. “Chief,” he called out, “can I ask you a personal question?”

Without looking up, Bingham said, “Make it quick.”

“Do you use a chiropractor?”

“Yeah, and I don’t want to hear any grief about it. I already know your feelings.”

“Understood,” Jack said. He turned and walked out of the office.

Despite Bingham’s final body blow to his alternative-medicine crusade, meaning Jack could not expect support from the front office, Jack felt content as he headed up to his office to retrieve his jacket. He now had another project to keep his mind busy. With Bingham on board for the Daughtrys, he couldn’t imagine Naomi Grossman turning down the request, especially since she was already permitting three other research groups to use the facilities.

He grabbed his jacket and an umbrella, anxious to connect with Naomi and get the lab space set up. Lost in thought, he literally bumped into Chet coming out of the elevator.

“Hey, what’s the hurry?” Chet asked, nearly dropping the tray of microscope slides he was carrying.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Jack answered.

“I was about to stop by,” Chet said. “I’ve got some more names and accession numbers for those old VAD cases.”

“Hold up on looking for more VAD cases,” Jack said. “My interest has cooled.”

“How come?”

“Let’s just say I’ve run into pretty much the same response as you did back when you looked into the issue. My sense is that the public’s reaction to alternative medicine is almost a religious thing. People have faith in alternative medicine because they want to believe. They can dismiss as irrelevant any proof that it doesn’t work or might be dangerous.”

“Okay,” Chet said. “Suit yourself. If you change your mind, let me know.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Jack said, getting on the elevator.

Jack emerged outside back into the downpour he’d almost missed coming back from his meeting with James. With only a travel umbrella, by the time he reached the DNA building he was soaked from mid-thigh down.

Naomi Grossman’s office was on a high floor. As Jack approached Naomi’s secretary, he worried he should have called first. Naomi was the director of the largest single department at the OCME. DNA science had come into its own, thanks to the enormous contributions it made to law enforcement and identification.

“Is Dr. Grossman available?” Jack asked.

“She is,” the secretary said. “And you are?”

“Dr. Jack Stapleton,” Jack said, relieved at Naomi’s availability.