Jack leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. What malady would lead parents to think an infant’s symptoms would be relieved by cervical neck manipulation, suddenly and forcibly twisting the infant’s neck beyond a point of normal resistance? And what had gone through the supposed therapist’s mind that gave him or her the audacity to do such a thing? Jack wasn’t just horrified—he was angry.

Moving on to the discussion section of the article, Jack read that there was evidence that the thirty-five cases discussed were only a small portion of such cases, since underreporting was apparently widespread. To back up this statement a survey of physician specialists at a meeting of the Stroke Council of the American Heart Association reported three hundred sixty unreported cases of stroke after spinal manipulations! How could this be? Jack questioned.

Placing his hands on either side of his head, Jack shook it in disbelief, questioning why this issue was not more commonly known. After puzzling over the situation for a few minutes and coming to no conclusion, Jack returned his attention to Keara Abelard’s case.

He angrily riffled through the mass of papers on his desk until he located the telephone number of Keara’s friend who’d allegedly recommended chiropractic. He dialed, then tried to calm himself as the call went through. He knew it could be counterproductive to intimidate Keara’s friend. When she answered, Jack identified himself and mentioned his official title in as poised a manner as he was capable. His introduction was greeted with silence.

“Are you still there?” Jack inquired. “You are Nichelle Barlow, aren’t you?”

“Are you calling from the morgue?” the woman asked, with obvious concern.

“I am. Are you Nichelle Barlow?”

“Yes,” she replied reluctantly, apparently trying to prepare herself for what couldn’t be good news.

“I got your number from Mrs. Abelard. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“It’s okay,” she said hesitantly. “Are you calling me about Keara?”

“I am. I suppose you weren’t out with her and her friends last night.”

“No, I wasn’t, but don’t tell me she . . .” Nichelle said but was unable to complete the sentence.

“Unfortunately, Keara passed away last night,” Jack said. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

“What happened?”

“She had a stroke.”

“A stroke?” Nichelle said with disbelief. “Keara was my age, only twenty-seven.”

“Strokes are more common the older one gets, but even children can have them.”

“I can’t believe this. Is this some kind of sick prank?”

“I’m afraid not, Ms. Barlow,” Jack said calmly. “The reason I’m calling is because I’m investigating your friend’s death. Any sudden passing of an individual in apparent good health and with no known cause falls under the jurisdiction of the medical examiner’s office. What I need is some information. You were aware that Keara was suffering from headaches?”

“That’s what she said. But I didn’t get the impression they were particularly bad. More nuisance than debilitating.”

“Did she describe them to you?”