“I’d like you to give me the courtesy of answering my question,” Jack said, standing his ground.

A wry smile crept across Newhouse’s face. He suddenly decided this uninvited visitor was a possible troublemaker and ought to be thrown out on his ass. Yet an inkling of concern that Jack might be some sort of city inspector instead of an oddball made him hesitate. Jack had, Newhouse thought, an authoritative air, an unexpected inquisitiveness, and a bold confidence that gave weight to his possibly being an official. And even though Newhouse’s office had never previously been inspected, he thought there always could be the first time, which could be a disaster. He knew for a fact that his X-ray room was not properly shielded in the ceiling. With all that in mind, he asked, “What was your question again?”

“I want to know if Keara Abelard had a manipulation of her cervical spine.”

“Generally, we don’t divulge confidential information about our patients,” Newhouse said defensively.

“Do you keep records of what you do to patients?”

“Of course we keep records! We need to document the course of improvement. What kind of question is that?”

“I can subpoena your records, so you might as well just tell me.”

“You can’t subpoena my records,” Newhouse declared, although without much confidence. He was now more worried Jack was not quite what he’d assumed: a prospective new patient with the thought of making an appointment.

“You said Keara Abelard’s headache went away after your treatment. Did you know it came back?”

“No, I didn’t know. She didn’t call me. If she had, I would have seen her immediately.”

“The headache came back with a vengeance,” Jack snapped. “And I need to know if you adjusted her cervical spine.”

“And why do you need to know, Mr. Stapleton? Who are you, anyway?”

“I’m Dr. Jack Stapleton,” Jack spat. “New York City medical examiner.” He flashed his badge in Newhouse’s face. “Keara Abelard died suddenly last night, without apparent cause, which makes her a medical-examiner case. I am the investigating medical examiner. I need to know if you manipulated her neck when you saw her on Friday. If you don’t tell me, I’m going to get the police over here to take you in.”

Jack knew he was exaggerating his power and a bit out of control. There was no way he could have Newhouse arrested. But Jack was furious enough to make such a claim, because the man had snuffed out the life of a beautiful, promising young woman. What was really at the bottom of Jack’s over-the-top behavior—which he would have realized if he’d stopped to think about it—was his anger at his son’s illness and his inability to do anything about it.

“All right,” Newhouse shouted, after recovering from the shock of learning of Keara’s death. “I manipulated her cervical spine like I’ve done for thousands of others. And you know something? It worked. It worked because I fixed her subluxated fourth cervical vertebra. And she walked out of here a grateful, well woman, without pain for the first time in weeks. If she died, she died of something else, something that happened to her over the weekend, not because of my treatment, if that’s what you are implying.”