“Sit down!” Calvin boomed from the back of the room.

Jack sat in one of the chairs in front of Bingham’s desk. He didn’t look back. As he expected and feared, Calvin was not taken in by his tactics the way Bingham was.

Calvin’s imposing bulk appeared out of the corner of Jack’s line of vision. Slowly Jack raised his eyes to look at him. Calvin had his hands on his hips, his face drawn, his eyes blazing. He towered over Jack. “Cut the bullshit, Stapleton!” he thundered. “You know damn well you’re not supposed to be out there running around the city, flashing your badge around like a renegade TV cop.”

“Looking back, I realize I didn’t handle it well,” Jack admitted.

“Was this some kind of personal vendetta against chiropractic?” Bingham demanded.

“Yes, it was personal.”

“Do you care to explain?” Bingham demanded.

“You mean other than chiropractic has no business treating illnesses that have nothing to do with the spine? Or that chiropractic bases its rationale for such treatment on an idiotic outdated mystical concept of innate intelligence that has never been found or measured or explained? Or that such treatment often involves cervical manipulations that can cause death, like in my twenty-seven-year-old patient?”

Bingham and Washington exchanged a dismayed glance at Jack’s emotional outburst.

“That all may or may not be true,” Bingham said, “but what makes it personal?”

“I’d rather not get into that,” Jack said, forcing himself to calm down. He knew he was letting his emotions get the better of him, just as he had at the chiropractor’s office. “It’s a long story and the association is what you would call rather indirect.”

“You’d rather not get into that,” Bingham repeated scornfully, “but we might feel it is necessary, and that if you don’t do it, it might be at your peril. Since you might not have been served with a subpoena yet, it’s my unpleasant responsibility to inform you that you and the OCME are being sued by a Dr. Ronald Newhouse. . . .”

“He’s not a doctor, for chrissake,” Jack blurted. “He’s a goddamn chiropractor.”

Bingham and Washington exchanged another quick glance. Bingham was clearly frustrated, like a parent with a recalcitrant teenager. Calvin was less generous. He was just plain furious and finding it difficult to hold his tongue.

“For the moment, your opinion of chiropractic doesn’t matter,” Bingham said. “It was your actions that are in question here, and the gentleman in question is most likely a doctor of chiropractic. You and the OCME are being sued for slander, defamation of character, assault—”

“I never touched the guy,” Jack interrupted. He was finding it difficult to follow his own advice in regard to his emotions.