Their credentials got them inside, all the way to Dr. Julius Mirnstein, the chief medical examiner for New York. Mirnstein was bald but for tufts of brown hair on the sides and back of his head, long faced, dour by nature, wearing the requisite white doctor’s coat over gray slacks.

“We think we were broken into overnight—we don’t know.” Dr. Mirnstein looked at an overturned computer monitor and pencils spilled from a cup. “We can’t get any of the overnight staff on the phone.” He double-checked that with an assistant who had a telephone to her ear, and who shook her head in confirmation. “Follow me.”

Down in the basement morgue, everything appeared to be in order, from the clean autopsy tables to the countertops, scales, and measuring devices. No vandalism here. Dr. Mirnstein led the way to the walk-in refrigerator and waited for Eph, Nora, and Director Barnes to join him.

The body cooler was empty. The stretchers were all still there, and a few discarded sheets, as well as some articles of clothing. A handful of dead bodies remained along the left wall. All the airplane casualties were gone.

“Where are they?” said Eph.

“That’s just it,” said Dr. Mirnstein. “We don’t know.”

Director Barnes stared at him for a moment. “Are you telling me that you believe someone broke in here overnight and stole forty-odd corpses?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Dr. Barnes. I was hoping your people could enlighten me.”

“Well,” said Barnes, “they didn’t just walk away.”

Nora said, “What about Brooklyn? Queens?”

Dr. Mirnstein said, “I have not heard from Queens yet. But Brooklyn is reporting the same thing.”

“The same thing?” said Nora. “The airline passengers’ corpses are gone?”

“Precisely,” said Dr. Mirnstein. “I called you here in the hopes that perhaps your agency had claimed these cadavers without our knowledge.”

Barnes looked at Eph and Nora. They shook their heads.

Barnes said, “Christ. I have to get on the phone with the FAA.”

Eph and Nora caught him before he did, away from Dr. Mirnstein. “We need to talk,” said Eph.

The director looked from face to face. “How is Jim Kent?”

“He looks fine. He says he feels fine.”

“Okay,” said Barnes. “What?”

“He has a perforation wound in his neck, through the throat. The same as we found on the Flight 753 victims.”

Barnes scowled. “How can that be?”

Eph briefed him on Redfern’s escape from imaging and the subsequent attack. He pulled an MRI scan from an oversize X-ray envelope and stuck it up on a wall reader, switching on the backlight. “This is the pilot’s ‘before’ picture.”

The major organs were in view, everything looked sound. “Yes?” said Barnes.

Eph said, “This is the ‘after’ picture.” He put up a scan showing Redfern’s torso clouded with shadows.

Barnes put on his half-glasses. “Tumors?”