Jack stood up and headed for the door. As he passed Cheryl’s desk she whispered, “Be nice now! Don’t aggravate him! He’ll be a bear all day.”

The chief was ensconced behind his massive, cluttered desk. He’d just reached his sixty-fifth birthday and looked every bit of it. In the four years Jack had been working at the OCME, Bingham’s bulbous nose had seemingly expanded along with the web of capillaries hugging his nasal alae. Light from the window behind him bounced off his perspiring bald pate to create a glare that made Jack squint.

“Sit down!” Dr. Bingham commanded.

Jack did as he was told and waited. He had no idea what he’d been called down for but knew there were lots of potential topics.

“Don’t you get tired of this routine?” Bingham questioned. He narrowed his rheumy, steel-blue eyes that were unwaveringly studying Jack through wire-rimmed glasses. Although he looked as old as Methuselah, the chief was as sharp as ever and was a veritable walking encyclopedia of forensic data and experience. He was recognized the world over as one of the giants of the field.

“It’s nice to see you once in a while, chief,” Jack said. He winced; he knew by his flippancy he’d already ignored Cheryl’s admonition.

Bingham took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes with his thick fingers. He shook his head. “Sometimes I wish you weren’t quite as sharp as you are, because then I’d know exactly what to do with you.”

“Thank you for the compliment, chief. I needed a little boost today.”

“The problem is, you are one big pain in the ass.”

Jack bit his tongue. A few witty quips came to his mind, but he resisted voicing them in deference to Cheryl. After all, she had to be around Bingham for the rest of the day. Bing-ham’s temper was almost as legendary as his wealth of forensic knowledge.

“Do you have any idea why you’re down here?” Bingham demanded.

“I refuse to answer on grounds of self-incrimination,” Jack said.

Bingham smiled in spite of himself, but the grin vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “You are a trip, my boy. But listen! I got a call from Dr. Patricia Markham, the Commissioner of Health, a little while ago. Seems you’ve been aggravating the city epidemiologist again, Dr....”

Bingham slipped on his glasses and rummaged through the papers in front of him looking for the name.

“Dr. Abelard,” Jack offered.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Bingham said.

“What was the charge?” Jack asked.

“He was angry that you were doing his job,” Bingham said. “What’s the matter? Don’t we give you enough to do around here?”

“I called the man, as Dr. Washington suggested,” Jack said. “I thought he’d want to know about the case of anthrax I diagnosed.”

“So I heard from Calvin,” Bingham said.