Jack entered the building. He flashed his badge to the receptionist, who’d never seen him before. Duly impressed, she buzzed him in.

Not wanting to waste time, Jack went directly to the mortuary office next to the autopsy room and walked through the open door. A mortuary tech was at the desk.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Jack Stapleton from the Manhattan office,” Jack said with alacrity. He showed his badge as he’d done with the receptionist.

“Hello. I’m Doug Smithers. What can I do for you?” The man was plainly surprised. Exchange visits were not the norm.

“A couple of things,” Jack said. “First, as a courtesy, would you page Dr. Randolph Sanders for me? Ask him if he wouldn’t mind coming down here.”

“Okay,” Doug said with a tinge of uncertainty. It wasn’t part of a mortuary tech’s job description to dictate to the MEs. He picked up the phone. When he got the doctor on the line, he relayed Jack’s request verbatim.

“Perfect!” Jack said. “Now I’d like you to find a body for me and wheel it someplace where I can take a look at it.”

“Would you like it on a table in the autopsy room?”

“No,” Jack said. “I’m not going to be suiting up. I merely want to take a peek at the corpse and take a few body fluid samples. So just find someplace with adequate lighting.”

Doug Smithers got to his feet. “What’s the accession number?”

“That I don’t know,” Jack said. “The name is Connie Davydov. She came in, I believe, early this morning.”

“That body’s not here,” Doug said.

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not. It went out not that long ago: maybe a half hour.”

“Damn!” Jack yelled with a shake of his head for emphasis. He tossed his satchel onto the desk with a clatter. His face reddened.

“I’m sorry,” Doug said. He hunkered down as if he expected Jack to take a swing at him.

“It’s not your fault,” Jack snapped. He cracked his knuckles in frustration. “Where did the body go?”

Doug warily bent over the ledger book on the desk. He used his index finger to scan down the column. “It went to Strickland’s Funeral Home.”

“Where the hell is that?”

“I believe it’s on Caton Avenue over near Greenwood Cemetery.”

“Jesus H. Christ!” Jack muttered. He began to pace while he tried to think what to do next.

“Dr. Stapleton, I presume,” a voice said with a distinctly condescending air. “Aren’t you wandering a little far afield?”