Jack glanced up at the doorway. Framed between the jambs was Dr. Randolph Sanders. He was a bit older than Jack with mostly gray hair brushed back from his narrow face. He wore thick-rimmed black glasses that gave him an owlish appearance. In the hierarchy of the medical examiner’s office, he was far above Jack, with almost twenty years of experience.

“I thought I’d dash over here and give you some very needed help,” Jack shot back.

“Oh, please!” Randolph remarked contemptuously.

“Why in hell’s name did you send the Davydov body out when you knew I was coming over here?”

“I got a mysterious message that you might pay us a visit, but there was no request to keep the body here.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, since an IQ of fifty or more would have been necessary to have presumed as much.”

“I don’t have to listen to your juvenile slander,” Randolph said. “Have a nice trip back to Manhattan.” He spun on his heels and disappeared from view.

Jack stepped out into the hall. He called out to the retreating Randolph. “Well, let me tell you something. Connie Davydov did not have either asthma or allergies. She was an entirely healthy woman who suddenly experienced respiratory failure without having a heart attack or a stroke. If that’s not the kind of case that deserves an autopsy, I don’t know what is!”

Randolph stopped at the elevators and faced around.

“How do you know she didn’t have asthma and allergies?” he demanded.

“From her brother,” Jack said.

“Well, let me tell you something,” Randolph said disdainfully. “My source of the woman’s history happens to be this office’s most experienced forensic investigator. You can believe whomever you wish. I’ll rely on a professional.”

Randolph turned and calmly pressed the elevator button. He glanced back briefly to give Jack a condescending smile.

Jack was about to counter angrily Randolph’s last statement when it dawned on him how ludicrous it was for him to be arguing with such a blockhead. Besides, a confrontation with this ME would do nothing to advance his looking into Connie Davydov’s case. Shaking his head, Jack went back into the mortuary office and grabbed his satchel from the desk. Doug looked at him curiously but didn’t say anything.

Still fuming, Jack stalked out of the Brooklyn ME’s office and strode down the sidewalk toward Warren’s car. Warren and Flash were leaning up against the Caddy’s fenders. They looked at Jack expectantly as he approached, but Jack didn’t say a word. He just climbed into the back seat.

Warren and Flash glanced at each other and shrugged before climbing into the car themselves. Each twisted in his seat and regarded Jack, who had his mouth and lips clamped shut.

“You look pissed,” Warren commented.

“I am,” Jack admitted. He looked off for a moment, obviously thinking.