“Hey, I forgot to tell you about the show at the Met,” Chet said. “There’s a Claude Monet exhibition that Colleen is dying to see. We got tickets for Thursday.”

Chet had been dating Colleen Anderson on and off for three years. She was an art director for Willow and Heath, a Madison Avenue advertising firm. Jack was acquainted with both Colleen and Willow and Heath, having come into contact with them through the course of tracking the infectious disease case that spawned his reputation.

“How about you and Laurie coming along to see the show?” Chet continued. “Then we could all go out to dinner afterward.”

Jack cringed at the thought of not having Laurie around to join him for trips to the museum. And that would be nothing compared to how much he would miss seeing her every day. Not that Chet could have known the feelings that his invitation had provoked.

“I’ll ask her,” Jack said. He picked up the phone and dialed Clint Abelard’s number.

“Let me know what she says,” Chet added. “If it’s a go, I’ll have Colleen get extra tickets. As a member of the museum, she won’t have any trouble.”

“I’ll be seeing Laurie tonight,” Jack said as his call went through. “I have a number of things to talk to her about. I’ll ask her then.”

“Did you see that skinhead case she was doing this morning?” Chet questioned. “Talk about gruesome; that one deserves a prize. It’s sickening what one human can do to another.”

Jack asked for the city epidemiologist and was put on hold.

“Unfortunately I did see it,” Jack said. He covered the phone’s mouthpiece with his hand. “The FBI agent thought that the perpetrators were fellow skinheads.”

“Those kids are nuts,” Chet said.

“Do you know if Laurie found anything that was helpful for the police?” Jack asked.

“I’ve no idea,” Chet said.

When Dr. Clint Abelard finally came on the line, Jack made an effort to be friendly and upbeat. Unfortunately, his overture was not reciprocated.

“Of course I remember you,” Clint said dryly. “How could I forget? Thank God it’s not every day a coroner makes my job harder.”

Jack bit his tongue. In the past, when Jack had first met Clint, Jack had carefully explained the difference between a coroner and a medical examiner. As a medical examiner, Jack was a physician with training in pathology and training in a subspecialty, forensics. In contrast, a coroner could be merely a bureaucratic appointee with no medical training whatsoever.

“We medical examiners always aim to please,” Jack said.

“Why are you calling me?” Clint asked.

“We had a case of inhalational anthrax this morning,” Jack said. “We thought you’d like to know. The patient was brought in from the Bronx General Hospital.”

“Just one case?”

“That’s right,” Jack said.

“Thank you,” Clint said.

“Aren’t you going to ask anything about its origins?” Jack asked.

“Finding out its origins is our job,” Clint said flatly.

“That might be so,” Jack said. “But just for the record, let me tell you what we’ve learned.”