“Congratulations,” Chet said. “That was a very civilized conversation.”

“My intra-agency diplomatic skills must be improving,” Jack quipped. “I didn’t irritate the guy in the slightest.”

Jack gathered up the papers from Jason Papparis’s file and stuffed them into the folder. He pushed it aside and redirected his attention to the prisoner-in-custody case.

For a few minutes, peace reigned in the cluttered office. The two medical examiners bent over their respective desks and went back to work. Chet glued his eyes to his microscope while he diligently scanned a section of liver from a case of fatal hepatitis. Jack began to outline the significant pathology on the prisoner case.

Unfortunately, the tranquillity didn’t last long. A sound similar to a gunshot reverberated around the tiny room. Chet sat bolt upright. Jack uttered a string of expletives, making Chet even more anxious. But then Chet realized that they weren’t in jeopardy of becoming their office’s next two cases. The sudden noise had come from Jack’s slamming his ballpoint pen down onto the desk’s metal surface.

“Damn! You scared the hell out of me,” Chet complained.

“I can’t concentrate,” Jack said.

“What’s the matter now?”

“A lot of things,” Jack said vaguely. He didn’t want to get into a discussion about Laurie.

“That’s not being very specific,” Chet said.

Jack reached over and retrieved Jason Papparis’s folder. “This case, for one.”

“What could bother you now?” Chet questioned irritably. “You made the diagnosis, reported it to the deputy chief, called the city epidemiologist, and even the Director of Emergency Management. What the hell else can you do?”

Jack sighed. “Like I said before, it’s too pat. It’s like it was designed to go into a textbook, and it’s bothering me.”

“Bull!” Chet said. “Sounds to me like you’re using it as an excuse. What else is on your mind?”

Jack blinked and eyed his officemate. Jack was impressed with Chet’s clairvoyance. For a fleeting moment Jack considered telling Chet about Laurie’s early-morning phone call, but then decided against it. Such a conversation might lead to questions about Jack’s true feelings about Laurie, an issue Jack wasn’t ready to probe, even on his own.

“There is something else,” Jack said. His face fell into an exaggerated expression of emotional anguish. “I’m upset that Seinfeld is off the air.”

“Oh, for crissake,” Chet said disgustedly. “It’s impossible to have a discussion with you. Fine! Stew by yourself, but at least do me the favor of doing it quietly or, if that’s impossible, go someplace else!”

Chet swung around once again and replaced the slide on his microscope stage with another. He leaned over the eyepieces while mumbling under his breath how trying Jack could be.

“Clint Abelard said he’d see that the Corinthian Rug Company’s warehouse was quarantined,” Jack said. He poked Chet’s shoulder with the corner of Jason Papparis’s folder to make sure Chet was listening. “What about the office here in Manhattan? What if the rug merchant brought some of the hides to the office? And what about the advisability of going through the company’s records to see if any of the recent shipment had been sold and shipped elsewhere?”