Emerging on West 106th Street, Jack took in a lungful of October air. For the first time that day he felt revived. Climbing onto his purple bike he headed for Central Park, passing the empty neighborhood basketball court on his left.

A few years ago, on the same day that he had been punched hard enough to chip his front tooth, Jack’s first mountain bike had been stolen. Listening to warnings from his colleagues, particularly Laurie, about the dangers of bike riding in the city, Jack had resisted buying another. But after being mugged on the subway, Jack had gone ahead with the purchase.

Initially, Jack had been a relatively careful cyclist when riding his new bike. But over time that had changed. Now Jack was back to his old tricks. While commuting to and from the office, Jack indulged his self-destructive streak by taking a twice-daily, hair-raising walk on the wild side. Jack believed he had nothing more to lose. His reckless cycling, a habitual temptation of fate, was a way of saying that if his family had had to die, he should have been with them and maybe he’d join them sooner rather than later.

By the time Jack arrived at the medical examiner’s office on the corner of First Avenue and Thirtieth Street, he’d had two protracted arguments with taxi drivers and a minor run-in with a city bus. Undaunted and not at all out of breath, Jack parked his bike on the ground floor next to the Hart Island coffins and made his way up to the ID room. Most people would have felt on edge after such a harrowing trip. But not Jack. The confrontations and physical exertion calmed him, preparing him for the day’s invariable bureaucratic hurdles.

Jack flicked the edge of Vinnie Amendola’s newspaper as he walked by the mortuary tech, who was sitting at his preferred location at the desk just inside the door. Jack also said hello, but Vinnie ignored him. As usual, Vinnie was committing to memory the previous day’s sports stats.

Vinnie had been employed at the ME’s office longer than Jack had. He was a good worker, although he’d come close to being fired a couple of years back for leaking information that had embarrassed the office and had put both Jack and Laurie in harm’s way. The reason Vinnie was censured and put on probation rather than terminated was the extenuating circumstances of his behavior. An investigation had determined he’d been the victim of extortion by some unsavory underworld figures. Vinnie’s father had had a loose association with the mob.

Jack said hello to Dr. George Fontworth, a corpulent medical examiner colleague who was Jack’s senior in the office hierarchy by seven years. George was just starting his weekly stint as the person who reviewed the previous night’s reported deaths, deciding which would be autopsied and by whom. That was why he was at the office early. Normally, he was the last to arrive.

“A fine welcome,” Jack mumbled when George ignored him as Vinnie had. Jack filled his mug with some of the coffee that Vinnie had made on his arrival. Vinnie came in before the other techs to assist the duty doctor if need arose. One of his jobs was to brew the coffee in the communal pot.