Angelo shook his head, then squinted through the windshield. It had gotten dark during the short time he’d been asleep. His mind felt fuzzy. But he could see the woman Tony was pointing at. She was only ten feet from her building and heading for the door.

“Let’s go,” Angelo said. He piled out of the car, then almost fell on his face. His left leg had gone to sleep in the weird position he’d assumed when he’d closed his eyes.

Tony was significantly ahead as Angelo tried to run on a leg that felt more like wood than bones and muscle. By the time he got to the door, the leg was feeling like pins and needles from the crotch down. He pulled open the door to see Tony already conversing with the woman.

“We want to talk with you down at the station,” Tony was saying, trying to imitate Angelo.

Angelo could see that he was holding his badge too high so that Laurie Montgomery could read what it said if she so chose.

Angelo pulled Tony’s arm down and smiled. He noticed that Laurie was as good-looking a woman as Tony had guessed from the photo.

“We’d like to talk to you just for a few moments,” Angelo said. “Purely routine. We’ll have you back here in less than an hour. It has to do with the medical examiner’s office.”

“I don’t have to go anyplace with you.”

“I don’t think you want to create a scene,” Angelo said.

“I don’t even have to talk with you.”

Angelo could tell Laurie was not going to be an easy broad. “I’m afraid we have to insist,” he said calmly.

“I don’t even recognize you men. What precinct are you from?”

Angelo cast a quick glance over his shoulder. No one was coming into the building. This pickup was going to take force. Angelo glanced at Tony and gave a tiny nod.

Getting the message, Tony reached into his jacket and pulled out his Beretta Bantam. He pointed it at Laurie.

Angelo winced as Laurie let out an ear-piercing scream that could have awakened the dead as far away as Saint John’s Cemetery in Rego Park.

With his free hand, Tony reached out and grabbed Laurie by the neck, intending to force her to the car. Instead, he got a briefcase in the groin. He doubled over in pain. As soon as he straightened back up, Tony pointed his gun at the woman’s chest and fired two quick shots. Laurie went down instantly.

The shots were deafening; Tony hadn’t put his silencer on, not thinking he’d have to resort to force. The smell of cordite hung in the air.

“What the hell did you shoot her for?” Angelo demanded. “We were supposed to bring her in alive.”

“I lost my head,” Tony said. “She hit me in the nuts with her goddamn briefcase.”

“Let’s get her the hell out of here,” Angelo ordered.

Together they each grabbed one of Laurie’s arms. Angelo bent down and grabbed her briefcase. Then the two men half-dragged, half-carried Laurie’s lifeless body to their car. Dead or alive, they could still get her to the Montego Bay.

As quickly as possible they shoved her into the backseat of the car. A few pedestrians eyed them suspiciously, but no one said anything. Tony climbed in beside her while Angelo jumped into the front seat and started the car. As soon as the engine responded, he pulled out into Nineteenth Street.

“She better not be bleeding on that upholstery,” Angelo said, glancing in the rearview mirror. He could see Tony struggling with the body. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Trying to get her purse out from under her,” Tony said. He grunted. “It’s like she’s got a death grip on it, as if it matters at this point.”

“She dead?” Angelo asked. He was still furious.

“She hasn’t moved,” Tony said. “Ah, got it!” He held up the purse as if it were a trophy.

“If Cerino asks me what happened,” Angelo snapped, “I’m going to have to tell him.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony said. “I told you. I lost my head. Hey, look at this! This broad is loaded.” He waved a handful of twenties that he pulled from a wallet.

“Just keep her out of view,” said Angelo.

“Oh, no!” Tony cried.

“What’s the matter now?” Angelo demanded.

“This chick isn’t Laurie Montgomery,” Tony said, looking up from a piece of identification. “It’s a Maureen Wharton, an Assistant D.A. But she looks just like that photo.” Tony leaned forward and picked up the newspaper with Laurie’s photo. Brushing Maureen’s hair to the side, he compared her face to the one in the photo. “Well, it’s pretty close,” he said.

Angelo gripped the steering wheel so hard that the blood drained from his hand. He was going to have to tell Cerino about Tony whether he asked or not. Because of Tony they had whacked the wrong woman, an Assistant D.A., no less. This kid was driving him berserk.

“It’s me-Ponti,” Franco said. He’d put a call through to Vinnie Dominick. “I’m in the car heading for the tunnel. I just wanted you to know that I just watched the two guys we’ve discussed hit another young woman in broad daylight. It’s crazy. It makes no sense.”

“I’m glad you called,” Vinnie said. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you. That snitch you set me up with, that friend of a friend of Tony Ruggerio’s girlfriend, just clued me in. He knows what they’re doing. It’s unbelievable. You’d never have figured it out.”

“Want me to come back?” Franco asked.

“No, stay on those two,” Vinnie said. “I’m heading out now to talk directly with some Lucia people. We’ll figure out what to do. We got to stop Cerino but in a way to take advantage of the situation. Capisce?”

Franco hung up the phone. Angelo’s car was about five carlengths ahead. Now that Vinnie knew what was going on, Franco was dying to know as well.

Cupping her hands around her face, Laurie pressed them against the locked glass doors of the converted brownstone on East Fifty-fifth Street. She could make out a set of marble steps that rose up to another closed door.

Laurie stepped back to view the front of the building. It was five stories tall with a bow front. The second floor had tall windows from which light poured. The third floor had lights as well. Above that the windows were dark.

To the right of the door was a brass plate that said MANHATTAN ORGAN REPOSITORY: HOURS NINE TO FIVE. Since it was after five, Laurie understood why the front doors were locked. But the lights on the second and third floors suggested that the building was still occupied, and Laurie was determined to talk with someone.

Going back to the door, Laurie knocked again just as loudly as she had when she’d first arrived. Still no one responded.

Looking to the left, Laurie noticed a service entrance. Walking over to this door, she tried to peer inside but saw nothing. It was totally black. Returning to the main door, Laurie was about to knock again when she noticed something she’d not seen. Below the brass plate and partially hidden from view by the ivy that snaked up the building’s facade was a small brass bell. Laurie pushed it and waited.

A few minutes later the foyer beyond the glass doors illuminated. Then the inner door opened and a woman in a long, tight, unadorned wool dress came down the few marble steps. She had to walk sideways because of the snugness of the dress about her legs. She appeared to be in her mid-fifties. Her humorless face was stern and her hair was pulled back in a tight bun.

Coming to the door, she pantomimed that they were closed. To emphasize her point, she repeatedly pointed at her watch.

Laurie mimed in return, indicating that she wanted to talk with someone by making her hand move as if she were operating a hand puppet. When that didn’t work, Laurie took out her medical examiner’s badge and flashed it despite Bingham’s dire warnings that he’d have her arrested. When that didn’t work its usual wonders, Laurie took out the business card she’d taken from Yvonne Andre’s apartment and pressed it against the glass. Finally the woman relented and unlatched the door.