“I’m sorry, but we’re closed for the day,” the woman said.

“I gathered that,” Laurie said, putting a hand on the door, “but I must speak with you. I only need a few minutes of your time. I’m with the medical examiner’s office. My name is Dr. Laurie Montgomery.”

“What is it you wish to discuss?” the woman asked.

“Can I come in?” Laurie suggested.

“I suppose,” the woman said with a sigh. She opened the door wide and let Laurie in. Then she locked the door behind them.

“This is quite lovely,” Laurie said. Most of the building’s nineteenth-century detailing had been preserved when it had been converted from a private residence to office space.

“We’re lucky to have the building,” the woman said. “By the way, my name is Gertrude Robeson.”

They shook hands.

“Would you care to come up to my office?”

Laurie said that she would, and Gertrude led her up an elegant Georgian staircase that curved up to the floor above.

“I appreciate your time,” Laurie said. “It is rather important.”

“I’m the only one here,” Gertrude said. “Trying to finish up some work.”

Gertrude’s office was in the front, and it accounted for the light streaming out of the windows from the second floor. It was a large office with a crystal chandelier. Vaguely Laurie wondered how it was that so many nonprofit organizations had such sumptuous surroundings.

Once they were seated, Laurie got to the point. She again took out the business card she’d picked up at Yvonne’s and passed it to Gertrude. “Is this individual a member of the staff here?” Laurie questioned.

“Yes, he is,” Gertrude said. She gave the card back. “Jerome Hoskins is in charge of our recruiting efforts.”

“What exactly is the Manhattan Organ Repository?” Laurie asked.

“I’d be happy to give you our literature,” Gertrude said, “but essentially we’re a nonprofit organization devoted to the donation and reallocation of human organs for transplantation.”

“What do you mean by your “recruiting efforts’?” Laurie asked.

“We try to get people to register as potential donors,” Gertrude said. “The simplest commitment is just to agree that in the event of an accident that renders one brain dead, one would be willing to have the appropriate organs given to a needy recipient.”

“If that’s the simplest commitment,” Laurie said, “what’s a more complicated one?”

“Complicated is not the right word,” Gertrude said. “It is all simple. But the next step is to get the potential donor to be blood and tissue typed. That is particularly helpful in replenishable organs like bone marrow.”

“How does your organization do its recruiting?” Laurie asked.

“The usual methods,” Gertrude said. “We have charitable fund-raisers, telethons, active college groups, that sort of thing. It’s really a matter of getting the word out.

That’s why it’s so helpful when a recipient can command media attention, like a child needing a heart or liver.”

“Do you have a large staff?” Laurie questioned.

“It’s rather small, actually,” Gertrude said. “We use a lot of volunteers.”

“Who responds to your appeals?” Laurie asked.

“Mostly college-educated people,” Gertrude said, “particularly those who are civic-minded. People who are interested in social issues and are willing to give something back to society.”

“Have you ever heard the name Yvonne Andre?” Laurie asked.

“No, I don’t believe so,” Gertrude said. “Is this someone I should meet?”

“I don’t think so,” Laurie said. “She’s dead.”

“Oh, dear,” Gertrude said. “Why did you ask if I knew her?”

“Just curious,” Laurie said. “Could you tell me if Yvonne Andre was someone Mr. Hoskins recruited?”

“I’m sorry,” Gertrude said. “That’s confidential information. I cannot give it out.”

“I am a medical examiner,” Laurie said. “My interest in this is not casual. I was speaking with Yvonne Andre’s mother today, and she told me her daughter was committed to your cause before her untimely death. Mr. Hoskins’ card was in her apartment. I don’t want to know any details, but I would appreciate knowing if she’d signed up with your organization.”

“Did Ms. Yvonne Andre’s death occur under questionable circumstances?” Gertrude asked.

“It will be signed out as accidental,” Laurie said. “But there are some aspects to her death that bother me.”

“You know, generally speaking, that for organs to be transplanted the donor must be in a vegetative state. In other words, everything but the brain must still be physiologically alive.”

“Of course,” Laurie said. “I’m well aware of that caveat. Yvonne Andre was not in a vegetative state before her death. Nevertheless, her status in your organization is something I need to know.”

“Just a moment,” Gertrude said. She walked over to her desk and punched some information into her computer terminal. “Yes,” she said. “Yvonne was registered. But that is all I can say.”

“I appreciate what you have told me,” Laurie said. “I have one more question. Have there been any break-ins here at your offices in the last year?”

Gertrude rolled her eyes. “I really don’t know if I’m at liberty to divulge this kind of information, but I guess it’s a matter of public record. You could always check with the police. Yes, we were broken into a couple of months ago. Luckily not too much was taken and there was no vandalism.”

Laurie rose from her chair. “Thank you very much. You’ve been generous with your time. I really appreciate it.”

“Would you like to take some of our literature?” Gertrude asked.

“I would,” Laurie said. Gertrude opened a cabinet and pulled out a number of brochures which she handed to Laurie. Laurie put them in her briefcase. Then Gertrude saw her to the door.

Emerging onto Fifty-fifth Street, Laurie walked over to Lexington Avenue to catch a cab downtown. She directed the taxi driver to take her to the medical examiner’s office.

With her suspicions strengthening and her confidence renewed, she wanted to talk with George Fontworth. There was something about that day’s overdose cases that she wanted to ask about. Even though it was after six o’clock, she thought that he might still be at work. He usually worked late.

But as Laurie approached the office, she began to worry about Bingham still being there. She knew that on a number of evenings he also stayed late. Consequently Laurie instructed the cab driver to turn from First Avenue onto Thirtieth Street. When they came abreast of the morgue loading dock, she had him turn in. It was good that she had. There was Bingham’s official city car, one of the perks of being the chief medical examiner.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Laurie called to the driver through the Plexiglas screen. She gave him her home address. With some cursing in a language Laurie had never heard, he pulled out of the morgue driveway and returned to First Avenue. Fifteen minutes later she was in front of her tenement building.

It was still raining, so Laurie bolted for the door. She was surprised to find that the lock to the inner door was broken. She’d have to call the super about it in case no one else had reported it yet.

Laurie headed straight for the elevator. She didn’t bother collecting her mail. Just then she had one thing in mind: calling Lou.

As the elevator doors began to slide shut, Laurie saw a hand come around its edge to try to stop the doors from closing. Laurie tried to hit the open button but hit the close instead. The hand pulled back, the doors closed, and the elevator ascended.

Laurie was just unlocking her locks when she heard Debra Engler’s door open behind her.

“There were two men at your door,” Debra said. “I’ve never seen them before. They rang your bell twice.”

Although Laurie didn’t like having Debra meddle in her affairs, she wondered who the two men were and what they could have wanted. It was difficult not to think of “two men” in anything but the context relating to the overdose cases, and the thought sent a chill down her spine. She wondered how they’d gotten as far as her door, since she hadn’t been there to buzz them in. Then she remembered the broken lock in the second door. She asked Debra what they looked like.