"What about the second case?" Riva asked. "The stationary bike rider."

"That was also interesting. I thought I was going to find atheromatous coronary heart disease, but I didn't."

"That was what I suspected as well. I'm glad I put it in the pile to be autopsied."

"Everything was normal with the heart and the coronary arteries."

"Really?" Riva questioned with surprise.

"Except for one thing," Laurie said. "The right coronary artery had an exceptionally acute angle takeoff. Suddenly, something the patient had unfortunately done while riding the bike cut off flow to the artery."

"I've heard of that but have never seen it," Riva said.

"Which is why I thought it too would be a good teaching case. I carefully dissected the area free and will have it preserved."

In contrast to Riva, who was taking a break between cases, Laurie had continued changing from scrubs to her clothes during the conversation. When she was finished, she slammed her locker closed, spun the combination lock, and waved to her office mate.

"I'll see you upstairs," Riva called after her.

Not willing to take the time for lunch, Laurie went to the front elevator and rode directly up to the fifth floor. Before retreating to her office, she went into the histology lab to see if her pulmonary slides were available on David Jeffries. She had little hope they would add anything significant at this point. She felt obliged to get the slides, since she'd specifically asked Maureen O'Connor to put a rush on them.

"You are eager," Maureen said in her colorful Irish accent when she caught sight of Laurie. "When I said I'd have them today, I didn't say I'd have them this morning."

"I hate to be a pest," Laurie said. "I'll be in my office."

"I'll have someone run them down when they're ready."

Laurie hastened down the hall. After sitting at her desk, she surveyed the jumble of case files and hospital records, with the matrix front and center. She picked up the matrix. It was far from complete. Glancing back to the pile of cases, she felt a drain on her enthusiasm and optimism. Transferring the information took longer than she expected, yet it seemed as if the matrix was the only hope she had of understanding what was going on with the Angels Healthcare hospitals.

As Laurie was about to start, she remembered she did not have Ramona's hospital record, as well as a few others. Picking up her phone, she called down to the PAs office. When Bart Arnold, the chief PA, answered, she asked to speak with Cheryl.

"What can I do for you?" Cheryl asked when she came on the line.

"I left word with Janice earlier this morning I needed a hospital chart on Ramona Torres."

"I got the message and put in the call. They promised me they'd send it with the others. I'd be surprised if it wasn't already in your e-mail."

"Hang on," Laurie said. Quickly, she opened her e-mail. As Cheryl suggested, the missing hospital records were there waiting for her.

"Sorry," Laurie said. "You're right. They are all here."

After hanging up with Cheryl, Laurie put the large file in the printing queue and then headed down to the first floor to pick up her printouts.

ADAM HAD HAD a pleasant morning. After his second cup of coffee that morning back at the hotel, he'd made his way to the Metropolitan Museum. As one of the first people through its imposing front entrance, he'd felt as though he had the place to himself. He didn't try to cover too much, but viewed objects he'd appreciated in his youth, including Athenian red figure vases, several classical Greek statues, and the old masters exhibits.

When noon approached, Adam had decided to return to the OCME for a short stay and had parked in the same location he'd parked that morning. As he'd told himself earlier that morning, he thought the chances of seeing the target over the lunch hour were slim, but he now came prepared. On the seat beside him, he had a rolled-up towel from the Hotel Pierre in the form of a cone and held in place with clear tape. Inside the cone was one of his favorite weapons: a nine-millimeter Beretta fitted with a three-inch-long suppressor. The suppressor's tip could just be seen at the pointed end of the cone. In the open end, he could insert his hand and seize the automatic pistol's handgrip. In this fashion, he could use the weapon in public without causing a panic, which it invariably did when it wasn't so camouflaged. Of course, even with the towel, the amount of time the weapon was out from under his coat was kept to an absolute minimum of only a few seconds.

With his seat tilted back, his elbows on the armrests, and his hands on his stomach and fingers intertwined, Adam had made himself snugly comfortable, especially with Arthur Rubinstein playing Chopin at a moderate volume on the vehicle's CD player. The light rain outside added to his tense contentment.

In contrast to that morning, relative calm prevailed at the corner of First Avenue and 30th Street, except for the traffic, with its incessant thundering medley of city buses, dump trucks, paneled vans, taxis, and private cars heading north. The protesters were gone, as were the police, and there was minimal pedestrian traffic, particularly in and out of the oddly designed OCME.

Shielded from the hum of the traffic by his vehicle's impressive soundproofing as well as the CD player, Adam calmly went through a number of possible scenarios in case Laurie Montgomery fooled him and suddenly appeared, preferably alone. Of course, he would immediately step from the car with his borrowed Hotel Pierre towel and close the gap between himself and Miss Montgomery. At that point, he could not predict what would happen, as it would depend on what had transpired between the time he'd left the car and the time he got within striking distance of approximately arm's length. The variables included passersby, particularly if anyone showed any interest in his activities whatsoever. If all was copacetic, the towel would come out and he'd fire from three feet into the back of the head. He would then calmly return to the Range Rover and motor away driving directly to the Lincoln Tunnel. He had his belongings in the car, and his handlers would take care of Mr. Bramford's hotel charges. At least that's how it had happened on most of Adam's previous operations.

In the middle of his musings, Adam, who was continually aware of what was transpiring in his surroundings, noticed in his rearview mirror that the occupants of the blue van that had pulled up behind him were arguing to beat the band. What had caught his attention, besides their mouths going a mile a minute, was that each was rudely stabbing a finger at the other, interspersed with angry waves of dismissal. Since violent arguments were not common in public and because of his line of work, Adam was always sensitive to unexpected behavior. As he watched, the driver made what looked like the final wave of dismissal before opening his door. As the driver tried to climb out, the companion attempted to stop him by grabbing his arm. But it was to no avail. The driver easily shook himself free and alighted from the vehicle. The passenger responded by following suit and leaping out of the van as well.

Adam had watched this simulated silent movie in his rearview mirror, but suddenly he was aware that the driver had come alongside the Range Rover. Adam turned and stared at him. Adam did not like to be approached while on a mission. It made the possibility of recognition after the fact much more possible.

Adam noticed two things about the man. First, his extensive scarring from burns and his careful attention to his clothes, which seemed out of place in relation to the condition of the van. Adam's first thought was that the man was an Iraq veteran like himself. Adam had seen many people with similar burns during his long rehab. The driver then shocked Adam by rapping noisily against the Range Rover's window.