Louie wandered over to the bar, continuing his dialogue. After mindlessly playing with a shot glass full of toothpicks for several minutes, he came back to the table. "You guys are sure there was no company at the Trump Tower that you recognized when you stopped there this morning?"

Carlo and Brennan both shook their heads.

"Get a phone book!" Louie ordered Brennan. Dutifully, Brennan left his seat to bring a phone book to the table. "Try to look up Bieder-something Heaven!" Louie ordered when Brennan returned.

Louie looked at Carlo. "If they keep up this irresponsible behavior, we're going to have the entire NYPD out here on our backs sooner or later. What do you think?"

Carlo nodded. Since he was asked a specific question, he said, "They are taking big chances, so it must be important business."

"That's exactly what I was thinking. I mean, that detective came all the way out here to warn us."

"Nothing in the phone book," Brennan reported.

"I didn't think there would be," Louie said. "Not with a guy who could handle Angelo Facciolo so easily. The name's undoubtedly a cover."

"Do you think they could have been waiting at the city morgue for the same thing?" Brennan asked, risking putting in his own two cents. "I mean, why would Angelo pick a fight with someone in broad daylight unless there was competition or some sort of existing bad feelings?"

"Good thought," Louie said. "I'm glad we're watching them. I'd like to know what's going on, but if they knock off someone else, I'm going to let that detective know we're not involved."

AFTER THE ADRENALINE rush evoked by Angelo, it took Adam a while to calm down, but by the time he arrived at the hotel, he was composed enough to think clearly about the unfortunate and totally unexpected incident. Although nothing untoward had happened, it still could if someone had observed the altercation and had called the police with a description of Adam's Range Rover. Consequently, Adam was disappointed in himself for not having driven off immediately. He certainly did not get any secondary gain from the useless confrontation – in fact, quite the contrary.

"Will you be needing your car soon, Mr. Bramford?" the doorman said, opening Adam's driver's-side door.

"No, thank you," Adam said as he alighted. He specifically wanted the car put into the garage.

Adam went up to his room. He needed to make a call and did not want to use his cell. He wanted a landline. One of the fallouts of his one-sided fight was a reluctance to return to the OCME area for fear of again running into the smartly dressed thug.

Seated at a desk in the changing room of his junior suite, Adam placed his call. The protocol was for him to ask for a fictitious individual by the name of Charles Palmer and then be given another number to call. Once he had the second number, he'd leave his direct-dial number. At that point, he had to wait. The return call usually came within a minute.

There was no small talk when Adam spoke to one of his handlers. "I'm in need of a home address," he said, without reference even to a name. Adam didn't have to question if the information could or could not be obtained. With his handlers' access to the highest levels of government, it was always available.

"We will have it in a few minutes. You'll have it on your BlackBerry."

That was it. Adam pressed the disconnect button on the phone and then called room service. He thought he'd have lunch before heading over to his second-favorite attraction in New York City: the natural history museum.

"HOW WAS I to know he'd be a karate expert," Angelo snapped back.

"That's not the point," Franco said. "The point is you didn't think, and when you don't think, you make mistakes. Luckily nothing drastic happened."

"That's easy for you to say. I feel like I got run over by a truck; my chest hurts, and so does the side of my neck."

"Consider your bruises as a warning to keep your cool. I've never seen you like this, Angelo. You're just too damn eager. As I said to Vinnie, you're juiced up something awful."

"You'd be juiced up if the broad had burned your face such that you look like a freak."

"You said that, I didn't."

"What did you do with my gun?"

"It's here under my seat," Franco said. He took out the scratched handgun and handed it to Angelo. Angelo looked it over carefully. He removed the clip, made sure there was no bullet in the chamber, then pulled the trigger several times. The mechanism worked smoothly. "It seems okay."

"It might be a good idea to fire it a couple of times to be sure." Angelo nodded as he pushed the clip back into the base of the butt.

"You haven't answered the question I asked you earlier," Franco said. "Are you going to be able to control yourself? Otherwise, I'm going to send you home for a few days. Mark my word! I'll take care of Montgomery myself."

"Yeah," Angelo said irritably. "I'll control myself! Maybe I shouldn't have gotten out of the van, but at least I got rid of the SUV, which was blocking our view."

"At too great a risk, I might add. I mean, you understand that, don't you?"

"I do now. I suppose."

"From now on, I want everything done my way until we get her on the boat. Then I don't care what you do. Apparently, Vinnie likes your cement shoes idea. That's fine. I couldn't care less if you and Vinnie want some payback beyond just whacking her. But I don't want any more reckless behavior. Are we on the same page here or what?"

"Yeah, we're on the same page," Angelo said.

"Look at me!"

Angelo reluctantly glanced over at Franco. "Say it again."

"We're on the same fucking page," Angelo repeated irritably.

"Good," Franco said. "We got that cleared up. Now let's go get some lunch. Montgomery's not being cooperative. We'll have to come back and try to get her when she leaves tonight."

21

"Hello, excuse me!" a voice called.

Laurie looked up from her work. One of the histology technicians was standing in the doorway, clutching a cardboard tray for microscope slides.

"Maureen asked me to run these down," the woman said. "She also asked me to apologize for not getting them to you sooner. Two people called in sick today."

"No problem," Laurie said. She reached over and took the tray. "Thanks for bringing them, and thank Maureen for getting them to me so quickly."

"Will do," the woman said amiably.

Clutching the tray, Laurie looked back at her cluttered desk. Working nonstop, she had filled in only approximately two-thirds of her matrix, although the process, as painstaking as it was, was speeding up, since she had become accustomed to where in the hospital records she'd find the specific information she wanted. She'd also added more categories as she'd gone on, which forced her to go back to cases she thought she'd finished. One thing was certain: With as many categories as she now had, constructing the matrix was significantly more work than she'd originally imagined.

Although Laurie enjoyed a certain compulsive contentment about her progress, it had to contend with a growing disappointment that her efforts were probably not going to provide any insight into the mystery. As she worked, she'd hoped that she'd see some unexpected commonality, but it wasn't happening. If a few cases were in the same OR, the next one would be in a different OR; if several patients were on the same floor, the next one would be on a different floor; and so on and so forth. Yet she had persisted and would continue to do so, since it was all she had.

Relishing a break from what was essentially tedious data entry, Laurie cleared a space on her desk for her microscope. Turning on the lamp, she slipped the first slide of David Jeffries's lung section into the stage clip, rotated the revolving nosepiece to the lowest objective, and lowered the objective close to but not touching the slide. Putting her eyes to the eyepiece, she used the coarse adjustment knobs to pull the objective back up from the slide until she got an image. Reflexively her hand went to the fine-adjustment knob and brought the image into sharp focus.