She was now twenty-nine and had never married, although a steady stream of young men had passed through her life. Her father privately thought she scared them off with her brainpower. He could think of no other reason she was still single. She was attractive, he thought, and charming, and had a sense of humor much like his own.

Amelia Payne, Ph. D., M.D., stopped the Buick in front of the Detweiler mansion, effectively denying the use of the drive to anyone else who wished to use it, and got out. She was wearing a pleated tweed skirt and a sweater, and looked like a typical Main Line Young Matron.

The EMT firemen standing near the blanket-covered body were therefore surprised when she knelt beside the stretcher and started to remove the blanket.

“Hey, lady!”

“I’m Dr. Payne,” Amy said, and examined the body very quickly. Then she pulled the blanket back in place and stood up.

“Let’s get this into the house,” she said. “Out of sight.”

“We’re waiting for the M.E.”

“And while we’re waiting, we’re going to move the body into the house,” Dr. Payne said. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”

The EMT firemen picked up the stretcher and followed her into the house.

She crossed the foyer and opened the door to the sitting room and saw her father and H. Richard Detweiler talking softly.

“Are you all right, Uncle Dick?” she asked.

“Ginger-peachy, honey,” Detweiler replied.

“Grace is upstairs, Amy,” her father said.

“I’ll look in on her,” Amy said, and pulled the door closed. She turned to the firemen. “Over there,” she said. “In the dining room.”

She crossed the foyer, opened the door to the dining room, and waited inside until the firemen had carried the stretcher inside. Then she issued other orders:

“One of you stay here, the other wait outside for the M.E. When he gets here, send for me. I’ll be upstairs with Mrs. Detweiler, the mother.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the larger of the two EMTs-whose body weight was approximately twice that of Amy’s-said docilely.

Amy went quickly up the stairs to the second floor.

A black Ford Falcon with the seal of the City of Philadelphia and those words in small white letters on its doors passed through the gates of the Detweiler estate and drove to the door of the mansion.

Bernard C. Potter, a middle-aged, balding black man, tie-less, wearing a sports coat and carrying a 35mm camera and a small black bag, got out and walked toward the door. Bernie Potter was an investigator for the Office of the Medical Examiner, City of Philadelphia.

This job, Potter thought, judging from the number of police cars-and especially the Fire Department rescue vehicle that normally would have been long gone from the scene-parked in front of the house, is going to be a little unusual.

And then Captain O’Connor, who Bernie Potter knew was Commanding Officer of Northwest Detectives, came out the door. This was another indication that something special was going on. Captains of Detectives did not normally go out on routine Five Two Nine Two jobs.

“What do you say, Bernie?”

“What have we got?” Bernie asked as they shook hands.

“Looks like a simple OD, Bernie. Caucasian female, early twenties, whose father happens to own Nesfoods.”

“Nice house,” Bernie said. “I didn’t think these people were on public assistance. Where the body?”

“In the dining room.”

“What are you guys still doing here?” Bernie asked the Fire Department EMT on the patio. It was simple curiosity, not a reprimand.

The EMT looked uncomfortable.

“Like I told you,” Captain O’Connor answered for him, “the father owns Nesfoods International.” And then he looked down the drive at a new Ford coming up. “And here comes, I think, Chief Coughlin.”

“Equal justice under the law, right?” Bernie asked.

“There’s a doctor, a lady doctor, in there,” the EMT said, “said she wanted to be called when you came.”

“What does she want?” Bernie asked.

The EMT shrugged.

Chief Coughlin got out of his car and walked up.

“Good morning, Chief,” Tom O’Connor said.

Coughlin shook his hand and then Bernie Potter’s.

“Long time no see, Bernie,” he said. “You pronounce yet?”

“Haven’t seen the body.”

“The quicker we can get this over, the better. You call for a wagon, Tom?”

“I didn’t. I don’t like to get in the way of my people.”

“Check and see. If he hasn’t called for one, get one here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where’s the body?”

“In the dining room,” the EMT said.

“I heard it was on the patio here.”

“The lady doctor made us move it,” the EMT said.

“Let’s go have a look at it,” Coughlin said. “I know where the dining room is. Tom, you make sure about the wagon.”

“Yes, sir.”

Coughlin led the way to the dining room.

“How did it get on the stretcher?” Bernie asked.

“What I hear is that the father carried it downstairs,” the EMT said. “When we got here, he was sitting outside on one of them metal chairs, couches, holding it in his arms. We took it from him.”

A look of pain, or compassion, flashed briefly over Chief Coughlin’s face.

“Where did they find it?” Bernie asked.

Dr. Amelia Payne entered the dining room.

“In her bedroom,” she answered the question. “In an erect position, with a syringe in her left arm.”

“Dr. Payne, this is Mr. Potter, an investigator of the Medical Examiner’s Office.”

“How do you do?” Amy said. “Death was apparently instantaneous, or nearly so,” she went on. “There is a frothy liquid in the nostrils, often encountered in cases of heroin poisoning. The decedent was a known narcotic-substance abuser. In my opinion-”

“Doctor,” Bernie interrupted her uncomfortably, “I don’t mean to sound hard-nosed, but you don’t have any status here. This is the M.E.’s business.”

“I am a licensed physician, Mr. Potter,” Amy said. “The decedent was my patient, and she died in her home in not-unexpected circumstances. Under those circumstances, I am authorized to pronounce, and to conduct, if in my judgment it is necessary, any postmortem examination.”

“Amy, honey,” Chief Coughlin said gently.

“Yes?” She turned to him.

“I know where you’re coming from, Amy. But let me tell you how it is. You may be right. You probably are. But while you’re fighting the M.E. taking Penny’s body, think what’s going to happen: It’s going to take time, maybe a couple of days, before even your father can get an injunction. Until he gets a judge to issue an order to release it to you, the M.E.’ll hold the body. Let’s get it over with, as quickly and painlessly as possible. I already talked to the M.E. He’s going to do the autopsy himself, as soon as the body gets there. It can be in the hands of the funeral home in two, three hours.”

She didn’t respond.

“Grace Detweiler’s going to need you,” Coughlin went on. “And Matt. That’s what’s important.”

Amy looked at Bernie.

“There’s no need for a postmortem,” she said. “Everybody in this room knows how this girl killed herself.”

“It’s the law, Doctor,” Bernie said sympathetically.

Amy turned to Dennis Coughlin.

“What about Matt? Does he know?”

“Peter Wohl’s waiting for him on North Broad Street. He’ll tell him. Unless…”

“No,” Amy said. “I think Peter’s the best one. They have a sibling relationship. And Peter obviously has more experience than my father. You think Matt will come here?”

“I would suppose so.”

She turned to Bernie Potter.

“OK, Mr. Potter,” she said. “She is pronounced at nine twenty-five A.M. ” She turned back to Chief Coughlin. “Thank you, Uncle Denny.”

She walked out of the dining room.

Chief Coughlin turned to the EMT.

“The wagon’s on the way. Wait in here until it gets here.”

The EMT nodded.

“I’m going to have to see the bedroom, Chief,” Bernie Potter said.