Canter was looking at another bone. 'And I thought I was the one who had all the fun.'

'Do you find it unusual that someone would use a meat saw in four dismemberments, and then suddenly switch to an electric autopsy saw?' I asked.

'If your theory's correct about the cases in Ireland, then you're talking nine cases with a meat saw,' he said. 'How about holding this right here so I can get a picture.'

I held the section of left femur in the tips of my fingers, and he pressed a button on the camera.

'To answer your question,' he said. 'I would find it extremely unusual. You're talking two different profiles. The meat saw is manual, physical, usually ten teeth per inch. It will go through tissue and takes a lot of bone with each stroke, the saw marks

rougher-looking, more indicative of someone skilled and powerful. And it's also important to remember that in each of those earlier cases the perpetrator cut through joints, versus the shafts, which is also very rare.'

'It's not the same person.' I again voiced my growing belief.

Canter took the bone from my hand and looked at me. 'That's my vote.'

When I returned to the lobby of the M.E.'s office, Marino was still on the phone down the hall. I waited a little while, then stepped outside because I needed air. I needed sunshine and sights that weren't savage. Some twenty minutes passed before he finally walked out and joined me by the car.

'I didn't know you was here,' he said. 'If someone had told me, I would've got off the phone.'

'It's all right. What a gorgeous day.' He unlocked the car.

'How'd it go?' he asked, sliding into the driver's seat.

I briefly summarized as we sat in the parking lot, not going anywhere.

'You want to go back to the Peabody?' he asked, tapping the steering wheel with his thumb.

I knew exactly what he wanted to do.

'No,' I said. 'Graceland might be just what the doctor ordered.' He shoved the car in gear and could not suppress a big grin.

'We want the Fowler Expressway,' I said, for I had studied a map.

'I wish you could get me his autopsy report,' he started on that again. 'I want to see for myself what happened to him. Then I'll know and it won't eat at me anymore.'

'What do you want to know?' I looked at him.

'If it was like they said. Did he die on the toilet? That's always bothered the hell out of me. You know how many cases like that I've seen?' He glanced at me. 'Don't matter if you're some drone or the president of the United States. You end up dead with a ring around your butt. Hope to hell that don't happen to me.'

'Elvis was found on the floor of his bathroom. He was nude, and yes, it is believed that he slid off his black porcelain toilet.'

'Who found him?' Marino was entranced in an uneasy way.

'A girlfriend who was staying in the adjoining room. Or that's the story,' I said.

'You mean he walks in there, feels fine, sits down and boom? No warning signs or nothing?'

'All I know is he'd been playing racquetball in the early morning, and seemed fine,' I

said.

'You're kidding.' Marino's curiosity was insatiable. 'Now, I never heard that part. I

didn't know he played racquetball.'

We drove through an industrialized area, with trains and trucks, then past campers for sale. Graceland stood in the midst of cheap motels and stores, and it did not seem so grand given its surroundings. The white mansion with its columns was completely out of place, like a joke or a set for a bad movie.

'Holy shit,' Marino said, as he pulled into the parking lot. 'Will you look at that. Holy smoke.'

He went on as if it were Buckingham Palace as he parked beside a bus.

'You know, I wish I could've known him,' he wistfully said.

'Maybe you would have, had he taken better care of himself.' I opened my door as he lit a cigarette.

For the next two hours, we wandered through gilt and mirrors, shag carpeting and stained-glass peacocks as the voice of Elvis followed us through his world. Hundreds of fans had arrived on buses, and their passion for this man was on their faces as they walked around listening to the tour on cassette. Many of them placed flowers, cards and letters on his grave. Some wept as if they had known him well.

We wandered around his purple and pink Cadillacs, Stutz Blackhawk and museum of other cars. There were his planes and shooting range, and the Hall of Gold, with Grammy showcases of gold and platinum records, and trophies and other awards that amazed even me. The hall was at least eighty feet long. I could not take my eyes off splendid costumes of gold and sequins, and photographs of what was truly an extraordinarily and sensuously beautiful human being. Marino was blatantly gawking, an almost pained expression on his face that reminded me of puppy love as we inched our way through rooms.

'You know, they didn't want him to move here when he bought this place,' he announced, and we were outside now, the fall afternoon cool and bright. 'Some of the snobs in this city never did accept him. I think that hurt him, in a way, might be what got him in the end. You know, why he took painkillers.'

'He took more than that,' I made the point again as we walked.

'If you had been the medical examiner, could you have done his autopsy?' He got out cigarettes.

'Absolutely.'

'And you wouldn't have covered his face?' He looked indignant as he fired up his lighter.

'Of course not.'

'Not me.' He shook his head, sucking in smoke. 'No friggin' way I'd even want to be in the room.'

'I wish he had been my case,' I said. 'I wouldn't have signed him out as a natural death. The world should know the truth, so maybe somebody else would think twice about popping Percodan.'

We were in front of one of the gift shops now, and people were gathered around televisions inside, watching Elvis videos. Through outdoor speakers, he was singing

'Kentucky Rain,' his voice powerful and playful, unlike any other I had ever heard in my life. I started walking again and told the truth.

'I am a fan and have a rather extensive collection of his CDs, if you really must know,' I said to Marino.

He couldn't believe it. He was thrilled.

'And I'd appreciate it if you didn't spread that around.'

'All these years I've known you, and you never told me?' he exclaimed. 'You're not kidding me, right? I never would've thought that. Not in a million years. Hey, so maybe now you know I got taste.'

This went on as we waited for a shuttle to return us to the parking lot, and then it continued in the car.

'I remember watching him on TV once when I was a kid in New Jersey,' Marino was saying. 'My old man came in drunk, as usual, started yelling at me to switch the channel. I'll never forget it.'

He slowed and turned into the Peabody Hotel.

'Elvis was singing "Hound Dog," July 1956. I remember it was my birthday. My

father comes in, cussing, turns the TV off, and I get up and turn it back on. He smacks the side of my head, turns the TV off again. I turn it back on and walk toward him. First time in my life I ever laid a hand on him. I slam him against the wall, get in his face, tell the son of a bitch he ever touches me or my mother again, I'm going to kill him.'

'And did he?' I asked as the valet opened my door.

'Shit no.'

'Then Elvis should be thanked,' I said.