He gasped, inadvertently inhaling some of his food. He coughed so hard, he bucked the wicker tray off the bed. It crashed upside down on the carpet.

Darlene came running into the room and stood wringing her hands, while Raymond went through series of coughing jags that turned him tomato red.

“Water!” he squeaked between fits.

Darlene dashed into the bathroom and returned with a glass. Raymond clutched it and managed to drink a small amount. The bacon and egg that he’d had in his mouth was now distributed in an arc around the bed.

“Are you all right?” Darlene asked. “Should I call 911?”

“The wrong way down,” Raymond croaked. He pointed to his Adam’s apple.

It took Raymond five minutes to recover. By that time, his throat was sore and his voice hoarse. Darlene had cleaned up most of the mess he’d caused except for the coffee stain on the white carpet.

“Did you see the paper?” Raymond asked Darlene.

She shook her head, so Raymond spread it out for her.

“Oh, my,” she said.

“Oh, my!” Raymond repeated sarcastically. “And you were wondering why I was still worried about Franconi!” Raymond forcibly crumpled the paper.

“What are you going to do?” Darlene asked.

“I suppose I have to go back and see Vinnie Dominick,” Raymond said. “He promised me the body was gone. Some job he did!”

The phone rang and Raymond jumped.

“Do you want me to answer it?” Darlene asked.

Raymond nodded. He wondered who could be calling so early.

Darlene picked up the phone and said hello followed by several yeses. Then she put the phone on hold.

“It’s Dr. Waller Anderson,” Darlene said with a smile. “He wants to come on board.”

Raymond exhaled. Until then he’d not been aware he’d been holding his breath. “Tell him we’re pleased, but that I’ll have to call him later.”

Darlene did as she was told and then hung up the phone. “At least that was good news,” she said.

Raymond rubbed his forehead and audibly groaned. “I just wish everything would go as well as the business side.”

The phone rang again. Raymond motioned for Darlene to answer it. After saying hello and listening for a moment, her smile quickly faded. She put the phone on hold and told Raymond it was Taylor Cabot.

Raymond swallowed hard. His already irritated throat had gone dry. He took a quick swig of water and took the receiver.

“Hello, sir!” Raymond managed. His voice was still hoarse.

“I’m calling from my car phone,” Taylor said. “So I won’t be too specific. But I have just been informed of the reemergence of a problem I thought had been taken care of. What I said earlier about this issue still stands. I hope you understand.”

“Of course, sir,” Raymond squeaked. “I will…”

Raymond stopped speaking. He took the phone away from his ear and looked at it. Taylor had cut him off.

“Just what I need,” Raymond said, as he handed the phone back to Darlene. “Another threat from Cabot to close down the program.”

Raymond put his feet over the side of the bed. As he stood up and slipped on his robe, he could still feel the remnants of yesterday’s headache. “I have to go find Vinnie Dominick’s number. I need another miracle.”

By eight o’clock Laurie and the others were down in the “pit” starting their autopsies. Jack had stayed in the ID room to read through the records of Carlo Franconi’s hospital admissions. When he noticed the time, he went back to the forensics area to find out why the chief investigator, Bart Arnold, had not come in that day. Jack was surprised when he found the man in his office.

“Didn’t Janice talk to you this morning?” Jack asked. He and Bart were good enough friends so that Jack thought nothing of marching right into Bart’s office and plopping himself down.

“I just came in fifteen minutes ago,” Bart said. “Janice was already gone.”

“Wasn’t there a message on your desk?” Jack asked.

Bart started to peek around under the clutter. Bart’s desk looked strikingly similar to Jack’s. Bart pulled out a note which he read aloud: “Important! Call Jack Stapleton immediately.” It was signed “Janice.”

“Sorry,” Bart said. “I’d have seen it eventually.” He smiled weakly, knowing there was no excuse.

“I suppose you’ve heard that my floater has been just about conclusively identified as Carlo Franconi,” Jack said.

“So I’ve heard,” Bart said.

“That means I want you to go back to UNOS and all the centers that do liver transplantation with the name.”

“That’s a lot easier than asking them to check if any of their recent transplants is missing,” Bart said. “With all the phone numbers handy I can do that in a flash.”

“I spent most of the night on the phone with the organizations in Europe responsible for organ allocation,” Jack said. “I came up with zilch.”

“Did you talk to Euro Transplant in the Netherlands?” Bart asked.

“I called them first,” Jack said. “They had no record of a Franconi.”

“Then it’s pretty safe to say that Franconi didn’t have his transplant in Europe,” Bart said. “Euro Transplant keeps tabs on the whole continent.”

“The next thing I want is for someone to go visit Franconi’s mother and talk her into giving a blood sample. I want Ted Lynch to run a mitochondrial DNA match with the floater. That will clinch the identity, so it will no longer be presumptive. Also have the investigator ask the woman if her son had a liver transplant. It will be interesting to hear what she has to say.”

Bart wrote Jack’s requests down. “What else?” Bart asked.

“I think that’s it for now,” Jack said. “Janice told me Franconi’s doctor’s name is Daniel Levitz. Is that anyone you have come in contact with?”

“If it’s the Levitz on Fifth, then I’ve come in contact with him.”

“What was your take?” Jack asked.

“High-profile practice with wealthy clientele. He’s a good internist as far as I could tell. The curious thing is that he takes care of a lot of the crime families, so it’s not surprising he was taking care of Carlo Franconi.”

“Different families?” Jack questioned. “Even families in competition with each other?”

“Strange, isn’t it?” Bart said. “It must be one big headache for the poor receptionist who does the scheduling. Can you imagine having two rival crime figures with their bodyguards in the waiting room at the same time?”

“Life’s stranger than fiction,” Jack said.

“Do you want me to go to Dr. Levitz and get what I can on Franconi?” Bart asked.

“I think I’ll do that myself,” Jack said. “I have a sneaking suspicion that when talking with Franconi’s doctor what’s unsaid is going to be more important than what is said. You concentrate on finding out where Franconi got his transplant. I think that’s going to be the key piece of information in this case. Who knows, it might just explain everything.”

“There you are!” a robust voice boomed. Both Jack and Bart looked up to see the doorway literally filled with the imposing figure of Dr. Calvin Washington, the deputy chief.

“I’ve been looking all over for you, Stapleton,” Calvin growled. “Come on! The chief wants to see you.”

Jack gave Bart a wink before getting to his feet. “Probably just another of the many awards he’s given me.”

“I wouldn’t be so glib if I were you,” Calvin snapped, as he made room for Jack to pass. “Once again, you got the old man all riled up.”

Jack followed Calvin to the administration area. Just before going into the front office, Jack caught a glimpse of the waiting room. There were more than the usual number of journalists.

“Something going on?” Jack asked.

“As if I have to tell you,” Calvin grunted.

Jack didn’t understand, but he didn’t have a chance to ask more. Calvin was already asking Mrs. Sanford, Bingham’s secretary, if they could go into the chiefs office.

As it turned out, the timing wasn’t good, and Jack was relegated to sitting on the bench that faced Mrs. Sanford’s desk. Obviously, she was as upset as her boss and treated Jack to several disapproving looks. Jack felt like a naughty schoolboy waiting to see the principal. Calvin used the time by disappearing into his own office to make a few phone calls.