The receptionist reappeared, and with embarrassing subservience, she guided Jack back to the doctor’s private study. Once Jack was inside, she closed the door.

Dr. Levitz was not in the room. Jack sat in one of the two chairs facing the desk and surveyed the surroundings. There were the usual framed diplomas and licenses, the family pictures, and even the stacks of unread medical journals. It was all familiar to Jack and gave him a shudder. From his current vantage point, he wondered how he’d lasted as long as he had in a similar, confining environment.

Dr. Daniel Levitz came through a second door. He was dressed in his white coat complete with pocket full of tongue depressors and assorted pens. A stethoscope hung from his neck. Compared with Jack’s muscular, thick-shouldered, six-foot frame, Dr. Levitz was rather short and almost fragile in appearance.

Jack immediately noticed the man’s nervous tics, which involved slight twists and nods of his head. Dr. Levitz gave no indication he was aware of these movements. He shook hands stiffly with Jack and then retreated behind the vast expanse of his desk.

“I’m very busy,” Dr. Levitz said. “But, of course, I always have time for the police.”

“I’m not the police,” Jack said. “I’m Dr. Jack Stapleton from the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner of New York.”

Dr. Levitz’s head twitched as did his sparse mustache. He appeared to swallow. “Oh,” he commented.

“I wanted to talk to you briefly about one of your patients,” Jack said.

“My patients’ conditions are confidential,” Dr. Levitz said, as if by rote.

“Of course,” Jack said. He smiled. “That is, of course, until they have died and become a medical examiner’s case. You see, I want to ask you about Mr. Carlo Franconi.”

Jack watched as Dr. Levitz went through a number of bizarre motions, making Jack glad the man had not gone into brain surgery.

“I still respect my patients’ confidentiality,” he said.

“I can understand your position from an ethical point of view,” Jack said. “But I should remind you that we medical examiners in the State of New York have subpoena power in such a circumstance. So, why don’t we just have a conversation? Who knows, we might be able to clear things up.”

“What do you want to know?” Dr. Levitz asked.

“I learned from reading Mr. Franconi’s extensive hospital history that he’d had a long bout with liver problems leading to liver failure,” Jack said.

Dr. Levitz nodded, which caused his right shoulder to jerk several times. Jack waited until these involuntary movements subsided.

“To come right to the point,” Jack said, “the big question is whether or not Mr. Franconi had a liver transplant.”

At first Levitz did not speak. He merely twitched. Jack was determined to wait the man out.

“I don’t know anything about a liver transplant,” Dr. Levitz said finally.

“When did you see him last?” Jack asked.

Dr. Levitz picked up his phone and asked one of his assistants to bring in Mr. Carlo Franconi’s record.

“It will just be a moment,” Dr. Levitz said.

“In one of Mr. Franconi’s hospital admissions about three years ago, you specifically wrote that it was your opinion that a transplant would be necessary. Do you remember writing that?”

“Not specifically,” Dr. Levitz said. “But I was aware of a deteriorating condition, as well as Mr. Franconi’s failure to stop drinking.”

“But you never mentioned it again,” Jack said. “I found that surprising when it was easy to see a gradual but relentless deterioration in his liver function tests over the next couple of years.”

“A doctor can only do so much to influence his patient’s behavior,” Dr. Levitz said.

The door opened and the deferential receptionist brought in a fat folder. Wordlessly she placed it on Dr. Levitz’s desk and withdrew.

Dr. Levitz picked it up and, after a quick glance, said that he’d seen Carlo Franconi a month previously.

“What did you see him for?”

“An upper respiratory infection,” Dr. Levitz said. “I prescribed some antibiotic. Apparently, it worked.”

“Did you examine him?”

“Of course!” Dr. Levitz said with indignation. “I always examine my patients.”

“Had he had a liver transplant?”

“Well, I didn’t do a complete physical,” Dr. Levitz explained. “I examined him appropriately in reference to his complaint and his symptoms.”

“You didn’t even feel his liver, knowing his history?” Jack asked.

“I didn’t write it down if I did,” Dr. Levitz said.

“Did you do any blood work that would reflect liver function?” Jack asked.

“Only a bilirubin,” Dr. Levitz said.

“Why only a bilirubin?”

“He’d been jaundiced in the past,” Dr. Levitz said. “He looked better, but I wanted to document it.”

“What was the result?” Jack asked.

“It was within normal limits,” Dr. Levitz said.

“So, except for his upper respiratory infection, he was doing quite well,” Jack said.

“Yes, I suppose you could say that,” Dr. Levitz said.

“Almost like a miracle,” Jack said. “Especially as you’ve already mentioned the man was unwilling to curb his alcohol intake.”

“Perhaps he finally had stopped,” Dr. Levitz said. “After all, people can change.”

“Would you mind if I looked at his record?” Jack asked.

“Yes, I would mind,” Dr. Levitz said. “I’ve already stated my ethical position about confidentiality. If you want these records, you will have to subpoena them. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be obstructive.”

“That’s quite all right,” Jack said agreeably. He stood up. “I’ll let the state’s attorney’s office know how you feel. Meanwhile, thanks for your time, and if you don’t mind, I’ll probably be talking with you in the near future. There’s something very strange about this case, and I intend to get to the bottom of it.”

Jack smiled to himself, as he undid the locks on his bike. It was so obvious that Dr. Levitz knew more than he was willing to say. How much more, Jack didn’t know, but certainly it added to the intrigue. Jack had an intuitive sense that not only was this the most interesting case he’d had so far in his forensics career, it might be the most interesting case he’d ever have.

Returning to the morgue, he stashed his bike in the usual location, went up to his office to drop off his coat, then went directly to the DNA lab. But Ted wasn’t ready for him.

“I need a couple more hours,” Ted said. “And I’ll call you! You don’t have to come up here.”

Disappointed but undeterred, Jack descended a floor to histology and checked on the progress of his permanent microscopic sections on what was now labeled the Franconi case.

“My god!” Maureen complained. “What do you expect, miracles? I’m rushing your slides through ahead of everybody else, but still you’ll be lucky to get them today.”

Still trying to keep his spirits up and his curiosity at bay, Jack rode the elevator down to the second floor and sought out John DeVries in the lab.

“The assays for cyclosporin A and FK506 are not easy,” John snapped. “Besides, we’re backed up as it is. You can’t expect instant service with the budget I have to work with.”

“Okay!” Jack said agreeably, as he backed out of the lab. He knew that John was an irascible individual, and if aroused, he could be passive aggressive. If that happened, it might be weeks before Jack got the test results.

Descending yet another floor, Jack went into Bart Arnold’s office and implored the man to give him something since he’d struck out every place else.

“I’ve made a lot of calls,” Bart said. “But you know the situation with voice mail. You almost never get anyone on the phone anymore. So, I got a lot of messages out there, waiting for callbacks.”

“Jeez,” Jack complained. “I feel like a teenage girl with a new dress, waiting to get asked to the prom.”

“Sorry,” Bart said. “If it’s any consolation, we did manage to get a blood sample from Franconi’s mother. It’s already up in the DNA lab.”