“Was the mother asked whether her son had a liver transplant?”

“Absolutely,” Bard said. “Mrs. Franconi assured the investigator that she didn’t know anything about a transplant. But she did admit that her son had been much healthier lately.”

“To what did she attribute his sudden health?” Jack asked.

“She says he went away to a spa someplace and came back a new man.”

“Did she happen to say where?” Jack questioned.

“She didn’t know,” Bart said. “At least that’s what she told the investigator, and the investigator told me that she thought she was telling the truth.”

Jack nodded as he got to his feet. “Figures,” he said. “Getting a bona fide tip from the mother would have been much too easy.”

“I’ll keep you informed as soon as I start getting callbacks,” Bart said.

“Thanks,” Jack said.

Feeling frustrated, Jack walked through communications to the ID room. He thought maybe some coffee would cheer him up. He was surprised to find Lieutenant Detective Lou Soldano busily helping himself to a cup.

“Uh-oh,” Lou said. “Caught red-handed.”

Jack eyed the homicide detective. He looked better than he had in days. Not only was the top button of his shirt buttoned, but his tie was cinched up in place. On top of that, he was close shaven and his hair was combed.

“You look almost human today,” Jack said.

“I feel that way,” Lou said. “I got my first decent night’s sleep in days. Where’s Laurie?”

“In the pit, I presume,” Jack said.

“I gotta pat her on the back again for making that association with your floater after watching the video,” Lou said. “All of us down at headquarters think it might lead to a break in this case. Already we’ve gotten a couple of good tips from our informers because it’s stimulated a lot of talk in the streets, especially over in Queens.”

“Laurie and I were surprised to see it in the papers this morning,” Jack commented. “That was a lot faster than we expected. Do you have any idea who was the source?”

“I was,” Lou said innocently. “But I was careful not to give any details other than the fact that the body had been identified. Why, is there a problem?”

“Only that Bingham went mildly ballistic,” Jack said. “And I was hauled in as the culprit.”

“Gosh, I’m sorry,” Lou said. “It didn’t dawn on me it could cause a problem here. I guess I should have run it by you. Well, I owe you.”

“Forget it,” Jack said. “It’s already patched up.” He poured himself some coffee, shoveled in some sugar, and added a dollop of cream.

“At least it had the desired effect on the street,” Lou said. “And we learned something important already. The people who killed him were definitely not the same people who took his body and mauled it.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Jack said.

“No?” Lou questioned. “I thought that was the general consensus around here. At least that’s what Laurie said.”

“She now thinks the people that took the body did it because they didn’t want anyone to know he’d had a liver transplant,” Jack said. “I still favor the idea it was done to conceal the individual’s identity.”

“Really,” Lou said pensively, sipping his coffee. “That doesn’t make any sense to me. You see we’re reasonably sure the body was taken on orders from the Lucia crime family, the direct competitors of the Vaccarros, who we understand had Franconi killed.”

“Good grief!” Jack exclaimed. “Are you sure about that?”

“Reasonably,” Lou said. “The informer who divulged it is usually reliable. Of course, we don’t have any names. That’s the frustrating part.”

“Just the idea that organized crime is involved is appalling,” Jack said. “It means that the Lucia people are somehow involved in organ transplants. If that doesn’t make you lose sleep, nothing will.”

“Calm down!” Raymond yelled into the phone. The moment he’d been about to leave the apartment, the phone had rung. When he heard it was Dr. Daniel Levitz on the line, he’d taken the call.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Daniel shouted back. “You’ve seen the papers. They have Franconi’s body! And already a medical examiner by the name of Dr. Jack Stapleton has been in my office asking for Franconi’s records.”

“You didn’t give them, did you?” Raymond asked.

“Of course not!” Daniel snapped. “But he condescendingly reminded me that he could subpoena them. I’m telling you, this guy was very direct and very aggressive, and he vowed to get to the bottom of the case. He suspects Franconi had a transplant. He asked me directly.”

“Do your records have any information at all about his transplant or our program?” Raymond asked.

“No, I followed your suggestions in that regard to the letter,” Daniel said. “But it’s going to look very strange if anybody looks at my records. After all, I’d been documenting Franconi’s deteriorating status for years. Then all of a sudden, his liver function studies are normal without any explanation, nothing! Not even a comment. I’m telling you there’ll be questions, and I don’t know whether I can handle them. I’m very upset. I wish I’d never gotten involved in all this.”

“Now let’s not get carried away,” Raymond said with a calmness that he himself did not feel. “There’s no way Stapleton could get to the bottom of the case. Our concern about an autopsy was purely hypothetical and based on an infinitesimally small chance someone with the IQ of Einstein could figure out the source of the transplant. It’s not going to happen. But I appreciate your calling me about Dr. Stapleton’s visit. As it turns out, I’m on my way this very minute to have a meeting with Vinnie Dominick. With his resources, I’m sure he’ll be able to take care of everything. After all, to a large measure, he’s responsible for the present situation.”

As soon as he could, Raymond got off the phone. Appeasing Dr. Daniel Levitz wasn’t doing anything for his own anxiety. After advising Darlene what to say in the unlikely chance Taylor Cabot called back, he left the apartment. Catching a taxi at the corner of Madison and Sixty-fourth, he instructed the cabbie how to get to Corona Avenue in Elmhurst.

The scene at the Neopolitan Restaurant was exactly the same as it had been the day before, with the addition of the stale smell of a couple of hundred more cigarettes. Vinnie Dominick was sitting in the same booth and his minions were lounging on the same bar stools. The obese bearded man was again busily washing glassware.

Raymond lost no time. After coming through the heavy red velvet drape at the door, he made a beeline for Vinnie’s booth and slid in without invitation. He pushed forward the crumpled newspaper, which he’d painstakingly smoothed out, across the table.

Vinnie gazed down at the headlines nonchalantly.

“As you can see, there’s a problem,” Raymond said. “You promised me the body was gone. Obviously, you screwed up.”

Vinnie picked up his cigarette, took a long drag, then blew the smoke at the ceiling.

“Doc,” Vinnie said. “You never fail but to amaze me. You either have a lot of nerve or you’re crazy. I don’t tolerate this kind of disrespect even from my trusted lieutenants. Either you reword what you just said to me or get up and get yourself lost before I get really pissed.”

Raymond swallowed hard while he got a finger between his neck and his shirt and adjusted his collar. Remembering to whom he was speaking gave him a chill. A mere nod from Vinnie Dominick could find him bobbing around in the East River.

“I’m sorry,” Raymond said meekly. “I’m not myself. I’m very upset. After I saw the headlines, I got a call from the CEO of GenSys, threatening the whole program. I also got a call from Franconi’s doctor, who told me he’d been approached by one of the medical examiners. An ME named Jack Stapleton dropped by his office wanting to see Franconi’s records.”

“Angelo!” Vinnie called out. “Come over here!”