“This one is supposed to be empty,” Marvin said.

Laurie glanced within and felt her pulse race. Inside, was a naked male corpse with no tag on its big toe. The number of the compartment was ninety-four. It wasn’t too far away from number one eleven, where Franconi was supposed to have been.

Marvin slid out the tray. It rattled on its ball bearings in the stillness of the deserted morgue. The body was a middle-aged male with signs of extensive trauma to the legs and torso.

“Well, this explains it,” Laurie said. Her voice reflected an improbable mixture of triumph, anger, and fear. “It’s the unidentified corpse. He’d been a hit-and-run accident on the FDR Drive.”

Jack stepped off the elevator and could hear a phone ringing insistently. As he proceeded down the hall he became progressively aware it had to be his phone, especially since his office was the only one with an open door.

Jack picked up speed and then almost missed his door as he slid on the vinyl flooring. He snapped the phone off the hook just in time. It was Lou.

“Where the hell have you been?” Lou complained.

“I got stuck over at the University Hospital,” Jack said. After Jack had last talked with Lou, Dr. Malovar had appeared and had him look at some forensic slides for him. So soon on the heels of his consulting Malovar, Jack didn’t feel he could refuse.

“I’ve been calling every fifteen minutes,” Lou remarked.

“Sorry,” Jack said.

“I’ve got some surprising information that I’ve been dying to give you,” Lou said. “This is one weird case.”

“That’s not telling me anything I didn’t already know,” Jack said. “What did you learn?”

Movement out of the corner of Jack’s eye attracted his attention. Turning his head, he saw Laurie standing in the doorway. She did not look normal. Her eyes were blazing, her mouth was set in an angry grimace, and her skin was the color of ivory.

“Wait a sec!” Jack said, interrupting Lou. “Laurie, what the hell is the matter?”

“I have to talk with you,” Laurie sputtered.

“Sure,” Jack said. “But could it wait for two minutes?” He pointed at the phone to indicate that he was talking with someone.

“Now!” Laurie barked.

“Okay, okay,” Jack repeated. It was clear to him she was as tense as a piano wire about to snap.

“Listen, Lou,” Jack said into the phone. “Laurie just came in, and she’s upset. Let me call you right back.”

“Hold on!” Laurie snapped. “Is that Lou Soldano you’re talking with?”

“Yeah,” Jack said hesitantly. For an irrational instant, he thought that Laurie was overwrought because he was talking with Lou.

“Where is he?” Laurie demanded.

Jack shrugged. “I guess he’s in his office.”

“Ask him,” Laurie snapped.

Jack posed the question, and Lou answered in the affirmative. Jack nodded to Laurie. “He’s there,” he said.

“Tell him we’re coming down to see him,” Laurie said.

Jack hesitated. He was confused.

“Tell him!” Laurie repeated. “Tell him we’re leaving right away.”

“Did you hear that?” Jack asked Lou. Laurie then disappeared down the corridor toward her office.

“I did,” Lou said. “What’s going on?”

“Damned if I know,” Jack said. “She just barreled in. Unless I call you right back, we’ll be there.”

“Fine,” Lou said. “I’ll wait.”

Jack hung up the phone and rushed out into the hall. Laurie was already on her way back and was struggling into her coat. She eyed him as she brushed past on her way to the elevators. Jack hustled to catch up with her.

“What’s happened?” Jack asked hesitantly. He was afraid to upset her any more than she already was.

“I’m about ninety-nine percent sure how Franconi’s body was taken from here,” Laurie said angrily. “And two things are becoming clear. First, the Spoletto Funeral Home was involved and second, the abduction was surely abetted by someone who works here. And to tell you the truth, I’m not sure which of these two things bothers me more.”

“Jeez, look at that traffic,” Franco Ponti said to Angelo Facciolo. “I’m sure as hell glad we’re going into Manhattan instead of going out.”

Franco and Angelo were in Franco’s black Cadillac, heading west on the Queensborough Bridge. It was five-thirty, the height of rush hour. Both men were dressed as if they were going to a ritzy dinner.

“What order do you want to do this in?” Franco asked.

Angelo shrugged. “Maybe the girl first,” he said. His face twisted into a slight smile.

“You’re looking forward to this, aren’t you?” Franco commented.

Angelo raised his eyebrows as much as his facial scar tissue would allow. “Five years I’ve been dreaming about seeing this broad professionally,” he said. “I guess I never thought I would get my chance.”

“I know I don’t have to remind you that we follow orders,” Franco said. “To the letter.”

“Cerino was never so specific,” Angelo said. “He’d just tell us to do a job. He didn’t tell us how to do it.”

“That’s why Cerino is in jail and Vinnie is running the show,” Franco said.

“I’ll tell you what,” Angelo said. “Why don’t we do a drive by Jack Stapleton’s place. I’ve already been inside Laurie Montgomery’s apartment, so I know what we’re getting ourselves into. But I’m a little surprised by this other address. West One Hundred-sixth Street isn’t where I’d expect a doctor to be living.”

“I think a drive-by sounds smart,” Franco said.

When they reached Manhattan, Franco continued west on Fifty-ninth Street. He rounded the southern end of Central Park and headed north on Central Park West.

Angelo thought back to the fateful day on the pier of the American Fresh Fruit Company when Laurie caused the explosion. Angelo had had skin problems from chicken pox and acne, but it had been the burns he suffered because of Laurie Montgomery that had turned him into what he called a “freak.”

Franco posed a question, but Angelo hadn’t heard him because of his angry musings. He had to ask him to repeat it.

“I bet you’d like to stick it to that Laurie Montgomery,” Franco said. “If it had been me, I sure would.”

Angelo let out a sarcastic laugh. Unconsciously, he moved his left arm so that he could feel the reassuring mass of his Walther TPH auto pistol snuggled into its shoulder holster.

Franco turned left onto One Hundred-sixth Street. They passed a playground on the right that was in full use, particularly the basketball court. There were lots of people standing on the sidelines.

“It must be on the left,” Franco said.

Angelo consulted the piece of paper he was holding with Jack’s address. “It’s coming up,” he said. “It’s the building with the fancy top.”

Franco slowed and then stopped to double-park a few buildings short of Jack’s on the opposite side of the street. A car behind beeped. Franco lowered his window and motioned for the car to pass. There was cursing as the car did so. Franco shook his head. “You hear that guy? Nobody in this city has any manners.”

“Why would a doctor live there?” Angelo said. He was eyeing Jack’s building through the front windshield.

Franco shook his head. “Doesn’t make any sense to me. The building looks like a dump.”

“Amendola said he was a little strange,” Angelo said. “Apparently, he rides a bike from here all the way down to the morgue at First Avenue and Thirtieth Street every day.”

“No way!” Franco commented.

“That’s what Amendola said,” Angelo said.

Franco’s eyes scanned the area. “The whole neighborhood is a dump. Maybe he’s into drugs.”

Angelo opened the car door and got out.

“Where are you going?” Franco asked.

“I want to check to make sure he lives here,” Angelo said. “Amendola said his apartment is the fourth floor rear. I’ll be right back.”

Angelo rounded the car and waited for a break in the traffic. He crossed the street and climbed to the stoop in front of Jack’s building. Calmly, he pushed open the outer door and glanced at the mailboxes. Many were broken. None had locks that worked.