Laurie stopped in mid-sentence. For her, the thought that suddenly raced through her mind like a tornado was the equivalent of being rudely slapped in the face. It brought an instantaneous adrenaline rush that caused her pulse to race and the ends of her fingers to tingle. For a moment, she even felt dizzy, such that she had to grasp the edge of her chair to keep from toppling over.

Luckily, the dizziness passed as quickly as it had appeared. She could tell Roger was talking, but for the moment, she couldn't hear him, as the idea that had occurred to her kept reverberating in her mind with an effect akin to claps of thunder. The old adage "Be careful what you wish for because it might come to pass" again flashed into her consciousness.

Laurie stood up abruptly, effectively pulling Roger to his feet as well, since he still had his hand on her shoulder. All at once, she wanted to be by herself.

"Laurie!" Roger demanded. Using his two hands, he gave her shoulders a shake. "What's wrong? You didn't finish your sentence."

"I'm sorry," Laurie said in a voice that was calmer than she felt. She peeled Roger's reluctant hands from her shoulders. "I have to go."

"I can't let you go like this. What are you thinking about? Are you depressed?"

"No, I'm not depressed. Not yet, anyway. I have to go, Roger. I'll call you later."

Laurie turned to leave, but Roger grabbed her arm. "I have to be sure you won't hurt yourself in any way."

Catching Roger's drift, Laurie shook her head. "Rest assured, I'm not going to hurt myself. I just need to be alone for a while." She extracted her arm from Roger's grasp.

"You'll call me."

"Yes, I'll call you," Laurie said as she opened the door.

"Am I going to see you tonight?"

Laurie hesitated in the doorway and then turned around. "Tonight's not going to work. But I'll be in touch."

Laurie left Roger's office, rounded the nearest secretary's desk, and walked deliberately down the hallway, resisting the inclination to run. She could feel Roger's eyes on her back, but she didn't turn around. Passing through the doorway that separated the administrative area from the rest of the hospital, she slipped into the crowd. Once again, the anonymity was comforting. Instead of dashing out of the building, which was her initial intention, she regained her seat opposite the information booth and spent the next quarter of an hour thinking of the consequences of her disturbing notion.

eleven

THE THURSDAY-AFTERNOON conference at the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner was a command performance, according to the dictates of the chief, Harold Bingham. Although he frequently did not attend himself, citing pressing administrative duties, everyone else under his command in the five boroughs of New York had to attend. The rule was strictly enforced by the deputy chief, Calvin Washington, unless prior dispensation had been granted, which required deathbed illness or the equivalent. Consequently, the forensic pathologists from the branch offices in Brooklyn, Queens, and Staten Island all had to make the weekly hajj to Mecca for the questionable enlightenment that the conferences offered. For those medical examiners assigned to the home office serving Manhattan and the Bronx, the onus was far less of an imposition, since all they had to do was take the elevator from the fifth floor down to the first.

Laurie generally found the conferences entertaining to a degree, particularly the informal social period prior to the meeting. It was during this time that the examiners traded war stories of the week's more intellectually challenging or plainly bizarre cases. Laurie rarely contributed to these "sidewalk" discussions but enjoyed listening. Unfortunately, enjoyment was not the situation on this particular Thursday. After learning that she was positive for the BRCA1 marker and then having the disturbing worry emerge in Roger's office, she felt shell-shocked, almost numb, and certainly didn't feel social in the slightest. Coming into the room, she didn't join the group around the coffee and donuts, but rather had taken a seat near the door to the hall in hopes of possibly slipping away at some convenient and unobtrusive time.

The conference room was of moderate size, and its decor had a particularly tired look that suggested it was much older than its purported forty-four years. To the left, where a door communicated directly into Bingham's office, stood a scarred and scratched lectern with its own little picture lamp that no longer worked and a goose-necked microphone that did. Arrayed in front of the podium were four rows of equally battered seats fixed to the floor and outfitted with hinged writing surfaces. The seats gave the room the appearance of a small lecture hall and allowed it to fulfill its major function: Bingham's news conferences. In the back of the room stood a library table that presently supported the refreshments, and around which were grouped the city's medical examiners: everyone except the two higher-ups and Jack. A babble of voices interspersed with laughter floated around the room.

Unlike Laurie, Jack did not like anything about the Thursday conferences. Jack had had a run-in with one of the medical examiners from the Brooklyn office over the sister of one of Jack's basketball buddies and refused to even socialize with the man. The same feelings were extended to the branch chief when he supported his underling in the dispute. Even though Jack denied that it was deliberate, he always arrived late, to Calvin's irritation.

The door to Bingham's office opened, and Calvin's massive body appeared. He was clutching a folder, which he opened on the lectern. His dark eyes scanned the room, briefly connecting with Laurie's before moving on. He was obviously taking attendance.

"All right!" Calvin bellowed when no one paid him any heed. Thanks to the microphone, his voice reverberated around the room like a kettledrum. "Let's get under way here."

Calvin kept his head bent down while he organized his papers on the lectern's slanted surface. The medical examiners quickly broke off from their conversations and filed into the rows of chairs to take their seats. Calvin began the meeting the way Bingham used to, back when the chief regularly attended. First, he launched into a summary of the previous week's statistics.

As Calvin's voice droned on, Laurie's mind wandered. Although she was usually good at slipping into her professional persona on command and leaving her personal problems for another time, she couldn't do it presently. Her new worry kept popping back unpleasantly into her consciousness, such that it even trumped the BRCA1 concern. The problem was that she had no idea what she would do if her fears were realized.

The hall door immediately to Laurie's left opened, and Jack walked in. Calvin stopped his presentation, glared at Jack, and said sarcastically, "I'm so glad you were able to grace us with your presence, Dr. Stapleton."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Jack answered, causing Laurie to wince. With her fear of authority figures, she couldn't understand how Jack could be so transparently brazen with Calvin. She thought it was a kind of masochism on Jack's part.

Jack looked down at Laurie with an exaggerated questioning expression. She was sitting in the seat he always preferred, and for the same reason Laurie had taken it. He gave her shoulder a squeeze before taking the aisle seat directly in front of her. With Jack's head in the line of her vision, she found it even harder to concentrate on what Calvin was saying. It was a visual reminder that, one way or the other, she was going to have to have a serious conversation with him.

After giving the statistics, Calvin launched into his usual discussion of cogent administrative issues that usually involved some decrease in city funding, and this week's conference was no different. Instead of listening, Laurie watched Jack. Although he had just sat down, his head started the telltale bobbing that suggested that he had already begun falling asleep, causing her to worry that Calvin was going to notice and fly into a rage. When authority figures got angry, even if it wasn't directed at her, it still made her feel uncomfortable.