Using the Hertz map, he'd been able to get into Boston proper easily enough. From the garage, it had been a relatively short and quite pleasant walk to the courthouse.

Once he was out of the dimly lit garage, Jack pulled to the side of the road and consulted the Hertz map. It took him a while to find Albany Street, but once he had, he was able to orient himself with the help of the Boston Common, which was to his right, and the Boston Public Garden, which was to his left. The garden was ablaze with late-spring flowers. Jack had forgotten what a charming, attractive city Boston was once you got into it.

While he drove, which took most of his concentration, he tried to think of any other way to help Craig's cause. It seemed an ironic absurdity that Craig was going to be found liable for malpractice because he'd been gracious enough to make a house call.

Albany Street was relatively easy to find, as was the medical examiner's office. Making it even easier was a multi-story public parking facility immediately adjacent. Fifteen minutes later, Jack was talking through a protective glass screen to an attractive young female receptionist. In contrast to the outdated medical examiner's facility in New York, the Boston headquarters was spanking new. Jack couldn't help being both envious and impressed.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked cheerfully.

"I imagine you can," Jack said. He went on to explain who he was and that he wanted to talk to one of the medical examiners. He said he wasn't choosy, just whoever was available.

"I think they are all in the autopsy room, doctor," the woman said. "But let me check."

While the woman made several calls, Jack glanced around. It was a utilitarian decor with the characteristic odor of fresh paint. There was an office for the liaison with the police department, and through the open door Jack saw a uniformed officer. There were several other rooms, but Jack could only guess at their function.

"Dr. Latasha Wylie is available after all, and she'll be right down," the receptionist said. She had to practically yell for Jack to hear through the glass partition.

Jack thanked her and began to wonder exactly where the Park Meadow Cemetery was. If Craig and Alexis wanted him to do the autopsy he was going to have to move very quickly since they were already at day two of a predicted five-day trial. Actually doing the autopsy wouldn't be the challenge. The challenge would be the bureaucratic red tape, and in a city as old as Boston, Massachusetts, Jack feared the red tape might be formidable. "Dr. Stapleton?" a voice questioned.

Jack started. He'd been nosily and surreptitiously glancing into one of the other rooms off the lobby, trying to figure out its role. Guiltily, Jack turned to face a surprisingly youthful African-American woman with flowing, coal-black tresses and beauty-pageant good looks. Jack went from feeling guilty to being momentarily nonplussed. There had been too many times lately when he'd faced professional female medical colleagues who looked to him like college coeds. It made him feel ancient.

After introductions, which included Jack's showing his ME badge just to emphasize that he wasn't some deranged creep off the street, he gave a thumbnail sketch of what he wanted – namely, information about the exhumation procedure in Massachusetts. Latasha immediately invited Jack upstairs to her office, which made Jack even more envious when he compared it to his own. The room wasn't huge or sumptuous, but it had both a desk and work area, so the inevitable paperwork and microscopic work could be kept separated such that one didn't have to be put away to switch to the other. It also had windows. It was only a view of the nearby parking garage, but it let in a significant amount of daylight, something he didn't see in his office.

Once in the office, Jack gave a detailed account of Craig's malpractice case. He stretched reality by saying Craig was one of the city's premier internists even though he practiced in the suburbs, and by suggesting he was going to be found liable for the deceased's death unless the deceased was exhumed and autopsied.

His rationale for this embellishment was that he thought that if the Boston ME 's office was motivated enough, they could slice through any bureaucratic problems. In New York, that would have been the case. Unfortunately, Latasha disabused him of this idea immediately.

"We medical examiners in Massachusetts cannot get involved in ordering an exhumation unless it's a criminal case," she observed. "And even then, it has to go through the district attorney, who in turn has to go to a judge to get a court order."

Jack groaned inwardly. Bureaucracy was rearing its ugly head.

"It's a lengthy process," Latasha continued. "Essentially, it involves this office convincing the district attorney there is a high suspicion of criminality. On the other hand, if there is no crime involved, then it's a pro forma procedure here in Massachusetts."

Jack's ears pricked up. "Really? How is that?"

"All you need is a permit."

Jack felt his pulse quicken. "And how do you get a permit?"

"From the town clerk where the cemetery is located or from the Board of Health if it's here in Boston. The easiest way would be to contact the funeral director who did the burial in the first place. If the funeral home is in the same town as the cemetery, and it usually is, he knows the town clerk or Board of Health personnel personally. It could probably be obtained in an hour with the right contacts."

"That's good news," Jack said.

"If you go ahead with an autopsy, we could help, not doing it here, of course, since this is a public facility, and I can't imagine our chief authorizing something like that. But we could help by providing specimen jars and fixatives, and help processing the specimens. We could also help with toxicology if it's appropriate."

"Will the death certificate have the funeral home on it?"

"Absolutely. Disposition of the body has to be recorded. What's the name again?"

"Patience Stanhope. She died about nine months ago."

Latasha used her computer to bring up the death certificate. "Here it is. September eighth, 2005, to be exact."

"Really?" Jack questioned. He got up and peered over Latasha's shoulder at the date. It seemed a coincidence. September 8, 2005, had been significant in his life as well. It had been the date of the dinner at Elio's when he and Laurie had gotten engaged.

"It's the Langley-Peerson Funeral Home in Brighton who took the body. Want me to write the address and phone number down?"

"Thank you," Jack said. He was still marveling about the date. He retook his seat. He wasn't superstitious, but the coincidence intrigued him.

"What's the time frame? When do you see yourself doing this autopsy?" Latasha asked.

"To be perfectly honest, it hasn't been decided to actually do it," Jack admitted. "It's up to the doctor and his wife. It's my feeling it would help, which is the reason I suggested it, and why I'm looking into how to go about it."

"There is something about the exhumation permit I forgot to mention," Latasha said as an afterthought.

"Oh," Jack said, reining in his enthusiasm.

"You'll need the approval and signature of the next of kin."

Jack's shoulders visibly sagged. He chided himself for not remembering what was now so obvious. Of course the next of kin would have to agree. He'd allowed his zeal of helping his sister overwhelm his rationality. He couldn't imagine the plaintiff agreeing to allow his dead wife to be dug up in hopes of helping the defense. But then he remembered that stranger things have happened, and since doing an autopsy might be the only thing he could offer Alexis, he wasn't going to accept an unchallenged defeat. But then again, there was Laurie back in New York. If he were to do an autopsy, it would mean staying in Boston, which would get her upset. Like so many things in life, the situation was far more complicated than he'd like.