"I say! What do we have here?" Jordan questioned, immediately taking the bait. Bending forward, he glanced at the card be-fore picking it up to examine it more closely. Charlene took it from him and looked at it as well.

"What's a medical examiner?" Charlene asked.

"It's the same thing as a coroner," Jordan explained.

"Not quite," Jack said. "A coroner historically is an appointed or elected official tasked to look into causes of death, who may or may not have any specific training. A medical examiner is a medical doctor who's had graduate training in forensic pathology."

"I stand corrected," Jordan said. "You were about to tell me how you intend to help with my suit, which I have to say I'm finding rather a bore."

"And why is that?"

"I thought it would be exciting, like watching a boxing match. Instead, it is tedious, like watching two people arguing."

"I'm certain I could make it more interesting," Jack said, snatching the opportunity Jordan 's unexpected opinion about the trial afforded him.

"Please be more specific."

"I like your simile comparing the trial to boxing, but the reason the match is uninteresting is because the two boxers are blindfolded."

"That's a droll image. Two fighters unable to see each other and just flailing away."

"Precisely! And they are blinded because they don't have all the information they need."

"What do they need?"

"They are arguing about the care of Patience Stanhope without Patience being able to tell her side of the story."

"And what story would she tell if she could tell it?"

"We won't know unless I can ask her."

"I don't understand what you two are talking about," Charlene complained. "Patience Stanhope is dead and buried."

"I believe he's talking about doing an autopsy."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about."

"You mean dig her up?" Charlene questioned with consternation. "Yuck!"

"It's not all that uncommon," Jack said. "It's been less than a year. I guarantee something will be learned by doing it, and the boxing match, as you call it, will be in broad daylight and far more engaging."

"Like what?" Jordan questioned. He'd gone quiet, pensive.

"Like what portion of her heart was involved with the heart attack, how it progressed, whether there was any preexisting condition. Only when these issues are known can the question of her care be addressed."

Jordan chewed his lower lip while he considered what Jack had said.

Jack was encouraged. He knew what he was trying to do was still an uphill struggle, but Jordan had not dismissed the idea outright. Of course, he might not realize that permission to do the exhumation rested with him.

"Why are you offering to do this?" Jordan asked. "Who's paying you?"

"No one is paying me. I can honestly say that I'm motivated to see that justice prevails. At the same time, I have a conflict of interest. My sister is married to the defendant, Dr. Craig Bowman."

Jack carefully watched Jordan 's face for signs of anger or irritation and saw neither. To the man's credit, he seemed to be rationally mulling over Jack's comments without emotion.

"I'm all for justice," Jordan said at length. For the moment, his mild English accent had abandoned him. "But it seems to me it would be hard for you to be completely objective."

"Fair enough," Jack said. "It's a good point, but if I were to do an autopsy, I would preserve all specimens for expert review. I could even get a medical examiner to assist me who had no conflict."

"Why wasn't an autopsy done originally?"

"Not all deaths result in autopsies. If there had been any question of the manner of death, an autopsy could have been ordered by the medical examiner's office. At the time, there were no questions. Patience had had a documented heart attack and was attended by her physician. If the lawsuit had been anticipated, an autopsy could have been done."

"I hadn't planned on filing suit, although I wouldn't be honest if I didn't admit your brother-in-law angered me that night. He was arrogant and accused me of not communicating adequately about Patience's condition when I was pleading with him to take Patience directly to the hospital."

Jack nodded. He'd read about this particular point in both Jordan's and Craig's depositions, and had no intention of getting involved in the issue. He knew that the origins of many malpractice suits involved poor communication from the physician or his staff.

"In fact, I hadn't intended to file suit until Mr. Anthony Fasano contacted me."

Jack's ears pricked up. "The attorney sought you out and not vice versa?"

"Absolutely. Just like you did. He came to the door and rang the bell."

"And he talked you into filing."

"He did, and for essentially the same justification you are using: justice. He said it was my responsibility to see that the public was protected from doctors like Dr. Bowman and what he called the 'inequities and inequalities' of concierge medicine. He was quite persistent and persuasive."

Good Lord, Jack thought to himself. Jordan 's gullibility for the come-on of an ambulance-chasing personal-injury lawyer undermined the regard Jack had begun to feel for the man. Jack reminded himself that the man was a phony: a wealthy phony, but a phony nonetheless who had married up. Having laid the groundwork, Jack decided it was time to go for the jugular and get the hell out. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the exhumation permit. He placed it on the table in front of Jordan. "In order for me to do the autopsy, you would have to merely sign this authorization. I'll take care of the rest."

"What kind of paper is it?" Jordan questioned, his put-on accent returning. He leaned over and glanced at it. "I'm not a lawyer."

"It's just a routine form," Jack said. He could think of several sarcastic quips, but he restrained himself.

Jordan 's response caught Jack off guard. Instead of any more questions, he reached into the pocket of his jacket, but unfortunately not for a pen. Instead, he pulled out a cell phone. He speed-dialed a number and sat back. He eyed Jack as the call went through.

"Mr. Fasano," Jordan said while looking out at his lush lawn. "I've just been handed a form by a medical examiner from New York that might impact the trial. It's to give my permission to dig up Patience for an autopsy. I want you to view it before I sign."

Even from where he was sitting more than ten feet away, Jack could hear Tony Fasano's response. Jack couldn't understand the actual words, but the tone was quite clear.

"All right, all right!" Jordan repeated. "I shan't sign it until you review it. You have my word. He flipped his phone shut, then looked at Jack. He's on his way over."

The last thing Jack wanted was to involve the lawyers. As he'd told Alexis the day before, he didn't like lawyers, particularly personal-injury lawyers with their self-serving claims of fighting for the little guy. After the plane crash, he'd been hounded by lawyers trying to get him to sue the commuter airline.

"Maybe I'll head out," Jack said, getting to his feet. He couldn't help but feel that with Tony Fasano involved the chances of getting an authorization signature were close to zero. "You have my cell phone number on my card in case you want to get ahold of me after your lawyer checks out the form."

"No, I want to deal with this now," Jordan said. "If I don't do it now, I don't do it at all, so sit down! Mr. Fasano will be here before you know it. How about a cocktail. It's after five, so it's legal." He smiled at his hackneyed quip and rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

Jack eased himself back down into the wicker chair. He resigned himself to the visit's conclusion, whatever it was to be.

Jordan must have had a hidden call button, because the woman in the French maid outfit suddenly materialized. Jordan asked for a pitcher of vodka martinis and a dish of olives.