As if nothing had transpired in the interim, Jordan comfortably lapsed back into the discussion of his and Charlene's imminent travel plans. Jack declined the offer of a martini. He couldn't think of anything he would have wanted less. He was entertaining the idea of getting some exercise as soon as he could break away.

Just when Jack was reaching the limits of his patience, a carillon of bells announced visitors at the front door. Jordan didn't move. In the distance, the front door was heard opening, followed by muted voices. A few minutes later, Tony Fasano swept into the room. A few steps behind was another man dressed identically to Tony but intimidatingly larger.

In a reflex show of respect, Jack stood up. He noticed that Jordan didn't.

"Where is this supposed form?" Tony demanded. He had no time for niceties. Jordan pointed with his free hand. The other was holding his martini. Charlene was sitting snugly at his side, toying with the hair on his nape.

Tony snatched up the exhumation permit from the glass-topped table and gave it a rapid once-over with his dark eyes. While he did so, Jack looked him over. In contrast to his earlier blithe demeanor in the courtroom, he was now ostensibly irate. Jack estimated he was in his mid- to late thirties. He had a broad face with rounded features and square teeth. His hands were club-like, with short fingers. Jack's attention switched to the significantly larger associate who was dressed in the same gray suit, black shirt, and black tie. He had come to the room's threshold and stopped. He was obviously Tony's strong-arm crony. The fact that Tony apparently thought he needed such an associate on a visit to a client gave Jack pause.

"What's this nonsense?" Tony demanded, waving the form in Jack's direction.

"I'd hardly call an official city form nonsense," Jack said. "It's an exhumation permit."

"What are you, some kind of hired gun for the defense?"

"Absolutely not."

"He's Dr. Bowman's wife's brother," Jordan explained. "He's in town, staying at his sister's home to make sure justice prevails. That's in his own words."

"Justice, my ass!" Tony growled at Jack. "You have some nerve busting in here, talking to my client."

"Wrong!" Jack said lightly. "I was invited in for a tea party."

"A wiseass on top of it," Tony snapped.

"It's true! He was invited in," Jordan said. "And we did have tea prior to the martinis."

"I'm just trying to pave the way to do an autopsy," Jack explained. "The more information available, the better the chance justice will be served. Someone needs to talk for Patience Stanhope."

"I can't believe this bullshit," Tony said, throwing up his hands in exasperation. Then he waved to his associate. "Franco, get over here and get his dog turd out of Mr. Stanhope's home!"

Franco obediently stepped into the room. He grasped Jack's arm around the elbow, hiking up Jack's shoulder in the process. Jack debated the rationale for as well as the consequences of resisting as Franco started out of the room with Jack in tow. Jack glanced at his host, who'd not budged from the wicker sofa. Jordan appeared surprised at the proceedings but didn't intervene as Tony apologized for the interruption and promised to take care of the intruder.

Maintaining his firm grip on Jack's arm, Franco marched through the formal living room and out into the marbled central hall with the grand staircase, pulling Jack along.

"Can't we discuss this like gentlemen?" Jack said. He began to mildly resist their forward progress as his internal debate continued about how to handle the situation. Jack wasn't keen on getting physical, even though he had been provoked. Franco was the kind of blocky individual Jack associated with linebackers when he played football in college. Running into a mass of similar size and proportion had been the end of Jack's brief football career.

"Shut up!" Franco snapped without even so much as a glance back at Jack.

Franco stopped when he reached the front door. After opening it, he propelled Jack outside, letting go of his arm in the process.

Jack adjusted his jacket and walked down the two steps to the gravel driveway. Parked at an angle behind the Bentley and the Hyundai was a large, black Cadillac of indeterminate vintage. It looked like a houseboat compared with the other two vehicles.

Although Jack had started for his car and had the keys in his hand, he stopped and turned around. His rationality told him to get into the car and drive away, but that same area on his Y chromosome that had admired the Bentley was outraged at this summary dismissal. Franco had stepped out of the house and was standing on the stoop with his legs planted apart and arms akimbo. A taunting smirk lingered on his acne-scarred face. Before anything could be said, Tony barreled out of the house, pushing past Franco. Shaped like a considerably smaller version of the brick-like Franco, he had to swing his hips in a peculiar way to walk with his thick, short legs. He came directly up to Jack, poking into Jack's face with his index finger.

"Let me tell you the reality here, cowboy," Tony snarled. "I got at least a hundred grand tied up in this case, and I'm expecting one hell of a payoff. Are you hearing me? I don't want you screwing things up. Everything is going just fine, so no autopsy. Capisce?"

"I don't know why you are so upset," Jack said. "You could arrange to have your own medical examiner work with me." He knew the autopsy issue was dead in the water, but he felt a certain satisfaction in aggravating Tony. The man who was slightly bug-eyed to begin with and was even more so now. The veins on the sides of his forehead stuck out like dark worms.

"What do I have to say to you?" Tony snarled rhetorically. "I don't want an autopsy! The case is just fine as is. No surprises are needed or wanted. We're going to nail that arrogant, concierge M.D.'s ass, and he deserves it."

"Sounds like you've lost your objectivity," Jack remarked. He couldn't help but notice how Tony's full lips curled back in unmitigated derision as he pronounced "concierge." Jack wondered if the man had latched onto the issue as a personal crusade. There was a touch of zealotry in his expression.

Tony glanced up at Franco for support. "Can you believe this guy? It's like he's from another planet."

"Sounds to me like you are afraid of facts," Jack said.

"I ain't afraid of facts," Tony yelled. "I got plenty of facts. That woman died of a heart attack. She should have been at that hospital an hour earlier, and if she had, we wouldn't be standing here talking."

"What's a 'hah'd attack'?" Jack asked, poking fun at Tony's accent. There hadn't been a hint of an "r" sound, and the "t" was like a soft "d".

"That's it!"Tony blurted. He snapped his fingers for Franco's attention. "Get this idiot in his car and out of my sight."

Franco came down the steps quickly enough to jangle the coins in his pocket. He stepped around Tony and tried to give Jack a shove with the flats of his hands. Jack stood his ground.

"You know, I've been meaning to ask you guys how you coordinate your outfits," Jack said. "Do you decide the night before, or is it something you do first thing in the morning? I mean, it's kind of sweet."

Franco reacted with a speed that caught Jack by surprise. With an open palm, he slapped Jack on the side of his face hard enough to cause Jack's ears to ring. Jack recoiled instantly and returned the favor with a similar and equally effective blow.

Unaccustomed to people unintimidated by his size, Franco was more astonished than Jack at having been struck. As his hand reflexively rose to touch his burning face, Jack grabbed him by the shoulders and kneed him in the groin. Franco doubled over into a crouch for a brief instant, struggling to get his breath. When he came back up, he was holding a gun.