The newspapers and magazines went into the Hyundai through the missing passenger-side window. Jack was halfway around the car when he heard the sound of the backhoe. Shielding his eyes from the sun and peering down through the trees, Jack saw Percy's yellow vehicle start up the cemetery's sinuous roadway. It had its scoop folded up against its rear like a grasshopper's leg. Jack quickly called Harold Langley.

"It's almost four," Harold complained when Jack told him the exhumation was about to get under way.

"It's the best I could do," Jack said. "I even had to bribe the man as it is." Jack didn't say he'd also bribed Walter Strasser.

"All right," Harold said with resignation. "I'll be over in a half-hour. I need to make certain things are ready here. If I'm a little late, do not open the vault until I am on-site! I repeat, do not try to take the lid off the vault until I am there to see it happen! I have to identify the coffin and certify it was in that particular vault."

"I understand," Jack said.

Before Percy arrived, the Park Meadow pickup truck drove up. Enrique and Cesar climbed out and unloaded equipment from the truck's bed. With commendable efficiency and minimal conversation, they staked out Patience's grave site, spread out a waterproof tarpaulin like the one Jack had seen that morning at the grave that was being dug, cut and removed the sod, and stacked the rolled lengths on the tarpaulin's periphery.

By the time Percy rolled onto the scene, the site was ready for the backhoe. Although Percy gave Jack a quick wave, he didn't get out of his cab until he'd positioned the excavating machine to his liking. Only then did he leap out to position his outriggers.

"Sorry I was delayed," Percy called to Jack.

Jack merely waved. He wasn't interested in conversation. All he wanted to do was get the damn coffin out of the ground.

When Percy thought all was in order, he went to work. The scoop dug deeply into the relatively loose soil. The backhoe's diesel roared when the scoop was drawn inward, then lifted. Percy swung the boom around and began piling the dirt on the tarp.

Percy proved skillful at what he was doing, and within a short time, a wide trench with sharply perpendicular walls began to form. By the time he was down approximately four feet, Harold Langley arrived with the Langley-Peerson hearse. He did a three-point turn and backed the vehicle up alongside the deepening trench. With his hands on his hips, he inspected the progress.

"You're getting close," Harold yelled to Percy. "So ease up."

Whether Percy couldn't hear Harold or chose to ignore him Jack couldn't tell. Whatever the reason, he continued digging as if Harold wasn't there. After a short time, there was a jarring hollow sound as the scoop's teeth clunked against the vault's concrete top a foot or so beneath the soil at the bottom of the pit.

Harold went berserk. "I told you to ease up," he yelled, frantically waving his hands in an attempt to get Percy to lift the scoop out of the hole. Jack had to smile. Harold looked completely out of place outside the funeral home, in the sunshine with his somber black suit and pasty-colored skin, like a parody of a punk rocker. Spikes of darkly dyed hair, which had been carefully combed and pomaded over his bald crown, angled off from the side of his head.

Percy continued to ignore Harold's increasingly frenzied gestures. Instead, he drew in the scoop, creating a scraping, screeching noise as the scoop's metal teeth dragged along the vault's concrete lid.

In desperation, Harold dashed to the backhoe's cab and pounded on the glass. Only then did the scoop stop and the roar of the diesel abate. Percy opened the door and looked at the livid funeral director with an innocent questioning expression.

"You're going to break the vault's lid or tear off the eyehooks, you…" Harold yelled, unable to come up with a sufficiently vulgar descriptive noun to express what he thought of Percy. His anger had him tongue-tied.

Content to let the professionals sort out their differences, Jack climbed into his car. He wanted to use his phone, and he thought the car would shield him from the noise of the backhoe's diesel when Percy recommenced digging. The missing passenger-side window faced away from the action.

Jack called Dr. Latasha Wylie. This time, he got her directly.

"I got your message earlier," Latasha admitted. "Sorry I didn't get back to you. Thursdays are our Grand Rounds conference."

"No problem," Jack said. "I'm calling now because they are finally digging up the body as we speak. If all goes smoothly, which I have no reason to suspect, considering the obstacles I've had to deal with to get this far, I'm looking at doing the case between six and seven at the Langley-Peerson Funeral Home. You offered to help. Is that still a possibility?"

"The timing couldn't be better," Latasha said. "Count me in! I've got the bone saw packed and ready to go."

"I hope I'm not taking you away from something more fun."

"The pope was coming in for dinner, but I'll tell him we have to reschedule."

Jack smiled. Latasha had a sense of humor akin to his.

"I'll plan to meet you at the home around six thirty," Latasha continued. "If that's not appropriate for whatever reason, give me a call!"

"Sounds like a plan. Can I offer you dinner after all the fun and games?"

"If it's not too late. A girl needs her beauty sleep."

Jack disconnected. As he'd been speaking, Enrique and Cesar had disappeared into the pit and shovelfuls of dirt had begun flying up into the air. Meanwhile, Percy had started rigging steel cables from the scoop's teeth. Harold had returned to the edge of the pit, staring down into its depths with his hands on his hips. Jack was pleased that he was taking such personal interest.

Switching his attention to his phone, Jack considered calling Laurie. He now knew that he'd missed even what he'd called the worst-case scenario on the phone the night before: getting home that evening. Events had inexorably pushed his departure until tomorrow morning, the day of the wedding. Although his cowardly side tried to talk him into putting off the call until after the autopsy he knew he had to make the call now. But that wasn't the only conundrum: What to tell her about the morning's demolition derby on the Mass Pike was another issue. After a moment's thought, he decided to come clean. He felt the sympathy factor trumped the worry factor, since he could say he was reasonably confident Franco had to be convalescing, at least for a few days, and wouldn't be apt to pop up again. Of course, that didn't exclude Antonio, whoever he was. Jack could recall an image of the man standing behind and to the side of Franco at the Memorial Drive basketball court confrontation, as well as his sitting in court that morning. Jack had no idea how he fit in with the Fasano team, but the fact that he existed had passed through Jack's mind when Percy had started digging Patience's grave. Unconsciously, Jack had touched the revolver in his pocket at the time just to reassure himself it was there. Considering the seriousness of the threat communicated to the girls, it wasn't a wild leap of imagination to think of someone showing up and contesting the exhumation.

Taking a fortifying breath, Jack speed-dialed Laurie's number. There was always the hope he'd get her voicemail. Unfortunately, that didn't happen. Laurie answered quickly.

"Where are you?" she demanded with no preliminaries.

"The bad news is that I'm in a cemetery in Boston. The good news is that I'm not one of the residents."

"This is no time for jokes."

"Sorry! I couldn't help myself. I am in a cemetery. The grave is being opened at this moment."

There was an uncomfortable pause.

"I know you are disappointed," Jack said. "I've done everything I could to speed up the process. I'd hoped to be on my way home at this time. It's not been easy." Jack went on to describe the morning's run-in with Franco. He told her everything that had happened, including the bullet lodging in the rent-a-car's windshield support.