“I usually don’t get personal calls here,” Laurie said. “It took me by surprise.”

“A dozen roses. A limo. Must be an interesting guy.”

“He is interesting,” Laurie said. “In fact, he said something last night that I think you’ll find interesting.”

“That’s hard to believe,” Lou said. “But I’m all ears.”

“The man on the phone is a doctor,” Laurie said. “His name is Jordan Scheffield. You may have heard of him. Supposedly he’s quite well known. At any rate, he told me last night that he has been taking care of the man you are so interested in: Mr. Paul Cerino.”

“No fooling!” Lou said. He was surprised. He was also interested.

“Jordan Scheffield is an ophthalmologist,” Laurie said.

“Wait a sec,” Lou said. He held up a hand while he reached into his jacket and pulled out a tattered pad of paper and a ballpoint pen. “Let me write this down.” While he bit on his tongue, he wrote out Jordan ’s name. Then he asked Laurie to spell ophthalmologist.

“Is that the same as optometrist?” Lou asked.

“No,” Laurie said. “An ophthalmologist is a medical doctor trained to do surgery as well as manage medical eye care. An optometrist is trained more to correct visual problems with eyeglasses and contact lenses.”

“What about opticians?” Lou asked. “I’ve always mixed these guys up. No one ever explained it to me.”

“Opticians fill the eyeglass prescriptions,” Laurie said. “Either from an ophthalmologist or an optometrist.”

“Now that I have that straight,” Lou said. “Tell me about Dr. Scheffield and Paul Cerino.”

“That’s the most interesting part,” Laurie said. “ Jordan said that he was treating Mr. Cerino for acid burns of the eyes. Someone had thrown acid in Paul Cerino’s eyes to blind him.”

“You don’t say,” Lou said. “That could explain a lot. Like maybe these two gangland-style executions of Lucia people. And what about Frankie’s eye? Could that have been acid?”

“Yes,” Laurie said. “It could have been acid. It will be tough to determine since Frankie was in the East River, but on the whole, the damage to his eye was definitely consistent with an acid burn.”

“Can you try to have your lab document that it was acid? This could be the start of the lucky breakthrough I’ve been praying for.”

“Of course we’ll try,” Laurie said. “But like I said, his having been in the river might make it tough. We’ll also examine the bullet in the present case. Maybe it will match the one from Frankie.”

“I haven’t been this excited for months,” Lou said.

“Come on,” Laurie said. “Let’s see what we can do.”

Together they went down to the lab. Laurie found the director, a toxicologist, Dr. John DeVries. He was a tall, thin man with gaunt cheeks and an academic’s pallor. He was dressed in a soiled lab coat several sizes too small.

Laurie made introductions, then asked if any of the results on the previous day’s cases were available.

“Some might be,” John told her. “You have the accession numbers?”

“Absolutely,” Laurie said.

“Come in my office,” John said. He led them to his office, a narrow cubbyhole filled with books and stacks of scientific journals.

John leaned across his desk and punched a few keys on his computer. “What are the accession numbers?” he asked.

Laurie gave Duncan Andrews’ number and John entered it.

“There was cocaine in the blood and urine,” John said, reading off the screen. “And apparently in high concentration. But this was only by thin-layer chromatography.”

“Any contaminants or other drugs?” Laurie asked.

“Not so far,” John said, straightening up. “But we’ll be using gas chromatography and mass spectrometry as soon as we have time. We got a lot of work around here.”

“This was a cocaine overdose case but it’s a little atypical in that the deceased did not appear to be a habitual user. And if he did use drugs-which his family swears he didn’t-it wasn’t interfering with his life. The man was very successful, a solid citizen: the kind of person you do not expect to overdose. So his death was unusual perhaps, but not extraordinary. Cocaine can be an upscale drug. But now I’ve got two more OD’s with similar profiles the very next day. I’m concerned that a batch of cocaine may be poisoned with some kind of contaminant. That’s what may be killing these seemingly casual users. I’d really appreciate it if you ran the samples sooner rather than later. We might be able to save some lives.”

“I’ll do what I can,” John said. “But as I told you, we’re busy. Was there another case you wanted to know about now?”

Laurie gave Frank DePasquale’s accession number and John consulted the screen. “Only a trace of cannabinoid in the urine. Otherwise, nothing on screening.”

“There was a sample of eye tissue,” Laurie said. “Find anything there?”

“Hasn’t been processed yet,” John said.

“The eye appeared burned,” Laurie added. “We now suspect acid. Could you look for acid? It might be important if we can document it.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

Laurie thanked John, then motioned for Lou to follow her to the elevator. As they walked, Laurie shook her head. “It’s like squeezing water out of a stone to get information out of him,” she complained.

“He seems exhausted,” Lou said. “Or he hates his job. One of the two.”

“In his defense, he is busy,” Laurie said. “Like everything else here, his funding is limited and getting progressively worse, so he’s stretched thin when it comes to staff. But I hope he can find the time to search for a contaminant in the drug cases. The more I think about it the more sure I am.”

When they got to the elevators, Laurie glanced at her watch. “I have to get a move on!” She lifted her eyes to Lou. “I can’t afford to have Dr. Washington mad at me as well as Dr. Bingham. I’ll be out pounding the pavement, looking for a new job.”

Lou gazed into her eyes. “You really are upset about these overdose cases, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am,” Laurie admitted. She averted her eyes and glanced up at the floor indicator. Lou’s comment brought up the memory of the nightmare she’d had that morning. She hoped that he wouldn’t mention her brother. Thankfully the elevator door opened, and they boarded.

They changed into scrub clothes and entered the main autopsy room. It was a beehive of activity; every table was occupied. Laurie saw that even Calvin was working at table one. Things were definitely hopping for him to be there; it was not customary for Calvin to do routine cases.

Laurie’s first case was on the table. Vinnie had taken the liberty of getting all the paraphernalia he anticipated she’d need. The deceased’s name was Robert Evans, aged twenty-nine.

Laurie set out her papers and switched into her professional persona, beginning her meticulous external exam. She was halfway through when she realized that Lou was not across from her. Raising her head, she saw him standing to the side.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been including you,” she said.

“I understand,” Lou said. “You do your thing. I’m fine. I can tell that you are all very busy. I don’t want to be in the way.”

“You won’t be in the way,” Laurie said. “You wanted to watch, so come over and watch.”

Lou stepped around the table being careful where his feet touched the floor. His hands were clasped behind his back. He looked down at Robert Evans. “Find anything interesting?” he asked.

“This poor fellow convulsed just like Duncan Andrews,” Laurie said. “He has all the consequent bruises and badly bitten tongue to prove it. He also has something else.

Look here in the antecubital fossa. See that blanched puncture mark? Remember seeing that on Duncan Andrews?”

“Sure,” Lou said. “That was the intravenous site where he mainlined the cocaine.”

“Exactly,” Laurie said. “In other words, Mr. Evans took his cocaine the same way Mr. Andrews did.”

“So?” Lou questioned.