“Really?” Laurie asked. “Do you think she had some kind of seizure?”

“Could have,” Paul said. “But it’s more like an abrasion, like she was chewing her lip.”

“Let’s see.”

Paul reached over and drew back Mary O’Connor’s upper lip.

“You’re right,” Laurie said. “What about the tongue?”

“Normal,” Paul said. “That’s why I doubt there was a seizure. Maybe she had a lot of terminal pain. Well, perhaps the microscopic of the heart will show something pathognomonic, but I bet this case will fall into that category of an unknown coup de grace, at least specifically. In general I know it was cardiovascular.”

Laurie nodded but looked at Mary O’Connor. Something bothered her about the case. It was triggering a memory she couldn’t quite put a finger on.

“What about these petechiae on her face?” Laurie asked.

“It’s consistent with terminal heart disease,” Paul said.

“This much?”

“As I said, there must have been a lot of agonal effort.”

“Would you mind letting me know what you find on microscopic?” she asked. “She was a friend’s patient. I know he’ll be interested in what you find.”

“Will do,” Paul said.

Laurie saw that Calvin had moved from Besserman to Fontworth. Lou had wandered back to Southgate’s table. Laurie headed over to him.

“Sorry,” she said to Lou as she came alongside.

“No problem,” Lou said. “I’m starting to feel right at home here.”

“Hey, Laurie, the phone’s for you,” a voice yelled out over the general background noise of the busy autopsy room. Laurie walked to the phone, cringing that her presence had been so blatantly broadcasted. She didn’t dare look in Calvin’s direction. She picked up the receiver: it was Cheryl.

“I wish all your requests were so easy,” Cheryl said. “I called over to Dr. Scheffield’s office and the secretary couldn’t have been more helpful. Henriette Kaufman and Dwight Sorenson were both patients. Does that help you?”

“I’m not sure,” Laurie said. “But it is interesting indeed. Thanks.”

Laurie went back to Lou and told him what she had learned.

“Wow!” he said. “That takes it out of the realm of coincidence. At least I think it does.”

“Five for five,” Laurie said. “The possibility of that happening by chance is extremely small.”

“But what does it mean?” Lou asked. “It seems like an awfully strange way to get at Cerino, if that’s what it’s about. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I agree,” Laurie said.

“One way or the other,” Lou said, “I’ve got to look into it immediately. I’ll be in touch.” He was gone before Laurie could say so much as goodbye.

Laurie hazarded one last glance at Calvin. He was still talking with George and didn’t seem the least perturbed by her presence.

Back in her office, Laurie called Jordan. As usual he was in surgery. Laurie left a message for him to please call back.

Trying to go back to work, Laurie wasn’t much more successful than she’d been earlier. Her mind was in a turmoil concerning her precarious job situation from having alienated so many people, her overdose series, and the odd coincidence that Jordan was treating a string of five gangland-style murder victims.

Laurie’s thoughts drifted back to Mary O’Connor. She suddenly remembered what she’d been trying to think of earlier. The abrasions on the lip, the florid petechiae, and the face’s deep purple discoloration suggested “burking,” the suffocation by compressing the chest while occluding the mouth.

With that thought in mind, Laurie phoned down to the autopsy room and asked for Paul.

“I’ve had a thought,” Laurie said once he was on the line.

“Shoot,” Paul said.

“What do you think about burking as a possible cause of death in the O’Connor case?”

Her suggestion was met with silence.

“Well?” Laurie questioned.

“The victim was in Manhattan General,” Paul said. “She was in a private room in the Goldblatt wing.”

“Try to forget where she was,” Laurie said. “Just look at the facts.”

“But as forensic pathologists we’re supposed to take the scene into consideration. If we didn’t, we’d misdiagnose tons of cases.”

“I understand that,” Laurie said. “But sometimes the scene can be misleading. What about homicides set up to look like suicides?”

“That’s different,” Paul said.

“Is it?” Laurie questioned. “Anyway I just wanted you to give burking some thought. Think about the lip abrasion, the petechiae, and the amount of congestion of the face and the head.”

As soon as Laurie put down the receiver, the phone rang. It was Jordan.

“I’m glad you called,” Jordan said. “I was about to call you. I’m up in surgery and I only have a second. I’ve got a number of cases, including, you’ll be glad to hear, Mr. Paul Cerino.”

“I am glad-” Laurie said.

“And I have a favor to ask,” Jordan said, cutting Laurie short. “In order to get Cerino on the schedule, I’ve had to do some juggling. So I’m going to be stuck here until late.

Could we take a raincheck on our dinner plans? How about tomorrow night?”

“I suppose,” Laurie said. “But Jordan, I have some things I have to talk to you about now.”

“Make it fast,” Jordan said. “My next patient is already in the operating room.”

“First, about Mary O’Connor,” Laurie said. “She had heart disease.”

“That’s reassuring,” Jordan said.

“Do you know anything about her personal life?”

“Not much.”

“What would you say if I told you she’d been murdered?”

“Murdered!” Jordan sputtered. “Are you serious?”

“I don’t know,” Laurie admitted. “But if you told me she had twenty million dollars and was about to cut her wicked grandson out of her will, the possibility of murder might enter into my thinking.”

“She was well-off but not wealthy,” Jordan said. “And do I have to remind you that you were supposed to make me feel better about her death, not more uneasy?”

“The doctor who did her autopsy is convinced that she died from heart disease,” Laurie said.

“That’s better,” Jordan said. “Where did this murder question originate?”

“My fertile imagination,” Laurie said. “Plus some other rather startling news. Are you sitting down?”

“Please, Laurie, no games. I was due in the OR ten minutes ago.”

“Do the names Henriette Kaufman and Dwight Sorenson mean anything to you?” Laurie questioned.

“They’re two of my patients. Why?”

“They were your patients,” Laurie said. “They were both killed last night along with their spouses. Their autopsies are going on as we speak.”

“My God!” Jordan said.

“And that’s not all,” Laurie said. “The night before last three other patients of yours were murdered. All of them were shot in a manner that suggests an organized-crime connection. At least that’s what I’ve been told.”

“Oh, my God,” Jordan said. “And Paul Cerino was in my office threatening me just this morning. This is a nightmare.”

“How did he threaten you?” Laurie asked.

“I don’t even want to discuss it,” Jordan said. “But he’s quite angry with me and I’m afraid I have you to thank.”

“Me?”

“I wasn’t going to bring this up until we got together,” Jordan said, “but now that we’re on the subject-”

“What?”

“Why did you tell a detective Soldano about my treating Cerino?”

“I didn’t think it was a secret,” Laurie said. “After all, you talked about it at my parents’ dinner party.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Jordan said. “But how did you happen to tell a homicide detective of all people?”

“He was here observing autopsies,” Laurie said. “Cerino’s name came up in relation to some homicides: several gangland-style execution victims pulled out of the East River.”

“Oh, boy,” Jordan said.

“I’m sorry to be the Greek messenger with all this bad news.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jordan said. “And I guess I’m better off knowing. Thankfully I’ll be doing Cerino this evening. At this point the sooner I get rid of him the better.”