Returning to the bedroom for the last time, Laurie completed her dressing. Then, gathering her things, she left her apartment.

As she was standing at the elevator awaiting its arrival, she noticed a newspaper in front of a neighbor’s door. Stepping over to it, she slipped it from its plastic cover. There on the front page as a second headline was the story of her overdose series. There was even an old picture of her taken in medical school. Laurie wondered where the picture had come from.

Opening the paper to the proper page, Laurie read the first few paragraphs, which were a repeat of Mike Schneider’s summary. But, true to tabloid-style journalism, there was much more lurid detail, including reference to a number of victims having been stuffed into refrigerators. Laurie wondered where that distortion had come from. She certainly hadn’t mentioned anything like that to Bob Talbot. There was also more emphasis on the alleged cover-up, making it sound far more sinister than Mike Schneider had.

Hearing the elevator arrive behind her, Laurie dropped the newspaper in front of the proper door and hurried back before the elevator left. When she was halfway into the car, she heard Debra Engler’s hoarse voice.

“You shouldn’t read other people’s papers,” the woman said.

For a moment Laurie stood holding the insistent elevator door from closing. She wanted to turn around and bash her umbrella against Debra’s door to frighten the woman. But she controlled herself, and finally boarded.

As she descended, Laurie’s calmness crumbled and was replaced by apprehension of meeting with Bingham. Laurie dreaded confrontations. She had never been good at them.

Paul Cerino was hunched over his favorite meal of the day: breakfast. He was enjoying a hearty feast of eggs over easy, pork sausage, and biscuits. He was still wearing the same metal patch over his eye, but he was feeling terrific.

Gregory and Steven were momentarily quiet, eating their own choice of sugar-coated breakfast cereal which they had selected from a bewildering choice of single serving boxes. Each had his own empty box in front of him which he was studying intently. Gloria had just sat down after having retrieved the newspaper from the front stoop.

“Read me about yesterday’s Giants and Steelers game,” Paul mumbled with his mouth full.

“Oh my!” Gloria said, staring at the front page.

“What’s the matter?” Paul asked.

“There’s a story about a bunch of drug deaths of wealthy and educated young people,” Gloria said. “Says here they think they were murders.”

Paul choked violently, spraying most of the food that he’d had in his mouth out over the table.

“Daaad!” Gregory whined. A layer of partially chewed egg and sausage had settled on the surface of his Sugar Pops.

“Paul, are you all right?” Gloria questioned with alarm.

Paul held up a hand to indicate he was fine. His face had become as red as the heeling patches of skin on his cheeks. With his other hand he picked up his orange juice and took a drink.

“I can’t eat this,” Gregory said looking at his cereal. “It’s going to make me puke.”

“I can’t either,” Steven said, who tended to do just about everything Gregory did.

“Get yourselves clean bowls,” Gloria directed. “Then pick another cereal.”

“Better read me that article about the drug deaths,” Paul said with a hoarse voice.

Gloria read the whole article straight through. When she was finished, Paul headed for his den.

“Aren’t you going to finish your breakfast?” Gloria called after him.

“In a minute,” Paul said. He closed the door of the den behind him and pressed the button on his automatic dialer that would connect him to Angelo.

“Who the hell is this?” Angelo muttered sleepily.

“Did you read this morning’s paper?”

“How am I going to read this morning’s paper? I’ve been sleeping. I was out doing you know what until all hours.”

“I want you, Tony, and that harebrained pill-pusher Travino over here this morning,” Paul said. “And read the paper on the way. We got a problem.”

“Franco!” Marie Dominick said with surprise. “Isn’t this a little early for you?”

“I have to talk with Vinnie,” Franco said.

“Vinnie’s still sleeping,” Marie said.

“I figured he was, but if you could please wake him up-”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Franco said.

“Well, come on in then,” Marie said as she opened the door wide.

Franco stepped inside. “Go on into the kitchen,” Marie said. “There’s coffee already made.”

Marie disappeared up a short flight of steps while Franco wandered into the kitchen. Vinnie’s little boy, Vinnie Junior, was seated at the table. The six-year-old was busy slapping a short stack of pancakes with the back side of a spoon. His older sister, Roslyn, age eleven, was at the stove poised to turn over the next batch of flapjacks.

Franco poured himself a cup of coffee. Then he wandered into the living room and sat on a white leather sofa and gazed at the new peppermint-colored shag carpet. He was amazed. He didn’t think you could buy shag carpet anymore.

“This better be good!” Vinnie thundered as he came into the room. He was dressed in a silky, paisley print robe. His hair, which was normally immaculately slicked back, was virtually standing on end.

Instead of explaining, Franco handed Vinnie the paper. Vinnie grabbed it and sat down. “So what am I supposed to be looking at?” he growled.

“Read the article about drug deaths,” Franco said.

Vinnie’s forehead wrinkled as he read. He was silent for about five minutes. Franco sipped his coffee.

“So what the hell?” Vinnie said, looking up. He slapped the paper with the back of his hand. “What the hell are you doing waking me up for this?”

“See those names at the end of the list? Fletcher and the other ones? I followed Angelo and Tony last night. They whacked those people. My guess is that they’ve whacked the whole bunch.”

“But why?” Vinnie demanded. “Why with cocaine? They giving the stuff away?”

“I still don’t know why,” Franco admitted. “I don’t even know if Angelo and Tony are on their own or taking orders from Cerino.”

“They’re taking orders,” Vinnie said. “They’re too stupid to do anything on their own. God! This is a disaster. The whole city is going to be crawling with feds and narcs on top of normal, everyday cops. What the hell is Cerino doing? Has he gone crazy? I don’t understand.”

“I don’t either,” Franco said. “But I just established a connection that goes through a couple of people who know Tony. Someone will get in touch with you.”

“We got to do something,” Vinnie said, shaking his head. “We can’t let this go on.”

“It’s hard to know what to do until we know what Cerino’s up to,” Franco said. “Give me one more day.”

“Only one,” Vinnie said. “After that we move.”

Laurie was filled with dread as she faced her office building. What a difference a day made! Yesterday and the day before she had breezed in and out like she owned the place. Now she was afraid to cross the threshold. But she knew it was what she had to do. The calmness she’d felt in her apartment had vanished.

As she drew closer, she saw that a swarm of restless reporters had already descended on the place to get the story-her story. Her thoughts had been so focused on Bingham, she hadn’t been thinking of them. There were at least as many there now as there had been for the preppy murder II case. Maybe more.

Might as well get it over with, she decided. Entering the reception area, she was instantly recognized. Microphones were pushed in her face along with a cacophony of questions and the pop of camera flashes. Laurie pushed her way through to the inner door without a word. A uniformed security man checked her photo identification before admitting her. The reporters were unable to pursue her beyond that door.