Going into his office, he was surprised to find a newly appointed detective sitting patiently by his desk. His suit was new, suggesting he’d only recently become a plainclothesman.

“Who are you?” Lou asked.

“Officer O’Brian,” the policeman said.

“You have a first name?”

“Yes, sir! It’s Patrick.”

“Nice Italian name,” Lou said.

Patrick laughed.

“What can I do for you?” Lou asked, trying to decide on the order in which to return his messages.

“Sergeant Norman Carver asked me to come by to try to collate the medical information you have relating to those gangland killings. You know, all those people who were also patients of Dr. Jordan Scheffield. He thought I might be good at it because I’d been premed for a while in college and had worked in a hospital summers before switching to law enforcement.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Lou said.

“I came up with something that might be important,” Patrick said.

“Uh huh,” Lou said. He stared at the messages to call the police commissioner. That was the one that was the most disturbing. He’d never gotten a message to call the police commissioner. It was like a parish priest getting a call from the pope.

“All the patients had different diagnoses,” Patrick continued, “but they did have one feature in common.”

Lou looked up. “Oh?”

Patrick nodded. “They were all scheduled to have surgery. They were all going to have operations on their corneas.”

“No kidding?” Lou said.

“No kidding,” Patrick said.

After Patrick had left, Lou tried to make sense of it. He’d been disappointed when he’d failed to find a common link between the murder victims besides the fact they’d been patients of Jordan Scheffield. But now there might be something after all. It couldn’t be simple coincidence.

Looking at his stack of phone messages, Lou decided to postpone returning the calls. He’d be better off following up on this new information. After all, he already knew what his higher-ups were calling him about. They wanted to complain about his lack of progress in the gangland murders and probably give him an earful about Laurie’s overdose series to boot. If there was a chance he could start to break the case with this cornea stuff, he’d be better off pursuing it now before he spoke to them.

Lou decided to start with the doctor himself. He figured he’d get the usual runaround, but he was determined to speak with the man, patients or no.

But when Lou asked for Jordan, Scheffield’s receptionist told him that Jordan was in surgery over at Manhattan General and that he had many cases scheduled. He wouldn’t be back in the office until late in the day.

Lou pondered his options. Returning his urgent messages still wasn’t his next choice. He decided persistence was the virtue of the day; he’d pay the eye doc another visit even if it meant barging in the operating room. He’d witnessed about a dozen autopsies that week; could surgery be much worse?

“What the hell happened?” Paul bellowed. Angelo, Tony, and Dr. Louis Travino had been hauled on the carpet. They stood like errant pupils before the school principal. Paul Cerino was seated behind his massive partners desk. He was not happy.

Dr. Travino wiped his forehead nervously with a handkerchief. He was a balding, overweight man with a vague resemblance to Cerino.

“Isn’t somebody going to answer me? What’s the matter with you people? I asked a simple question. How’d this story get into the papers?” He swatted the newspaper on his desk in front of him. “All right,” Paul said when it was clear no one was about to volunteer anything. “Let’s start from the beginning. Louie, you told me this “fruit gas’ would not be detectable.”

“That’s right,” Louie said. “It’s not. It’s too volatile. Nothing was said about the gas in the papers.”

“True,” Paul said. “But then why are they describing these overdoses as murders?”

“I don’t know,” Louie replied. “But it wasn’t because they detected the gas.”

“You’d better be right,” Paul said. “I don’t think I have to remind you I’ve been covering your sizable gambling debts. The Vaccarro family would be very unhappy with you if I suddenly wasn’t good for the money.”

“It wasn’t the gas,” Louie reiterated.

“So what was it? I’m telling you, this article has given me a very bad feeling. If someone’s screwed up, heads are going to roll.”

“This is the first suggestion of trouble,” Louie said. “Otherwise everything has been doing fine. And look at you, you’re doing great.”

“Then how did this female doc come up with the real story?” Paul asked. “This Laurie Montgomery is the same broad who blabbed to Lou Soldano about the acid being tossed in my face. Who is this chick?”

“She’s one of the medical examiners in the Manhattan office,” Louie said.

“You mean like that character Quincy that used to be on TV?” Paul asked.

“Well, it’s a little different in real life,” Louie said. “But basically the same.”

“So how did she suspect something?” Paul asked. “I thought you said there’d be no figuring this. How did this Laurie Montgomery guess what was going on?”

“I don’t know,” Louie said. “Maybe this is something we should ask Dr. Montgomery.”

Cerino considered the suggestion for a moment. “To tell you the truth,” he said, “I’d been thinking the same thing. Besides, this Laurie Montgomery could become a big pain in the ass if she keeps up the detective work. Angelo, you think you might arrange a little, er, interview with the little lady?”

“No problem,” Angelo said. “You want her, I’ll get her.”

“It’s the only thing I can think to do,” Paul said. “And after we’ve had a little chat, I think the best thing this lady doc could do is disappear. I mean completely. I’m talking no body, nothing.”

“Isn’t the Montego Bay going to be leaving soon?” Angelo asked.

“Yeah,” Paul said. “She’s about to pull anchor and head for Jamaica. Good idea. Okay, bring her to the pier. I want Dr. Louie to question her.”

“I don’t like being directly involved in something like this,” Louie said.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that,” Paul said. “You’re involved in this operation up to your eyeballs, so don’t give me any crap.”

“When do you want us to move?” Angelo asked.

“This afternoon or tonight,” Paul said. “We can’t wait around for things to get worse. Doesn’t that Amendola kid work over there at the morgue? What’s his name? The family’s from Bayside?”

“Vinnie,” Tony said. “Vinnie Amendola.”

“Yeah,” Cerino said. “Vinnie Amendola. He works at the morgue. Talk to him, maybe he’ll help. Remind him what I did for his old man when he had trouble with the union.

And take this.” He pointed to the newspaper. “I understand the lady doc’s picture’s in the paper. Use that to make sure you get the right person.”

After his guests had departed, Cerino used his automatic dialer to call Jordan’s office. When the receptionist explained that the doctor was in surgery, Cerino told her he wanted his call returned within the hour. Jordan got back to him in fifteen minutes.

“I don’t like what’s going on,” Jordan said before Paul could say a word. “When we talked about some sort of business association, you told me there would be no problems. That was two days ago and already there’s a major scandal brewing. I don’t like it.”

“Calm down, Doc,” Cerino said. “All businesses have some start-up pains. Stay cool. I just wanted to be sure you didn’t do anything foolish. Something you’d regret.”

“You got me involved in this by threatening me. Is this the same kind of scare tactic?”

“I guess that’s what you could call it,” Paul said. “Depends on your point of view. Me, I thought we were talking one businessman to another. I just wanted to remind you you’re dealing with professionals like yourself.”