What fueled Laurie’s anxiety was the knowledge that the following day she’d be assigned at least two and maybe as many as four new cases to autopsy. If she didn’t stay abreast of the paperwork, she’d be swamped. There was never a dull moment at the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner for the City of New York, since it handled between fifteen and twenty thousand assigned cases each year. That translated to approximately eight thousand autopsies. Each day the office averaged two homicides and two drug overdoses.

By four o’clock in the afternoon, Laurie was beginning to slow down. The volume of her work and its intensity had taken its toll. When her phone rang for the hundredth time, she answered with a tired voice. When she realized it was Mrs. Sanford, Dr. Bingham’s secretary, she straightened up in her chair by reflex. It wasn’t every day that she got a call from the chief.

“Dr. Bingham would like to see you in his office if it is convenient,” Mrs. Sanford said.

“I’ll be right down,” Laurie answered. She smiled at Mrs. Sanford’s phrase, “If it is convenient.” Knowing Dr. Bingham, it was probably Mrs. Sanford’s translation of: Get Dr. Montgomery down here ASAP. En route she vainly tried to imagine what Dr. Bingham wanted to see her about, but she had no idea.

“Go right in,” Mrs. Sanford said. She looked at Laurie over the tops of her reading glasses and smiled.

“Close the door!” Bingham commanded as soon as Laurie was in his office. He was sitting behind his massive desk. “Sit down!”

Laurie did as she was told. Bingham’s angry tone was the first warning of what was to come. Laurie immediately knew that she wasn’t there for a commendation. She watched as Bingham removed his wire-rimmed spectacles and placed them on his blotter. His thick fingers handled the glasses with surprising agility.

Laurie studied Bingham’s face. His steel blue eyes appeared cold. She could just make out the web of fine capillaries spread across the tip of his nose.

“You do know that we have a public relations office?” Dr. Bingham began. His tone was sarcastic, angry.

“Yes, of course,” Laurie replied when Bingham paused.

“Then you must also know that Mrs. Donnatello is responsible for any information being given to the media and the public.”

Laurie nodded.

“And you must also be aware that except for myself, all personnel of this office should keep their personal opinions concerning medical examiner business to themselves.”

Laurie didn’t respond. She still didn’t know where this conversation was headed.

Suddenly, Bingham bounded out of his chair and began pacing the area behind his desk. “What I’m not sure you appreciate,” he continued, “is the fact that being a medical examiner carries significant social and political responsibilities.” He stopped pacing and looked across at Laurie. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I believe so,” Laurie said, but there was still some significant part of the conversation that eluded her. She had no idea what had precipitated this diatribe.

“ ‘Believing so’ is not adequate,” Bingham snorted. He stopped his pacing and leaned over his desk, glaring at Laurie.

More than anything, Laurie wanted to remain composed. She didn’t want to appear emotional. She despised situations like this. Confrontation was not one of her strong points.

“Furthermore,” Bingham snapped, “breaches in the rules pertaining to privileged information will not be tolerated. Is that clear!”

“Yes,” Laurie said, fighting back unwanted tears. She wasn’t sad or mad, just upset. With the amount of work that she’d been doing of late, she hardly thought she deserved such a tirade. “Can I ask what this is all about?”

“Most certainly,” Bingham said. “Toward the end of my news conference about the Central Park murder, one of the reporters got up and began asking a question with the comment that you had specifically stated that the case was being mishandled by this department. Did you or did you not say that to a reporter?”

Laurie cowered in her seat. She tried to return Bingham’s glare, but she had to look away. She felt a rush of embarrassment, guilt, anger, and resentment. She was shocked that Bob would have had such little sense much less respect for her confidentiality. Finding her voice she said: “I mentioned something to that effect.”

“I thought so,” Bingham said smugly. “I knew the reporter wouldn’t have had the nerve to make something like that up. Well, consider yourself warned, Dr. Montgomery. That will be all.”

Laurie stumbled out of the chief’s office. Humiliated, she didn’t even dare exchange glances with Mrs. Sanford lest she lose control of the tears she’d been suppressing. Hoping she wouldn’t run into anyone, Laurie sprinted up the stairs, not bothering to wait for the elevator.

She was particularly thankful that her office-mate was still apparently in the autopsy room. Locking her door behind her, Laurie sat down at her desk. She felt crushed, as if all her months of hard work had been for naught because of one foolish indiscretion.

With sudden resolve, Laurie picked up the phone. She wanted to call Bob Talbot and tell him what she thought of him. But she hesitated, then let go of the receiver. At the moment she didn’t have the strength for another confrontation. Instead she took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

She tried to go back to work, but she couldn’t concentrate. Instead she opened her briefcase and threw in some of the uncompleted files. After collecting her other belongings, Laurie took the elevator to the basement level and exited through the morgue loading dock onto Thirtieth Street. She didn’t want to take the risk of running into anyone in the reception area.

Befitting her mood, it was still raining as she walked south on First Avenue. If anything, the city looked worse than it had that morning, with a pall of acrid exhaust fumes suspended between the buildings lining the street. Laurie kept her head down to avoid the oily puddles, the litter, and the stares of the homeless.

Even her apartment building seemed dirtier than usual, and as she waited for the elevator, she was aware of the smell of a century of fried onions and fatty meat. Getting off on the fifth floor, she glared at Debra Engler’s bloodshot eye, daring her to say anything. Once inside her apartment, she slammed the door with enough force to tilt a framed Klimt print she’d gotten from the Metropolitan.

Even feisty Tom couldn’t elevate her spirits as he rubbed back and forth across her shins as she hung up her coat and stashed her umbrella in her narrow hall closet. Going into her living room, she collapsed into her armchair.

Refusing to be ignored, Tom leaped to the back of the chair and purred directly into Laurie’s right ear. When that didn’t work, he began to paw Laurie’s shoulder repeatedly.

Finally Laurie responded by reaching up and lifting the cat into her lap where she began absently to stroke him.

As the rain tapped against her window like grains of sand, Laurie lamented her life. For the second time that day she thought about not being married. Her mother’s criticism seemed more deserved than usual. She wondered anew if she’d made the right career choices. What about ten years from now? Could she see herself caught in the same quagmire of lonely daily life, struggling to stay ahead of the paperwork associated with the autopsies, or would she assume more administrative duties like Bingham?

With a sense of shock, Laurie realized for the first time that she had no desire to be chief. Up until that moment, she’d always tried to excel whether it was college or medical school, and aspiring to be the chief would have fit into that mold. Excelling for Laurie had been a kind of rebellion, an attempt to make her father, the great cardiac surgeon, finally acknowledge her. But it had never worked. She knew that as far as her father was concerned she’d never be able to replace her older brother who’d died at the tender age of nineteen.