Raymond swallowed hard. His already irritated throat had gone dry. He took a quick swig of water and took the receiver.
“Hello, sir!” Raymond managed. His voice was still hoarse.
“I’m calling from my car phone,” Taylor said. “So I won’t be too specific. But I have just been informed of the reemergence of a problem I thought had been taken care of. What I said earlier about this issue still stands. I hope you understand.”
“Of course, sir,” Raymond squeaked. “I will…”
Raymond stopped speaking. He took the phone away from his ear and looked at it. Taylor had cut him off.
“Just what I need,” Raymond said, as he handed the phone back to Darlene. “Another threat from Cabot to close down the program.”
Raymond put his feet over the side of the bed. As he stood up and slipped on his robe, he could still feel the remnants of yesterday’s headache. “I have to go find Vinnie Dominick’s number. I need another miracle.”
By eight o’clock Laurie and the others were down in the “pit” starting their autopsies. Jack had stayed in the ID room to read through the records of Carlo Franconi’s hospital admissions. When he noticed the time, he went back to the forensics area to find out why the chief investigator, Bart Arnold, had not come in that day. Jack was surprised when he found the man in his office.
“Didn’t Janice talk to you this morning?” Jack asked. He and Bart were good enough friends so that Jack thought nothing of marching right into Bart’s office and plopping himself down.
“I just came in fifteen minutes ago,” Bart said. “Janice was already gone.”
“Wasn’t there a message on your desk?” Jack asked.
Bart started to peek around under the clutter. Bart’s desk looked strikingly similar to Jack’s. Bart pulled out a note which he read aloud: “Important! Call Jack Stapleton immediately.” It was signed “Janice.”
“Sorry,” Bart said. “I’d have seen it eventually.” He smiled weakly, knowing there was no excuse.
“I suppose you’ve heard that my floater has been just about conclusively identified as Carlo Franconi,” Jack said.
“So I’ve heard,” Bart said.
“That means I want you to go back to UNOS and all the centers that do liver transplantation with the name.”
“That’s a lot easier than asking them to check if any of their recent transplants is missing,” Bart said. “With all the phone numbers handy I can do that in a flash.”
“I spent most of the night on the phone with the organizations in Europe responsible for organ allocation,” Jack said. “I came up with zilch.”
“Did you talk to Euro Transplant in the Netherlands?” Bart asked.
“I called them first,” Jack said. “They had no record of a Franconi.”
“Then it’s pretty safe to say that Franconi didn’t have his transplant in Europe,” Bart said. “Euro Transplant keeps tabs on the whole continent.”
“The next thing I want is for someone to go visit Franconi’s mother and talk her into giving a blood sample. I want Ted Lynch to run a mitochondrial DNA match with the floater. That will clinch the identity, so it will no longer be presumptive. Also have the investigator ask the woman if her son had a liver transplant. It will be interesting to hear what she has to say.”
Bart wrote Jack’s requests down. “What else?” Bart asked.
“I think that’s it for now,” Jack said. “Janice told me Franconi’s doctor’s name is Daniel Levitz. Is that anyone you have come in contact with?”
“If it’s the Levitz on Fifth, then I’ve come in contact with him.”
“What was your take?” Jack asked.
“High-profile practice with wealthy clientele. He’s a good internist as far as I could tell. The curious thing is that he takes care of a lot of the crime families, so it’s not surprising he was taking care of Carlo Franconi.”
“Different families?” Jack questioned. “Even families in competition with each other?”
“Strange, isn’t it?” Bart said. “It must be one big headache for the poor receptionist who does the scheduling. Can you imagine having two rival crime figures with their bodyguards in the waiting room at the same time?”
“Life’s stranger than fiction,” Jack said.
“Do you want me to go to Dr. Levitz and get what I can on Franconi?” Bart asked.
“I think I’ll do that myself,” Jack said. “I have a sneaking suspicion that when talking with Franconi’s doctor what’s unsaid is going to be more important than what is said. You concentrate on finding out where Franconi got his transplant. I think that’s going to be the key piece of information in this case. Who knows, it might just explain everything.”
“There you are!” a robust voice boomed. Both Jack and Bart looked up to see the doorway literally filled with the imposing figure of Dr. Calvin Washington, the deputy chief.
“I’ve been looking all over for you, Stapleton,” Calvin growled. “Come on! The chief wants to see you.”
Jack gave Bart a wink before getting to his feet. “Probably just another of the many awards he’s given me.”
“I wouldn’t be so glib if I were you,” Calvin snapped, as he made room for Jack to pass. “Once again, you got the old man all riled up.”
Jack followed Calvin to the administration area. Just before going into the front office, Jack caught a glimpse of the waiting room. There were more than the usual number of journalists.
“Something going on?” Jack asked.
“As if I have to tell you,” Calvin grunted.
Jack didn’t understand, but he didn’t have a chance to ask more. Calvin was already asking Mrs. Sanford, Bingham’s secretary, if they could go into the chiefs office.
As it turned out, the timing wasn’t good, and Jack was relegated to sitting on the bench that faced Mrs. Sanford’s desk. Obviously, she was as upset as her boss and treated Jack to several disapproving looks. Jack felt like a naughty schoolboy waiting to see the principal. Calvin used the time by disappearing into his own office to make a few phone calls.
Having a reasonable idea of what the chief was upset about, Jack tried to come up with an explanation. Unfortunately, none came to mind. After all, he could have waited to get Franconi’s X rays until Bingham’s arrival that morning.
“You can go in now,” Mrs. Sanford said, without looking up from her typing. She’d noticed the light on her extension phone had gone out, meaning the chief was off the phone.
Jack entered the chiefs office with a sense of déjà vu. A year ago, during a series of infectious disease cases, Jack had managed to drive the chief to distraction, and there had been several such confrontations.
“Get in here and sit down,” Bingham said roughly.
Jack took the seat in front of the man’s desk. Bingham had aged in the last few years. He looked considerably older than sixty-three. He glared at Jack through his wire-rimmed glasses. Despite his jowls and sagging flesh, Jack saw that his eyes were as intense and intelligent as ever.
“I was just beginning to think you were really fitting in around here, and now this,” Bingham said.
Jack didn’t respond. He felt it best not to say anything until he was asked a question.
“Can I at least ask why?” Bingham said obligingly in his deep, husky voice.
Jack shrugged. “Curiosity,” Jack said. “I was excited and I couldn’t wait.”
“Curiosity!” Bingham roared. “That was the same lame excuse you used last year when you disregarded my orders and went over to the MGH.”
“At least I’m consistent,” Jack said.
Bingham moaned. “And now here comes the impertinence. You really haven’t changed much, have you?”
“My basketball has improved,” Jack said.
Jack heard the door open. He turned to see Calvin slip into the room. Calvin folded his massive arms across his chest and stood to the side like an elite harem guard.