Jack was keyed up. After near conclusive identification of his floater as Carlo Franconi, Jack had gotten little sleep. He’d been on and off the phone with Janice, finally imploring her to get copies of all of Franconi’s records from the Manhattan General Hospital. Her preliminary investigation had determined that Franconi had been hospitalized there.
Jack had also had Janice get the phone numbers of the European human organ distribution organizations from Bart Arnold’s desk. Because of the six-hour-time difference, Jack had started calling after three a.m. He was most interested in the organization called Euro Transplant Foundation in the Netherlands. When they had no record of a Carlo Franconi as a recent liver recipient, Jack called all the national organizations whose numbers he had. They included organizations in France, England, Italy, Sweden, Hungary, and Spain. No one had heard of Carlo Franconi. On top of that, most of the people he had spoken with said that it would be rare for a foreign national to get such a transplant because most of the countries had waiting lists comprised of their own citizens.
After only a few hours of sleep, Jack’s curiosity had awakened him. Unable to get back to sleep, he’d decided to get into the morgue early to go over the material that Janice had collected.
“My word, you are eager,” Janice commented as Jack came into her office.
“This is the kind of case that makes forensics fun,” Jack said. “How’d you do at the MGH?”
“I got a lot of material,” Janice said. “Mr. Franconi had multiple admissions over the years, mostly for hepatitis and cirrhosis.”
“Ah, the plot thickens,” Jack said. “When was the last admission?”
“About two months ago,” Janice said. “But no transplant. There is mention of it, but if he had one, he didn’t have it at the MGH.” She handed Jack a large folder.
Jack hefted the package and smiled. “Guess I got a lot of reading to do.”
“It looked pretty repetitive to me,” Janice said.
“What about his doctor?” Jack asked. “Has he had one in particular or has he been playing the field?”
“One for the most part,” Janice said. “Dr. Daniel Levitz on Fifth Avenue between Sixty-fourth and Sixty-fifth Street. His office number is written on the outside of your parcel.”
“You are efficient,” Jack said.
“I try to do my best,” Janice said. “Have any luck with those European organ distribution organizations?”
“A complete strikeout,” Jack said. “Have Bart give me a call as soon as he comes in. We have to go back and retry all the transplant centers in this country now that we have a name.”
“If Bart’s not in by the time I leave, I’ll put a note on his desk,” Janice said.
Jack whistled as he walked through communications on his way to the ID room. He could taste the coffee already while dreaming of the euphoria that the first cup of the day always gave him. But when he arrived he could see he was too early. Vinnie Amendola was just in the process of making it.
“Hurry up with that coffee,” Jack said, as he dropped his heavy package onto the metal desk Vinnie used to read his newspaper. “It’s an emergency this morning.”
Vinnie didn’t answer, which was out of character, and Jack noticed. “Are you still in a bad mood?” he asked.
Vinnie still didn’t answer, but Jack’s mind was already elsewhere. He’d seen the headlines on Vinnie’s paper: Franconi’s Body Found. Beneath the headline in slightly smaller print was: “Franconi’s corpse languishing in the Medical Examiner’s Office for twenty-four hours before identity established.”
Jack sat down to read the article. As usual, it was written in a sarcastic bent with the implication that the city’s medical examiners were bunglers. Jack thought it was interesting that while the journalist had had enough information to write the article, he didn’t appear to know that the body had been headless and handless in a deliberate attempt to conceal its identity. Nor did it mention anything about the shotgun wound to its right upper quadrant.
After finishing with the coffee preparation, Vinnie came over to stand next to the desk while Jack read. Impatiently, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. When Jack finally looked up Vinnie said irritably: “Do you mind! I’d like to have my paper.”
“You see this article?” Jack asked, slapping the front page.
“Yeah, I seen it,” Vinnie said.
Jack resisted the temptation to correct his English. Instead he said: “Did it surprise you? I mean, when we did the autopsy yesterday, did it ever cross your mind it might have been the missing Franconi?”
“No, why should it?” Vinnie said.
“I’m not saying it should,” Jack said. “I’m just asking if it did.”
“No,” Vinnie said. “Let me have my paper! Why don’t you buy your own? You’re always reading mine.”
Jack stood up, pushed Vinnie’s paper toward him, and lifted the bundle from Janice. “You really are out of sorts lately. Maybe you need a vacation. You’re fast becoming a grumpy old man.”
“At least I’m not a cheapskate,” Vinnie said. He picked up his paper and readjusted the pages that Jack had gotten out of alignment.
Jack went to the coffeemaker and poured himself a brimming cup. He took it over to the scheduling desk. While sipping contentedly, he went through the multitude of Franconi’s hospital admissions. On his first perusal of the material, he just wanted the basics, so he read each discharge summary page. As Janice had already told him, the admissions were mostly due to liver problems starting from a bout of hepatitis he contracted in Naples, Italy.
Laurie arrived next. Before she even had her coat off, she asked Jack if he’d seen the paper or heard the morning news. Jack told her he’d seen the Post.
“Was it your doing?” Laurie asked, as she folded her coat and put it on a chair.
“What are you talking about?”
“The leak that we tentatively identified Franconi with your floater,” Laurie said.
Jack gave a little laugh of disbelief. “I’m surprised you’d even ask. Why would I do such a thing?”
“I don’t know, except you were so excited about it last night,” Laurie said. “But I didn’t mean any offense. I was just surprised to see it in the news so quickly.”
“You and me both,” Jack said. “Maybe it was Lou.”
“I think that would surprise me even more than you,” Laurie said.
“Why me?” Jack said. He sounded hurt.
“Last year you leaked the plague story,” Laurie said.
“That was a completely different situation,” Jack said defensively. “That was to save people.”
“Well, don’t get mad,” Laurie said. To change the subject she asked: “What kind of cases do we have for today?”
“I didn’t look,” Jack admitted. “But the pile is small and I have a request. If possible, I’d like to have a paper day or really a research day.”
Laurie bent over and counted the autopsy folders. “Only ten cases; no problem,” she said. “I think I’ll only do one myself. Now that Franconi’s body is back, I’m even more interested to find out how it left here in the first place. The more I’ve thought about it, the more I believe it had to have been an inside job in some form or fashion.”
There was a splashing sound followed by loud cursing. Both Laurie and Jack looked over at Vinnie, who’d jumped up to a standing position. He’d spilled his coffee all over his desk and even onto his lap.
“Watch out for Vinnie,” Jack warned Laurie. “He’s again in a foul mood.”
“Are you all right, Vinnie?” Laurie called out.
“I’m okay,” Vinnie said. He walked stiff-legged over to the coffeepot to get some paper towels.