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.
“I’m not getting anywhere with him,” Bingham complained to Calvin, as if Jack were no longer in the room. “I thought you said his behavior had improved.”
“It had, until this episode,” Calvin said. He then glared down at Jack. “What irks me,” Calvin said, finally addressing Jack, “is that you know damn well that releases from the medical examiner’s office are to come from Dr. Bingham or through public relations, period! You examiner grunts are not to take it upon yourselves to divulge information. The reality is that this job is highly politicized, and in the face of our current problems we certainly don’t need more bad press.”
“Time out,” Jack said. “Something’s not right here. I’m not sure we’re talking the same language.”
“You can say that again,” Bingham asserted.
“What I mean is,” Jack said, “I don’t think we are talking about the same issue. When I came in here, I thought I was being called onto the carpet because I bullied the janitor into giving me keys for this office so I could find Franconi’s films.”
“Hell, no!” Bingham yelled. He pointed his finger at Jack’s nose. “It’s because you leaked the story about Franconi’s body being discovered here at the morgue after it had been stolen. What did you think? This would somehow advance your career?”
“Hold up,” Jack said. “First, I’m not all that excited about advancing my career. Second, I was not responsible for this story getting to the media.”
“You’re not?” Bingham asked.
“Certainly, you’re not suggesting that Laurie Montgomery was responsible?” Calvin asked.
“Not at all,” Jack said. “But it wasn’t me. Look, to tell you the truth, I don’t even think it’s a story.”
“That’s not how the media feels,” Bingham said. “Nor the mayor for that matter. He’s already called me twice this morning, asking what kind of circus we’re running around here. This Franconi business continues to make us look bad in the eyes of the entire city-particularly when news about our own office takes us by surprise.”
“The real story about Franconi isn’t about his body going on an overnight out of the morgue,” Jack said. “It’s about the fact that the man seemingly had a liver transplant that no one knows about, that’s hard to detect by DNA analysis, and that somebody wanted to hide it.”
Bingham looked up at Calvin, who raised his hands defensively. “This is the first I’ve heard about this,” he said.
Jack gave a rapid summary of his autopsy findings and then told about Ted Lynch’s confusing DNA analysis results.
“This sounds weird,” Bingham said. He took off his glasses and wiped his rheumy eyes. “It also sounds bad, considering that I want this whole Franconi business to fade away. If there is something truly screwy going on like Franconi getting an unauthorized liver, then that’s not going to happen.”
“I’ll know more today,” Jack said. “I’ve got Bart Arnold contacting all the transplant centers around the country, John DeVries up in the lab running assays for immunosuppressants, Maureen O’Conner in histology pushing through the slides, and Ted doing a six polymarker DNA test, which he contends is foolproof. By this afternoon, we’ll know for sure whether there’d been a transplant, and, if we’re lucky, where it had taken place.”