It was none too soon. Craig shuffled into the study a few moments later. He was dressed in a bathrobe with open-backed slippers on his feet. He went over and sat in the other reading chair.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you," he said.
"Don't be silly," Jack answered. He couldn't help notice that Craig's voice had a monotone that hadn't been there when he'd gone upstairs and that when he'd walked in, his arms had hung limply at his sides as though they were paralyzed. It was abundantly clear the man had already taken his sleep medication and hadn't skimped on the dose.
"I just wanted to say thank you for coming up here to Boston. I know I wasn't much of a host last night and this morning."
"No problem. I have a good sense of what you're going through."
"I also wanted to say that I'm behind the autopsy idea after giving it additional thought."
"That makes it unanimous. Now, after convincing everybody, I can only hope I can pull it off."
"Well, I appreciate your efforts." He struggled back to a standing position and wobbled before gaining his balance.
"I glanced in your doctor's bag," Jack said to clear his conscience. "I hope you don't mind."
"Of course not. Do you need something? Back when I was making a lot of house calls, I amassed a small pharmacy."
"No! I was curious about the biomarker kit for heart attacks. I never knew they existed."
"It's hard to keep up with technology. Good night."
"Good night," Jack said. From where he was sitting, he could see down the lengthy hall as Craig plodded toward the stairs. He was moving like a zombie. For the first time, Jack started to feel sorry for the man.
10
The morning routine was as chaotic as it had been the previous morning, including another disagreement between Meghan and Christina over an article of apparel. Jack never knew what it was, but the tables had been turned. Now it was Meghan denying Christina, resulting in Christina rushing back upstairs in tears.
Alexis was the only one acting normally. It was as if she were the glue holding the family together. Craig was somnolent and spoke little, apparently still feeling the effects of his sleeping medication on top of his scotch.
After the kids had left for school, Alexis turned to Jack. "What do you want to do about transportation? Do you want to come with us or drive yourself?"
"I've got to drive myself. My first stop is the Langley-Peerson Funeral Home. I've got to get the signed papers over there to start the exhumation process." What he didn't say was that he hoped to get in a little basketball in the late afternoon.
"Then we'll see you in the courtroom?"
"That's my intention," Jack said, although he harbored a hope that Harold Langley could work miracles and get Patience Stanhope out of her eternal resting place that very morning. If that could happen, then Jack could do the autopsy, have the gross results by that afternoon, present them to Craig and Alexis, and be on the shuttle back to New York. That would give him Thursday to wrap things up in his office prior to the honeymoon that was to begin on Saturday morning. It would also give him the opportunity to pick up the tickets and hotel vouchers.
Jack left before Alexis and Craig. He got into his rent-a-car and headed for the Massachusetts Turnpike. He had assumed that having already visited the Langley-Peerson Funeral Home, it would be easy to find it again. Unfortunately, he was wrong. It took him almost forty minutes of highly aggravating driving to cover approximately five miles as the crow flew.
Muttering obscenities to himself over the stressful experience, Jack finally pulled into the funeral home's parking lot. It was more crowded that the previous day, forcing Jack to park at the very back. When he got around to the front of the building, there were people milling about on the porch. It was at that point that he guessed a service was about to get under way. His suspicions were confirmed when he entered the foyer. In the viewing room to the right, people were scurrying about, arranging flowers and unfolding additional chairs. On the catafalque was an open coffin with its occupant comfortably resting. The same pious soundtrack as the day before inundated the scene.
"Would you care to sign the book?" a man asked in a quiet, sympathetic voice. In many respects, he was a significantly heavier version of Harold Langley.
"I'm looking for the funeral director."
"I am the funeral director. Mr. Locke Peerson at your service."
Jack mentioned he was looking for Mr. Langley and was directed back to Harold's office. He found the man at his desk.
"The current Mr. Stanhope has signed the authorization," Jack said, wasting no time with small talk. He handed over the form. "Now it's a matter of utmost urgency to get the body back here to your embalming room."
"We have a service this morning," Harold said. "After that, I'll get on it."
"Do you see any chance of it happening today? We're really up against a strict deadline."
"Dr. Stapleton, do you not remember that the city, the vault company, a backhoe operator, and the cemetery are all involved in this endeavor? Under normal conditions, we're talking about a week at least."
"It cannot be a week," Jack said emphatically. "It's got to be today or tomorrow at the very latest." Jack shuddered at the implication of having to wait until Thursday and wondered what he could tell Laurie.
"That's an impossibility."
"Perhaps an extra five hundred dollars on top of your usual fee is in order to make up for the inconvenience." Jack watched Harold's expression. He had an almost parkinsonian lack of mobility and a pair of narrow lips that recalled Randolph 's.
"All I can say is that I will give the affair my utmost effort. There can be no promises."
"I can't ask for anything more," Jack said while giving Harold one of his business cards. "By the way, do you have any idea of what condition we can expect the body to be in?"
"Absolutely," Harold said emphatically. "The body should be in pristine condition. It was embalmed with our usual care, and the coffin is a top-of-the-line Perpetual Repose mated with a premier cement vault."
"What about the grave site: much water?"
"None. It's on the crest of the hill. The original Mr. Stanhope had picked it out himself for the family."
"Call me as soon as you know something."
"I most certainly will."
As Jack left the funeral home, the people on the porch had begun somberly filing in. Jack got into his car and consulted his map, which had been significantly upgraded by Alexis, who had laughed when she'd heard he'd been trying to navigate around the city with the rent-a-car map. Jack's next destination was back to the medical examiner's office. Thanks to significantly less traffic, Jack was able to make the journey in comparatively short time.
The receptionist remembered him. She told him that Dr. Wylie was definitely in the autopsy room on this occasion, and she took it upon herself without being asked to call down and talk with her. The result was that a mortuary tech came up to reception and escorted Jack down to the autopsy anteroom. Two men in mufti were milling about; one was African-American, the other Caucasian. The Caucasian was a big, red-faced Irishman. Everyone else was in Tyvek protective gear. Jack was to learn a few minutes later that the men were detectives interested in the case Latasha Wylie was doing.
Jack was given gear, and after suiting up he pushed into the room. Like the rest of the facility, the autopsy room was state-of-the-art and made the New York room look like an anachronism in comparison. There were five tables, three of which were in operation. Latasha's was the farthest away, and she waved for him to come over.