Although Jack should have expected Christina to…

of concierge medicine. He was quite persistent and persuasive."

Good Lord, Jack thought to himself. Jordan's gullibility for the come-on of an ambulance-chasing personal-injury lawyer undermined the regard Jack had begun to feel for the man. Jack reminded himself that the man was a phony: a wealthy phony, but a phony nonetheless who had married up.

Having laid the groundwork, Jack decided it was time to go for the jugular and get the hell out. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the exhumation permit. He placed it on the table in front of Jordan. "In order for me to do the autopsy, you would have to merely sign this authorization.

I'll take care of the rest."

"What kind of paper is it?" Jordan questioned, his put-on accent returning.

He leaned over and glanced at it. "I'm not a lawyer."

"It's just a routine form," Jack said. He could think of several sarcastic quips, but he restrained himself.

Jordan's response caught Jack off guard. Instead of any more questions, he reached into the pocket of his jacket, but unfortunately not for a pen.

Instead, he pulled out a cell phone. He speed-dialed a number and sat back.

He eyed Jack as the call went through.

"Mr. Fasano," Jordan said while looking out at his lush lawn. "I've just been handed a form by a medical examiner from New York that might impact the trial. It's to give my permission to dig up Patience for an autopsy. I want you to view it before I sign."

Even from where he was sitting more than ten feet away, Jack could hear Tony Fasano's response. Jack couldn't understand the actual words, but the tone was quite clear.

"All right, all right!" Jordan repeated. "I shan't sign it until you review it.

You have my word. He flipped his phone shut, then looked at Jack. He's on his way over."

The last thing Jack wanted was to involve the lawyers. As he'd told Alexis the day before, he didn't like lawyers, particularly personal-injury lawyers with their self-serving claims of fighting for the little guy. After the plane crash, he'd been hounded by lawyers trying to get him to sue the commuter airline.

"Maybe I'll head out," Jack said, getting to his feet. He couldn't help but feel that with Tony Fasano involved the chances of getting an authorization signature were close to zero. "You have my cell phone number on my card in case you want to get ahold of me after your lawyer checks out the form."

"No, I want to deal with this now," Jordan said. "If I don't do it now, I don't do it at all, so sit down! Mr. Fasano will be here before you know it. How

about a cocktail. It's after five, so it's legal." He smiled at his hackneyed quip and rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

Jack eased himself back down into the wicker chair. He resigned himself to the visit's conclusion, whatever it was to be.

Jordan must have had a hidden call button, because the woman in the French maid outfit suddenly materialized. Jordan asked for a pitcher of vodka martinis and a dish of olives.

As if nothing had transpired in the interim, Jordan comfortably lapsed back into the discussion of his and Charlene's imminent travel plans. Jack declined the offer of a martini. He couldn't think of anything he would have wanted less. He was entertaining the idea of getting some exercise as soon as he could break away.

Just when Jack was reaching the limits of his patience, a carillon of bells announced visitors at the front door. Jordan didn't move. In the distance, the front door was heard opening, followed by muted voices. A few minutes later, Tony Fasano swept into the room. A few steps behind was another man dressed identically to Tony but intimidatingly larger.

In a reflex show of respect, Jack stood up. He noticed that Jordan didn't.

"Where is this supposed form?" Tony demanded. He had no time for niceties. Jordan pointed with his free hand. The other was holding his martini. Charlene was sitting snugly at his side, toying with the hair on his nape.

Tony snatched up the exhumation permit from the glass-topped table and gave it a rapid once-over with his dark eyes. While he did so, Jack looked him over. In contrast to his earlier blithe demeanor in the courtroom, he was now ostensibly irate. Jack estimated he was in his mid- to late thirties. He had a broad face with rounded features and square teeth. His hands were club-like, with short fingers. Jack's attention switched to the significantly larger associate who was dressed in the same gray suit, black shirt, and

black tie. He had come to the room's threshold and stopped. He was obviously Tony's strong-arm crony. The fact that Tony apparently thought he needed such an associate on a visit to a client gave Jack pause.

"What's this nonsense?" Tony demanded, waving the form in Jack's direction.

"I'd hardly call an official city form nonsense," Jack said. "It's an exhumation permit."

"What are you, some kind of hired gun for the defense?"

"Absolutely not."

"He's Dr. Bowman's wife's brother," Jordan explained. "He's in town, staying at his sister's home to make sure justice prevails. That's in his own words."

"Justice, my ass!" Tony growled at Jack. "You have some nerve busting in here, talking to my client."

"Wrong!" Jack said lightly. "I was invited in for a tea party."

"A wiseass on top of it," Tony snapped.

"It's true! He was invited in," Jordan said. "And we did have tea prior to the martinis."

"I'm just trying to pave the way to do an autopsy," Jack explained. "The more information available, the better the chance justice will be served.

Someone needs to talk for Patience Stanhope."

"I can't believe this bullshit," Tony said, throwing up his hands in exasperation. Then he waved to his associate. "Franco, get over here and get his dog turd out of Mr. Stanhope's home!"

Franco obediently stepped into the room. He grasped Jack's arm around the elbow, hiking up Jack's shoulder in the process. Jack debated the rationale for as well as the consequences of resisting as Franco started out of the room with Jack in tow. Jack glanced at his host, who'd not budged from the wicker sofa. Jordan appeared surprised at the proceedings but didn't intervene as Tony apologized for the interruption and promised to take care of the intruder.

Maintaining his firm grip on Jack's arm, Franco marched through the formal living room and out into the marbled central hall with the grand staircase, pulling Jack along.

"Can't we discuss this like gentlemen?" Jack said. He began to mildly resist their forward progress as his internal debate continued about how to handle the situation. Jack wasn't keen on getting physical, even though he had been provoked. Franco was the kind of blocky individual Jack associated with linebackers when he played football in college. Running into a mass of similar size and proportion had been the end of Jack's brief football career.

"Shut up!" Franco snapped without even so much as a glance back at Jack.

Franco stopped when he reached the front door. After opening it, he propelled Jack outside, letting go of his arm in the process.

Jack adjusted his jacket and walked down the two steps to the gravel driveway. Parked at an angle behind the Bentley and the Hyundai was a large, black Cadillac of indeterminate vintage. It looked like a houseboat compared with the other two vehicles.

Although Jack had started for his car and had the keys in his hand, he stopped and turned around. His rationality told him to get into the car and drive away, but that same area on his Y chromosome that had admired the Bentley was outraged at this summary dismissal. Franco had stepped out of the house and was standing on the stoop with his legs planted apart and arms akimbo. A taunting smirk lingered on his acne-scarred face. Before anything could be said, Tony barreled out of the house, pushing past

Franco. Shaped like a considerably smaller version of the brick-like Franco, he had to swing his hips in a peculiar way to walk with his thick, short legs.

He came directly up to Jack, poking into Jack's face with his index finger.

"Let me tell you the reality here, cowboy," Tony snarled. "I got at least a hundred grand tied up in this case, and I'm expecting one hell of a payoff.

Are you hearing me? I don't want you screwing things up. Everything is going just fine, so no autopsy. Capisce? "

"I don't know why you are so upset," Jack said. "You could arrange to have your own medical examiner work with me." He knew the autopsy issue was dead in the water, but he felt a certain satisfaction in aggravating Tony. The man who was slightly bug-eyed to begin with and was even more so now.

The veins on the sides of his forehead stuck out like dark worms.

"What do I have to say to you?" Tony snarled rhetorically. "I don't want an autopsy! The case is just fine as is. No surprises are needed or wanted.

We're going to nail that arrogant, concierge M.D.'s ass, and he deserves it."

"Sounds like you've lost your objectivity," Jack remarked. He couldn't help but notice how Tony's full lips curled back in unmitigated derision as he pronounced "concierge." Jack wondered if the man had latched onto the issue as a personal crusade. There was a touch of zealotry in his expression.

Tony glanced up at Franco for support. "Can you believe this guy? It's like he's from another planet."

"Sounds to me like you are afraid of facts," Jack said.

"I ain't afraid of facts," Tony yelled. "I got plenty of facts. That woman died of a heart attack. She should have been at that hospital an hour earlier, and if she had, we wouldn't be standing here talking."

"What's a 'hah'd attack'?" Jack asked, poking fun at Tony's accent. There hadn't been a hint of an "r" sound, and the "t" was like a soft "d".

"That's it!"Tony blurted. He snapped his fingers for Franco's attention. "Get this idiot in his car and out of my sight."

Franco came down the steps quickly enough to jangle the coins in his pocket. He stepped around Tony and tried to give Jack a shove with the flats of his hands. Jack stood his ground.

"You know, I've been meaning to ask you guys how you coordinate your outfits," Jack said. "Do you decide the night before, or is it something you do first thing in the morning? I mean, it's kind of sweet."

Franco reacted with a speed that caught Jack by surprise. With an open palm, he slapped Jack on the side of his face hard enough to cause Jack's ears to ring. Jack recoiled instantly and returned the favor with a similar and equally effective blow.

Unaccustomed to people unintimidated by his size, Franco was more astonished than Jack at having been struck. As his hand reflexively rose to touch his burning face, Jack grabbed him by the shoulders and kneed him in the groin. Franco doubled over into a crouch for a brief instant, struggling to get his breath. When he came back up, he was holding a gun.

"No!" Tony shouted. He grabbed Franco's arm from behind and pulled it down.

"Get the hell out of here!" Tony growled to Jack, holding back the enraged Franco like a handler with a mad dog. "If you screw up my case in any way, you'll be history. There's not going to be an autopsy."

Jack backed up until he bumped into the Hyundai. He didn't want to take his eyes off Franco, who was still not standing completely upright and still had the gun in his hand. Jack's legs felt rubbery from the adrenaline coursing around in his bloodstream.

Once in the car, he quickly started it. As he looked back at Tony and his sidekick, he caught sight of Jordan and Charlene standing in the doorway.

"You ain't seen the last of me," Franco yelled through Jack's open passenger-side window as Jack drove away.

For more than a quarter of an hour, Jack drove in a circuitous route through residential areas, taking turns haphazardly but not wanting to stop. He did not want anyone following him or finding him, particularly a large, black Cadillac. He knew he'd been stupid at the end of his visit to the Stanhope mansion. It had been a brief resurgence of the risk-taking, defiant personality that had emerged after the depression the plane crash and the loss of his family had caused. As he came down from the adrenaline rush, he felt weak. Totally lost but within sight of several street signs, he pulled over to the side of the road in the shade of a gigantic oak tree to get his bearings.

As he'd been driving, Jack had toyed with the idea of driving out to the airport, washing his hands of the whole affair, and flying back to New York.

The burning skin on the left side of his face was an argument in favor, as was the fact that the possibility of doing an autopsy to help his sister and brother-in-law was now defunct. The other compelling argument was that his wedding was approaching at warp speed.

Yet Jack couldn't do it. Sneaking out of town was a cowardly thing to do.

He picked up the Hertz map and tried to guess which main thoroughfare he should try to find and in which direction it would be. It wasn't easy, because the street he was on wasn't on the map. It was either too small or beyond the map's range. The problem was he didn't know which was the case.

Just as he was about to start driving again blindly to find a main street, his cell phone came to life. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled it out. He didn't recognize the number. He answered the call and said hello.

"Dr. Stapleton, this is Jordan Stanhope. Are you okay?"

"There have been happier times in my life, but basically I'm okay." Jack was taken aback by the call.

"I wanted to apologize for the way Mr. Fasano and his associate treated you at my home."

"Thank you," Jack said. He thought of other, more clever retorts, but he held his tongue.

"I saw you being slapped. I was impressed by your response."

"You shouldn't have been. It was an embarrassingly dim-witted thing to do, especially considering the man was armed."

"I felt he had it coming."

"I doubt he shares your opinion. That was my least favorite part of my visit."

"I've come to realize just how boorish Mr. Fasano is. It's embarrassing."

It's not too late to call off the hounds, Jack thought but did not say.

"I'm also questioning his tactics and his blithe disregard for finding the truth."

"Welcome to the legal profession," Jack said. "Unfortunately, in civil procedures, the goal is dispute resolution, not finding the truth."

"Well, I'm not going to be a party to it. I'll sign the exhumation permit."

9

NEWTON, MASSACHUSETTS

TUESDAY, JUNE 6, 2006

7:30 P.M.

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By the time Jack got back to the Bowman residence, it was too late to consider going for exercise. He'd also missed dinner with the girls, who had retired to their respective rooms and were studying for their imminent final exams. Apparently, his presence was already commonplace because none of them came down to say hello. To make up for the girls, Alexis had been effusively welcoming but had immediately noticed the redness, bruising, and swelling on the left side of his face.

"What in heaven's name happened?" she had questioned with concern.

Jack had brushed her off, saying it was nothing, but offered to explain it later after he'd cleaned up. He'd changed the subject by asking for Craig.

Alexis had told him merely that he was in the great room without elaborating.

Jack had jumped into the shower to wash away the day and now, as he got out, he wiped the mist from the bathroom mirror to look at his face. After the hot water, the redness was even more intense than it had been before.

What he had not noticed was a small, bright crimson flame-shaped hemorrhage on the white, scleral part of his eye. Leaning closer to the mirror, he saw a few tiny subcutaneous hemorrhages over the lateral aspect of his cheekbone. There was no doubt that Franco had packed a wallop.

Jack couldn't help but wonder how Franco looked, because Jack's palm was still tender from the impact, suggesting he'd hit him equally hard.

After a change of clothes, Jack tossed his laundry into the basket in the laundry room, per Alexis's instructions.

"How about some supper?" Alexis offered. She was standing in the kitchen area.

"That would be terrific," Jack said. "I'm starved. I never had time for lunch."

"We all had steaks from the grill, roasted potatoes, steamed asparagus, and salad. How does that sound?"

"Like a dream," Jack said.

During this exchange, Craig hadn't said a word. He was sitting forty feet away on the sofa in the great room, in exactly the same place he'd been that morning, but without the newspaper. He was dressed in the same clothes he'd had on during the day although the shirt was now wrinkled and its top collar button open and his tie loosened. Like a statue, he was staring at the flat-screen television, completely motionless. Jack wouldn't have thought anything abnormal except that the TV wasn't on. On the coffee table in front of him stood a half-empty bottle of scotch and an old-fashioned glass brimming with the amber fluid.

"What's he doing?" Jack asked, lowering his voice.

"What does it look like he's doing?" Alexis responded. "He's vegetating.

He's depressed."

"How did the rest of the day go in court?"

"I'd have to say pretty much the same as the part you watched. That's why he's depressed. The plaintiff's first expert witness out of three testified. It was Dr. William Tardoff, who is chief of cardiology at the Newton Memorial Hospital."

"What kind of witness was he?"

"Unfortunately very credible, and he didn't talk down to the jurors. He was able to make it crystal clear why the first hour, even the first minutes, are so important for a heart-attack victim. After a number of attempted objections from Randolph, he was able to get it into the record that it was his opinion that Patience Stanhope's chances of survival had significantly decreased because of Craig's delay in confirming his diagnosis and getting her to the treatment facility — namely, the hospital."

"Sounds rather damning, especially coming from a department head in Craig's own hospital."

"Craig has reason to be depressed. Criticism from anyone is hard for a doctor to take, since they put themselves on the pedestal, but coming from a respected colleague is a quantum leap worse."

"Was Randolph able to reduce Dr. Tardoff's impact on cross-examination?"

"I'm sure, at least to an extent, but it's like he's always playing catch-up."

"It's the rule for the plaintiff to present his case first. Defense will have its time."

"The system doesn't seem fair, but it's not like we have an alternative."

"Were there only two witnesses today?" Jack asked.

"No, there were three total. Before Dr. Tardoff, Darlene, Craig's nurse, testified, and she was grilled on the 'problem patient' designation the same way Marlene had been, with the same result. During the lunch break,

Randolph was furious at Craig for not having told him about it, and it's easy to understand why."

"It still boggles my mind that Craig would permit something like that in his practice."

"I'm afraid it speaks to a kind of arrogance."

"I'd be less generous. To me, it's pure stupidity, and it's certainly not going to help his cause."

"I'm amazed it's been allowed to be introduced. It's clearly prejudicial in my mind, and has nothing to do with alleged negligence. But you know what bothers me the most?"

"What?" Jack asked. He noticed that Alexis's face had flushed.

"Craig's case is going to suffer, but the secretaries' designation for those patients was actually appropriate."

"How so?" Jack asked. He couldn't help but notice that Alexis's color had deepened. This was an issue she felt strongly about.

"Because they were problem patients, each and every one of them. In fact, calling them problem patients wasn't strong enough. They were hypochondriacs of the worst sort. I know, because Craig would tell me about them. They were wasting his time. They should have gone to a psychiatrist or a psychologist, someone who could have possibly have helped them process their issues. Patience Stanhope was the worst of the lot. There had been an interval of time about a year ago when she was dragging Craig out of bed once a week to make an unnecessary house call.

It was affecting the whole family."

"So you were upset about Patience Stanhope?"

"Of course I was upset. It wasn't long after that particular period when she was so demanding that Craig moved out."

Jack studied his sister's face. He knew her personality tended toward the histrionic back when they were kids, and this reaction about Patience Stanhope suggested the trait hadn't completely disappeared. She had gotten herself completely worked up.

"So you weren't sorry when she passed on?" Jack said, more as a statement than a question.

"Sorry? I was happy. I had told him he should drop her from his practice many times: find her another doctor, preferably a psychiatrist. But you know Craig. He always refused. He had no trouble referring patients to specialists for specialty care, but the idea of giving up on a patient was tantamount to failure. He couldn't do it."

"How much has he been drinking?" Jack asked to change the subject. He nodded toward Craig's motionless form. "Too much, just like every night."

Jack nodded. He knew that abuse of drugs and alcohol by doctors was not an uncommon sequela to being sued for malpractice.

"While we're on the subject, what would you like to drink?" Alexis asked.

"Beer or wine? We've got both in the fridge."

"A beer would hit the spot," Jack said.

Jack got his own beer, and while Alexis busied herself with Jack's dinner, he wandered out of the kitchen area and over to the sofa. Although Craig did not move his body, his bloodshot eyes rose up and engaged Jack's.

"I'm sorry it was a discouraging day in court," Jack said, in hopes of engaging Craig in conversation.

"How much of it did you see?" Craig asked in a monotone.

"Only the testimony of your receptionist, Marlene, which was upsetting to hear."

Craig waved a hand as if he were shooing away invisible insects but didn't comment. His eyes switched back to the dead TV screen.

Jack would have liked to ask about the "PP" designation to try to fully understand the mind-set that would have allowed Craig to so something so politically incorrect and foolish, but he didn't. It wouldn't have helped anything and was just for his morbid curiosity. Alexis had been right. It had been arrogance. Craig was one of those doctors who unquestioningly thought everything he did was noble because the core of his life in terms of dedication and sacrifice was indeed noble. It was an unfortunate sense of entitlement.

With Craig incommunicative, Jack wandered back into the kitchen and then out onto the patio with Alexis while she grilled his steak. Alexis was eager to talk about something more upbeat than the malpractice suit. She wanted to hear about Laurie and the wedding plans. Jack related the basics but wasn't thrilled about the conversation, since he was feeling guilty about being in Boston and leaving all the last-minute details to Laurie. In many respects, it was an untenable position. He was fated to feel guilty no matter what he did; if he left for New York, he'd feel he was abandoning Alexis.

Either way, he was slighting someone. But rather than wallow in the dilemma, he went for another beer.

Fifteen minutes later, Jack sat down at the large, round family table while Alexis put a plate of heavenly food in front of him. For herself, Alexis had made a cup of tea, and she joined him, sitting directly opposite. Craig had rallied enough to turn on the TV and was watching a local news broadcast.

"I'd like to tell you about my day," Jack said in between mouthfuls. "There's a decision to be made about my role here and what you people want me to do. I have to say, I had a rather productive afternoon."

"Craig!" Alexis called over to her husband. "I think you should turn off the life support and come over here to hear what Jack has to say. Ultimately, this is your decision."

"I don't appreciate being made fun of," Craig snapped, but he did turn off the TV with the remote. As if exhausted, he got up, picked up the scotch bottle and the glass, and walked to the table. He put the glass down first, filled it with scotch before putting the bottle down, and took a seat.

"I'm going to have to cut you off," Alexis said. She reached out for the scotch bottle and slid it out of Craig's reach.

Jack expected Craig to throw a temper tantrum about his bottle, but he didn't. Instead, he gave Alexis an overly fake smile to sarcastically thank her.

While he ate, Jack told them about his activities chronologically, and he tried to be complete. He told about going to the medical examiner's office and meeting Dr. Latasha Wylie and what she was able to tell him about exhuming a body in Massachusetts — particularly, about needing the approval of the next of kin.

"Wouldn't that be Jordan Stanhope?" Alexis questioned.

"He'll never agree," Craig said.

"Let me finish the whole story," Jack said.

Jack told about visiting the Langley-Peerson Funeral Home and his discussion with Harold Langley and getting the permit forms. He then told the Bowmans what he had learned about Jordan Stanhope.

Both Alexis's and Craig's mouths sagged open simultaneously as Jack gave them Jordan's short biography.

Craig was the first to speak. "Do you think it is true?" he sputtered.

"Harold Langley has no reason to lie. It must be common knowledge in Brighton; otherwise, Harold Langley certainly wouldn't have told me.

Funeral directors are generally and rather notoriously tight-lipped."

"Stanislaw Jordan Jaruzelski," Alexis repeated with disbelief. "No wonder he changed his name."

"I knew Jordan was younger than Patience," Craig said, but I never suspected anything like that. They acted as if they had been married for twenty-five-plus years. I'm amazed."

"I think the interesting part is that Patience was the one with the money."

"She's not the one with the money anymore," Craig commented. He shook his head with disgust. "Randolph should have discovered this. This is another example of his ineptitude. I should have demanded another lawyer."

"Normally, this is not the kind of information necessary to litigate a malpractice claim," Jack said, although he was surprised himself it didn't come out in Jordan's deposition. "It's not relevant."

"I'm not so sure," Craig said.

"Let me finish," Jack interrupted. "Then we can talk about the whole situation."

"Fine," Craig said. He put his drink down and eagerly leaned forward. He was no longer a pathetically brooding individual.

Jack then took the Bowmans to the Newton Memorial Hospital with his dialogue and related his conversations with Dr. Noelle Everette, Dr. Matt Gilbert, and Ms. Georgina O'Keefe. He talked about his sense that the cyanosis issue was unresolved. He said that Georgina's main point was that the cyanosis was even, not just in the extremities. Jack asked Craig if he had had the same impression.

"I suppose," Craig said. "But I was so overwhelmed by her grave general state that I really didn't look at her with that question in mind."

"That's exactly what Dr. Gilbert said as well," Jack added.

"Wait a second!" Craig said, holding up his hand. "Did learning what you did about Jordan make you think this cyanosis issue is more significant? I mean, this money situation with a younger man marrying a wealthy widow

…" Craig let his sentence trail off as his mind toyed with the idea and its implications.

"I have to say it did," Jack agreed, "but relatively briefly. In many respects, it's too soap-operaish, if that's a word. Besides, it's been documented by the biomarkers that Patience had suffered a heart attack, as Dr. Gilbert rightfully reminded me today. At the same time, Jordan's curious biography should not be dismissed entirely." Jack then went on to tell the story he'd related to Matt and Georgina about his case involving the elderly woman who'd died of a heart attack after being robbed at gunpoint.

"I think this is all very significant," Craig said, "and it continues to make me question Randolph's competence."

"What about the bruising on the side of your face?" Alexis asked, as if suddenly remembering that Jack had agreed to explain it.

"What bruising?" Craig asked. Jack was to his left, meaning the left side of Jack's face was angled away.

"You didn't notice?" Alexis questioned with amazement. "Take a look."

Craig stood up and leaned over the table. Reluctantly, Jack turned his head so the left side of his face was in Craig's view.

"My gosh," Craig said. "That does look raw." He reached out and touched Jack's cheekbone with the tip of his index finger to assess the amount of edema. "Does it hurt?"

Jack pulled his face away. "Of course it hurts," he said irritably. He'd always hated how doctors did that. They always poked the place you said hurt.

Orthopedic guys were the worst, in Jack's experience, which he had a lot of, thanks to all the bumps and bruises he got playing street basketball.

"Sorry," Craig said. "It looks raw. Maybe a cold pack would be a good idea.

Want me to get one?"

Jack declined Craig's ministrations.

"How did it happen?" Alexis asked.

"I'm coming to it," Jack said. He then related the visit to the Stanhopes'.

"You went to the Stanhope mansion?" Craig questioned with obvious disbelief.

"I did," Jack admitted.

"Is that legal?"

"What do you mean legal? Of course it's legal. I mean, it's not like seeking out the jurors or anything. If there was any chance of getting a signature, I had to go." Jack then told them about the Bentley and then the unexpected Charlene.

Craig and Alexis exchanged glances of surprise. Craig gave a short, derisive laugh.

"So much for a long mourning period," Alexis said indignantly. "The man is shameless, likewise for the elaborate gentleman facade."

"This is starting to remind me of another notorious case that took place in Rhode Island but involved diabetes," Craig said.

"I know the case you are referring to," Jack said. "But even in that case, the suddenly wealthy heir was acquitted."

"What about your face?" Alexis said impatiently. "The suspense is killing me."

Jack told them about how he brought up the issue about exhuming Patience's body, fully expecting to be rebuffed. He then described Tony Fasano's arrival, along with an associate dressed in an almost identical outfit.

"His name is Franco," Alexis said.

"You know him?" Jack questioned. He was surprised.

"I don't know him. I've just seen him. He's hard to miss. He comes to the courtroom with Tony Fasano. I only know his name because I heard Tony Fasano call to him yesterday when they were leaving the courtroom."

Jack related Tony's vehement objection to the idea of exhuming Patience and doing an autopsy. He told them he'd been threatened that he'd be

"history" if he did the autopsy.

For a few moments, both Alexis and Craig merely stared at Jack. They were both dumbfounded by what he had just told them.

"That's weird!" Craig said finally. "Why would he be so against an autopsy?"

Jack shrugged. "Presumably, because he feels confident in the case he has and doesn't want to rock the boat. He's invested some serious money on contingency, and he's expecting a mammoth payoff. But I have to tell you, it makes me more motivated."

"What about your face?" Alexis asked. "You keep avoiding telling us about it."

"That happened at the end, after Franco gave me the bum's rush. I was being cute and stupid. I told both of them I thought their matching outfits were sweet."

"So he struck you?" Alexis questioned with consternation.

"Well, it wasn't a love pat," Jack said.

"I think you should press charges," Alexis said indignantly.

"I don't agree," Jack said. "Stupidly, I hit him back, so trying to press charges would just get into an argument of who hit whom first."

"You hit that hulky hoodlum?" Alexis questioned with disbelief. "What have you become in your adulthood, self-destructive?"

"People have accused me of that in the not-too-distant past. I like to think of myself as occasionally impulsive with a touch of self-righteous recklessness."

"I don't find this at all funny," Alexis said.

"Nor do I," Jack agreed. "But the episode, especially me getting whacked, helped my argument with Jordan that I originally thought was hopeless."

Jack reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out the exhumation permit. He placed it on the table and smoothed it out with the palm of his hand. "Jordan signed the exhumation permit."

Alexis drew the form closer to herself. She looked at Jordan's signature and blinked several times as if she expected it might disappear.

"That kind of eliminates any suspicion of his involvement," Craig said, looking over Alexis's shoulder.

"Who knows," Jack said. "What it does for certain is that it puts the idea of an autopsy on the table as a legitimate option. It's no longer a mere theoretical possibility, although now we're up against a time constraint.

Assuming that can be overcome, the question is whether you people want me to do it or not. It has to be decided tonight."

"My feelings have not changed from this morning," Craig said. "There's no way to be sure whether it would help or hurt, and I can make an argument in either direction."

"I think there's slightly more chance it might help than hinder because of the cyanosis issue," Jack said. "There must be some anatomical explanation, some contributory pathology. But you are right: There are no guarantees."

Jack shrugged. "But I don't want to push the idea. I'm not here to make things worse. It's your decision."

Craig shook his head. "As confused as I am, it's hard to make a decision. I think I'm against it because of the unknown, but what do I know. I'm hardly in a position to be objective."

"How about asking Randolph?" Alexis suggested. "If something positive were found by the autopsy, he'd have to figure out how to get it admitted as evidence. With rules of discovery, it is not a given it could be."

"You're right," Jack said. "Randolph should be consulted. It would be an exercise in futility if the findings couldn't be introduced."

"There's something not right in this picture," Craig said. "I'm questioning the men's competence and considering replacing him, and you both think we should let him decide whether or not to do an autopsy."

"We can tell him Jordan Stanhope's story at the same time," Alexis said, ignoring Craig.

"Can we get him on the phone and discuss it with him tonight?" Jack asked.

"The decision about whether or not to do the autopsy really cannot wait.

Even if it's given a green light, I can't be certain it will happen. There are too many variables and not a lot of time."

"We can do better than call him," Alexis said. "He lives just around the corner."

"Fine," Craig said, throwing up his hands. He didn't feel strongly enough about it to overrule both Alexis and Jack. "But I'm not going to be the one to call."

"I don't mind calling," Alexis said. She got up and went over to the desk.

"You seem to be feeling better," Jack said to Craig while Alexis was using the phone.

"It's up and down," Craig said. "One minute I'm depressed and the next minute hopeful that truth will win out. It's been that way since this mess started back in October. Yet today had to be one of the worst days, hearing Bill Tardoff testify against me. I've always been friendly with the man. I really don't understand it."

"Is he a good doctor?"

Craig glared at Jack before saying, "Ask me that in a couple of days. At the moment, I'd be giving you an emotional response. Right now, I'd like to kill the guy."

"I understand," Jack said, and he did. "What about Dr. Noelle Everette?

Does she have a good reputation?"

"With me or the hospital community?"

"Both."

"Like with Bill, my feelings changed after this malpractice suit. Before I thought she was okay, not great but okay, and I referred to her on occasion.

After the suit, I'm as mad at her as I am at Bill. As far as her general reputation is concerned, it's fine. She's well liked although not so dedicated as most."

"Why do you say that?"

"She only works half-time officially, although it's more like three-quarters time. Her excuse is her family, which is nonsense. I mean, we all have families."

Jack nodded as if he agreed, but he didn't. He thought Craig should have given Noelle's work ethic a try. He probably would have been happier and a far better husband and father.

"The reason I asked about Noelle Everette," Jack said after a pause, "is because she said something interesting today. She said some of the old-fashioned physicians, a group in which she included herself, were angry about you concierge doctors. Does that surprise you?"

"Not really. I think they might be jealous. Not everybody can switch to a retainer practice. It depends a lot on their patient base."

"You mean whether the patient base is wealthy or not."

"That's a big part of it," Craig admitted. "Concierge practice is an enviable lifestyle compared with the mess standard practice is being put in. I'm making more money in a lot less time."

"What happened to your patients from your old practice who couldn't come up with the retainer fee?"

"They were referred to other people's standard practice."

"So they were in a sense abandoned."

"No, not at all. We spent a lot of time giving them names and numbers of other doctors."

To Jack it sounded very much like abandonment, but he didn't argue.

Instead, he said, "So you see the kind of anger Noelle was talking about as stemming from envy."

"I can't think of any other reason."

Jack could think of a number, including the concept of professionalism Noelle had mentioned, but Jack wasn't interested in a debate. It was the malpractice case he was most interested in, so he asked, "Was Patience Stanhope an old patient of yours from your old practice?"

"No. She was a patient of the physician who started the concierge practice that I'm now essentially running. He's in Florida and not in the best of

health."

"So in a sense you inherited her?"

"In a sense."

Alexis came back to the table. "Randolph is coming right over. He's interested in the autopsy idea but has reservations, including its admissibility, like I feared."

Jack nodded, but he was more interested in his conversation with Craig, and he had been debating how to word his next question. "Craig, remember this morning when I mentioned the idea of smothering or strangulation in relation to Patience Stanhope, which I later realized was ridiculous, since she died of a heart attack?"

"How could I forget?"

"It's an example of how medical examiners like me think. I mean, I wasn't making any allegations of any sort. I was kind of thinking out loud, trying to relate central cyanosis to the rest of the facts. In retrospect, you understand, don't you? At the time, you were bothered by the suggestion."

"I understand, but I'm not myself these days for obvious reasons. I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize. I'm bringing it up only because I want to ask you a question which occurred to me when Noelle Everette made her comment about a group of old-fashioned doctors being angry about concierge doctors. It's a question you might think outlandish the same way you responded to the mentioning of strangulation and smothering this morning."

"You've piqued my curiosity. Ask your question."

"Can you think of any remotely possible way you could have been set up by Patience Stanhope's death? What I'm suggesting is that someone might have seen her passing as a way to put concierge medicine in a bad light. Does

this idea resonate at all, or am I once again somewhere beyond the orbit of Pluto?"

A small smile appeared at the corners of Craig's mouth and slowly spread inward until he laughed and shook his head in wonderment. "What you lack in rationality, you certainly make up for in creativity."

"Remember, it is a rhetorical question. I don't expect an answer; just tuck it away in the archives of your brain and see if it resonates with any other facts you've not told anyone."

"Are you suggesting some kind of conspiracy?" Alexis asked. She was as taken aback as Craig.

"Conspiracy implies more than one," Jack said. "Like you asked me to do on the phone, I'm thinking out of the box."

"That's way out of the box," Craig said.

The doorbell precluded any more talk of malevolent medical machinations, which was how Craig referred to Jack's idea as Alexis went to the door.

When Alexis returned with Randolph Bingham in tow, Jack and Craig were chuckling at other clever names Craig was able to conjure up. Alexis was pleasantly surprised. Craig was showing more normal behavior than he had in months, which was even more unusual, considering the stressful day in court.

Jack was reintroduced to Randolph. The first time had been outside the courtroom that morning before the trial had recommenced. There hadn't been much time, and Alexis, who'd done the introducing, merely said that Jack was her brother, whereas now she included details of Jack's professional qualifications.

Randolph didn't say anything during Alexis's monologue, although he nodded a few times at key points. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance again," he said when Alexis concluded.

"Likewise," Jack said. He felt there was an unease about the situation.

Randolph was irrepressibly staid. Although he'd changed from his meticulously tailored courtroom suit, his idea of relaxed wear was a heavily starched, freshly pressed, long-sleeved white oxford shirt, pleated summer-weight wool pants with a knifelike crease, and a summer-weight cashmere sweater. As further evidence of his primness, he appeared to have shaved, in contrast to Jack and Craig, who both had the expected evening stubble, and his silver hair was as perfectly styled as it had been in court.

"Should we sit here at the table or go into the living room?" Alexis asked as the host.

"Wherever you'd like," Randolph said. "But we must be expeditious; I have a lot of preparation yet to do tonight."

They ended up sitting around the table where they'd been before Randolph's arrival.

"Alexis has told me about your suggestion of doing an autopsy on the deceased," Randolph said. "Perhaps you can tell me why this might be important at this eleventh hour."

To Jack's ear, he spoke with the true melodiousness that Jack associated with elite New England schools, and it suddenly occurred to him that Randolph was the archetype to which Jordan aspired. The question of why Jordan wanted to do so was another matter, since Jack found Randolph a passionless man, a prisoner of his restrained formality.

Jack ran down his short list in favor of an autopsy sans any reference to conspiracy or individually motivated foul-play theories. Then he gave his patented spiel about the role of a medical examiner's talking for the dead.

"In short," Jack said as a kind of summation, "I believe an autopsy would afford Patience Stanhope her last day in court. My hope is to find enough pathology to clear Craig or, worst case, provide an argument for contributory negligence, since there is documentation the deceased refused a recommended cardiac workup."

Jack looked across at Randolph's arctic-blue eyes for some response. There was none, nor was there from his mouth, which was a small, almost lipless horizontal slash halfway between his nose and the point of his chin. "Any questions?" Jack asked, hoping to generate a response.

"I don't believe so," Randolph said at length. "You've stated your case succinctly and well. It is an intriguing possibility, which I had not thought of since the clinical aspects of the case are so clear. My biggest concern involves the admissibility of whatever you might find. If something were to be found truly relevant and exculpatory, I would have to petition the court for a continuance to allow for proper discovery. In other words, it could be up to the judge."

"Couldn't I be called as a surprise rebuttal witness?"

"Only to refute previous testimony not to offer new testimony."

"I would be refuting the testimony of the plaintiff's experts claiming malpractice."

"It's stretching the rule, but I see your point. It would be up to the judge at any case, and he'd be ruling over strenuous objections from the plaintiff's attorney. It would be an uphill struggle and would afford the plaintiff foundation for appeal if it were granted.

"A final thought that adds to the difficulties of presenting such new evidence is my experience with Judge Davidson. He is known to like to move things along and is already irritated at the slow pace of this trial.

There's no doubt he wants to bring it to a close. He would not look kindly on new evidence brought in at the very last minute."

Jack shrugged and raised his eyebrows questioningly. "So you are against it?"

"Not necessarily. This is a unique case with unique challenges, and we would be foolish not to do everything we possibly can for a positive outcome. New exculpatory evidence could be used as the basis to argue for

a new trial through appeal. On the other hand, I believe the chances of finding something exculpatory are slim indeed. With that said, I'd come out sixty-forty in favor of doing it. So there you have it."

Randolph stood, as did the others. "Thank you for inviting me over and briefing me," he said, shaking hands all around. "See you all in court."

As Alexis accompanied Randolph to the door, Jack and Craig sat back down. "He fooled me," Jack said. "Just when I thought he was telling us he was against my doing the autopsy, he tells me he's for it."

"I had the same reaction," Craig said.

"One thing this little meeting made me realize is that I don't think you should change attorneys," Jack said. "Randolph might be priggish, but he strikes me as keenly intelligent, and under that gentleman veneer, he's a competitor. He definitely wants to win."

"Thanks for your opinion," Craig said. "I wish I unquestioningly shared it."

Alexis returned. She acted mildly irritated. "Why didn't you tell him about your run-in with Tony Fasano and the threat he gave you?"

"I didn't want to confuse the issue," Jack said. "Same reason I didn't bring up my wild theories of foul play or the surprising biography of Jordan Stanhope, aka Stanislaw Jaruzelski."

"I think that threat issue is more important," Alexis said. "Doesn't that bother you, being threatened like that?"

"Not really. Tony Fasano's worried about his investment, since he's surely taken the case on contingency. With that said, he strikes me as someone who blows a lot of hot air."

"I don't know," Alexis said. "It concerns me."

"Well, folks!" Jack said. "It's time to fish or cut bait. Am I going to try to do this autopsy or not? One thing I haven't mentioned. From my experience, juries use a commonsense gut reaction in their decision-making, but they like facts. Autopsy results are facts that they can grasp in contrast to testimony that is ephemeral and open to interpretation. Try to keep that in mind."

"If you can honestly tell me you are not concerned about Tony Fasano's threat, then I'll vote for the autopsy."

"And you, Craig?" Jack asked. "You're the principal here. Your vote can trump the rest of us."

"My feelings haven't changed," Craig said. "I think there's more chance finding stuff we don't want to know than things we do. But I'm not going to vote against the two of you and Randolph." He stood up. "Now I'm going to go up and put myself in the warm and fuzzy hand of a strong hypnotic.

With the rest of the plaintiff experts, Jordan Stanhope, and possibly Leona Rattner slated to testify, it's going to be a taxing day tomorrow."

For a few minutes after Craig had disappeared upstairs, Jack and Alexis sat at the table, lost in their own thoughts. Jack was the first to speak after reaching out and picking up the scotch bottle. "Mixing this hard stuff and a strong hypnotic is not a good idea."

"I can't argue with that."

"Have you been at all worried about Craig injuring himself?"

"You mean overdosing?"

"Yes, either intentionally or otherwise." Jack could remember his own struggles with self-destructive thoughts during his years of fighting depression.

"Of course I've thought about it, but that's one aspect of narcissism in his favor. The devotees generally don't hurt themselves. Also, his depression

has been far from incapacitating, and he has been cycling regularly through periods of normalcy — like tonight, for instance. He probably wouldn't admit it, but I think you have raised his spirits by being here. It means you care, and he respects you."