Laurie’s mind, the name made a hazy association. For a moment, she
struggled with her memory. Why was that name familiar? Then she
remembered. It had been during the Cerino affair. A man had been
murdered in the Spoletto Funeral Home on orders from Paul Cerino,
Franconi’s predecessor.
Laurie pocketed her memo, pushed away from the desk and returned to the
fifth floor. She walked directly to Jack’s office. The door was ajar.
She knocked on the jamb. Both Jack and Chet looked up from their
respective labors.
‘I had a thought,’ Laurie said to Jack.
‘Just one?’ Jack quipped.
Laurie threw her pencil at him, which he easily evaded. She plopped down
in the chair to his right and told him about the mob connection with the
Spoletto Funeral Home.
‘Good grief, Laurie,’ Jack complained. ‘Just because there is a mob hit
in a funeral home, doesn’t mean that it is mob-connected.’
‘You don’t think so?’ Laurie asked. Jack didn’t have to answer. She
could see by his expression. And, now that she thought about her idea,
she understood it was a ridiculous notion. She’d been grabbing for
straws.
‘Besides,’ Jack said. ‘Why won’t you just leave this alone?’
‘I told you,’ Laurie said. ‘It’s a personal thing.’
‘Maybe I can channel your efforts into a more positive direction,’ Jack
said. He motioned toward his microscope. ‘Take a look at a frozen
section. Tell me what you think.’
Laurie got up from the chair and leaned over the microscope. ‘What is
this, the shotgun entrance wound?’ she asked.
‘Just as sharp as usual,’ Jack commented. ‘You’re right on the money.’
‘Well, it’s not a hard call,’ Laurie said. ‘I’d say the muzzle was
within inches of the skin.’
‘My opinion exactly,’ Jack said. ‘Anything else?’
‘My gosh, there’s absolutely no extravasation of blood!’ Laurie said.
‘None at all, so this had to have been a postmortem wound.’ She raised
her head and looked at Jack. She was amazed. She’d assumed it had been
the mortal wound.
‘Ah, the power of modern science,’ Jack commented. ‘This floater you
foisted on me is turning into a bastard of a case.’
‘Hey, you volunteered,’ Laurie said.
‘I’m teasing,’ Jack said. ‘I’m glad I got the case. The shotgun wounds
were definitely postmortem, so was the decapitation and removal of the
hands. Of course the propeller injuries were, too.’
‘What was the cause of death?’ Laurie asked.
‘Two other gunshot wounds,’ Jack said. ‘One through the base of the
neck.’ He pointed to an area just above his right collarbone. ‘And
another in the left side that shattered the tenth rib. The irony was
that both slugs ended up in the mass of shotgun pellets in the right
upper abdominal area and were difficult to be seen on the X ray.’
‘Now that’s a first,’ Laurie said. ‘Bullets hidden by shotgun pellets.
Amazing! The beauty of this job is that you see new things every day.’
‘The best is yet to come,’ Jack said.
‘This is a `beaut,’ ‘ Chet said. He’d been listening to the
conversation. ‘It’ll be perfect for one of the forensic pathology dinner
seminars.’
‘I think the shotgun blasts were an attempt to shield the victim’s
identity as much as the decapitation and removal of the hands,’ Jack
said.
‘In what way?’ Laurie asked.
‘I believe this patient had had a liver transplant,’ Jack said. ‘And not
that long ago. The killer must have understood that such a procedure put
the patient in a relatively small group, and hence jeopardized the
chances of hiding the victim’s identity.’
‘Was there much liver left?’ Laurie asked.
‘Very little,’ Jack said. ‘Most of it was destroyed by the shotgun
injury.’
‘And the fish helped,’ Chet said.
Laurie winced.
‘But I was able to find some liver tissue,’ Jack said. ‘We’ll use that
to corroborate the transplant. As we speak, Ted Lynch ip in DNA is
running a DQ alpha. We’ll have the results in an hour or so. But for me
the clincher was the sutures in the vena cava and the hepatic artery.’
‘What’s a DQ alpha?’ Laurie asked.
Jack laughed. ‘Makes me feel better that you don’t know,’ he said,
‘because I had to ask Ted the same question. He told me it is a