Authors: Robin Cook
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Mystery & Detective, #Suspense, #Thrillers, #Suspense Fiction, #Fiction - Espionage, #Thriller, #Detective and mystery stories, #Espionage, #Onbekend, #Medical, #Medical novels, #New York (N.Y.), #Forensic pathologists, #Equatorial Guinea, #Forensic pathologists - Fiction, #Robin - Prose & Criticism, #Equatorial Guinea - Fiction, #Cook, #New York (N.Y.) - Fiction
Chromosome 6 (10 page)
"The new problem has to do with Kevin Marshall," Bertram said.
"Now what in God's name could that skinny simpleton do to get you to worry?" Siegfried asked. "With your paranoia, it's a good thing you don't have to do my job." "The nerd has worked himself up because he's seen smoke coming from the island," Bertram said. "He's come to me twice. Once last week and then again this morning." "What's the big deal about smoke?" Siegfried asked. "Why does he care? He sounds worse than you." "He thinks the bonobos might be using fire," Bertram said. "He hasn't said so explicitly, but I'm sure that's what is on his mind."
"What do you mean 'using fire'?" Siegfried asked. He leaned forward. "You mean like making a campfire for warmth or cooking?" Siegfried laughed without disturbing his omnipresent sneer. "I don't know about you urban Americans. Out here in the bush you're scared of your own shadow." "I know it's preposetrous," Bertram said. "Of course no one else has seen it, or if they have, it's probably from a lightning storm. The problem is, he wants to go out there." "No one goes near the island!" Siegfried growled. "Only during a harvest, and it's only the harvest team! That's a directive from the home office. There are no exceptions save for Kimba, the pygmy, delivering the supplementary food."
"I told him the same thing," Bertram said. "And I don't think he'll do anything on his own. Still, I thought I should tell you about it just the same." "It's good that you did," Siegfried said irritably. "The little prick. He's a goddamned thorn in my side." "There is one other thing," Bertram said. "He told Raymond Lyons about the smoke." Siegfried slapped the surface of his desk with his good hand loud enough to cause Bertram to jump. He stood up and stepped to the shuttered window overlooking the town square. He glared over at the hospital. He'd never liked the epicene bookish researcher from their first meeting. When he'd learned Kevin was to be coddled and accommodated in the second best house in the town, Siegfried had boiled over. He'd wanted to assign the house as a perk to one of his loyal underlings. Siegfried balled his good hand into a fist and gritted his teeth. "What a meddling pain in the ass," he said. "His research is almost done," Bertram said. "It would be a shame if he was to muck things up just when everything is going so well."
"What did Lyons say?" Siegfried asked.
"Nothing," Bertram said. "He accused Kevin of letting his imagination run wild." "I might have to have someone watch Kevin," Siegfried said. "I will not have anyone destroy this program. That's all there is to it. It's too lucrative." Bertram stood up. "That's your department," he said. He started for the door, confident he'd planted the appropriate seed.
"Now what in God's name could that skinny simpleton do to get you to worry?" Siegfried asked. "With your paranoia, it's a good thing you don't have to do my job." "The nerd has worked himself up because he's seen smoke coming from the island," Bertram said. "He's come to me twice. Once last week and then again this morning." "What's the big deal about smoke?" Siegfried asked. "Why does he care? He sounds worse than you." "He thinks the bonobos might be using fire," Bertram said. "He hasn't said so explicitly, but I'm sure that's what is on his mind."
"What do you mean 'using fire'?" Siegfried asked. He leaned forward. "You mean like making a campfire for warmth or cooking?" Siegfried laughed without disturbing his omnipresent sneer. "I don't know about you urban Americans. Out here in the bush you're scared of your own shadow." "I know it's preposetrous," Bertram said. "Of course no one else has seen it, or if they have, it's probably from a lightning storm. The problem is, he wants to go out there." "No one goes near the island!" Siegfried growled. "Only during a harvest, and it's only the harvest team! That's a directive from the home office. There are no exceptions save for Kimba, the pygmy, delivering the supplementary food."
"I told him the same thing," Bertram said. "And I don't think he'll do anything on his own. Still, I thought I should tell you about it just the same." "It's good that you did," Siegfried said irritably. "The little prick. He's a goddamned thorn in my side." "There is one other thing," Bertram said. "He told Raymond Lyons about the smoke." Siegfried slapped the surface of his desk with his good hand loud enough to cause Bertram to jump. He stood up and stepped to the shuttered window overlooking the town square. He glared over at the hospital. He'd never liked the epicene bookish researcher from their first meeting. When he'd learned Kevin was to be coddled and accommodated in the second best house in the town, Siegfried had boiled over. He'd wanted to assign the house as a perk to one of his loyal underlings. Siegfried balled his good hand into a fist and gritted his teeth. "What a meddling pain in the ass," he said. "His research is almost done," Bertram said. "It would be a shame if he was to muck things up just when everything is going so well."
"What did Lyons say?" Siegfried asked.
"Nothing," Bertram said. "He accused Kevin of letting his imagination run wild." "I might have to have someone watch Kevin," Siegfried said. "I will not have anyone destroy this program. That's all there is to it. It's too lucrative." Bertram stood up. "That's your department," he said. He started for the door, confident he'd planted the appropriate seed.
CHAPTER 7: MARCH 5, 1997 7:25 A.M.
NEW YORK CITY
THE combination of cheap red wine and little sleep slowed Jack's pace on his morning bicycle commute. His customary time of arrival in the ID room of the medical examiner's office was seven-fifteen. But as he got off the elevator on the first floor of the morgue en route to the ID room, he noticed it was already seven twenty-five, and it bothered him. It wasn't as if he were late, it was just that Jack liked to keep to a schedule. Discipline in relation to his work was one of the ways he'd learned to avoid depression.
His first order of business was to pour himself a cup of coffee from the communal pot. Even the aroma seemed to have a beneficial effect, which Jack attributed to Pavlovian conditioning. He took his first sip. It was a heavenly experience. Though he doubted the caffeine could work quite so quickly, he felt like his mild hangover headache was already on the mend. He stepped over to Vinnie Amendola, the mortuary tech whose day shift overlapped the night shift. He was ensconced as usual at one of the office's government-issued metal desks. His feet were parked on the corner, and his face hidden behind his morning newspaper. Jack pulled the edge of the paper down to expose Vinnie's Italianate features to the world. He was in his late twenties, in sorry physical shape, but handsome. His dark, thick hair was something Jack envied. Jack had been noticing over the previous year a decided thinning of his gray-streaked brown hair on the crown of his head.
"Hey, Einstein, what's the paper say about the Franconi body incident?" Jack asked. Jack and Vinnie worked together on a frequent basis, both appreciating the other's flippancy, quick wit, and black humor. "I don't know," Vinnie said. He tried to pull his beloved paper from Jack's grasp. He was embroiled in the Knicks stats from the previous night's basketball game. Jack's forehead furrowed. Vinnie might not have been an academic genius, but about current news items, he was something of a resident authority. He read the newspapers cover to cover every day and had impressive recall.
"There's nothing about it in the paper?" Jack questioned. He was shocked. He'd imagined the media would have had a field day with the embarrassment of the body disappearing from the morgue. Bureaucratic mismanagement was a favorite journalistic theme. "I didn't notice it," Vinnie said. He yanked harder, freed the paper, and reburied his face. Jack shook his head. He was truly surprised and wondered how Harold Bingham, the chief medical examiner, had managed such a media coverup. Just as Jack was about to turn away, he caught the headlines. It said: MOB THUMBS NOSE AT AUTHORITY. The subhead read: "Vaccarro crime family kills one of its own then steals the body out from under the noses of city officials." Jack snatched the entire paper from the surprised Vinnie's grasp. Vinnie's legs fell to the floor with a thump. "Hey, come on!" he complained.
Jack folded the paper then held it so that Vinnie was forced to stare at the front page.
NEW YORK CITY
THE combination of cheap red wine and little sleep slowed Jack's pace on his morning bicycle commute. His customary time of arrival in the ID room of the medical examiner's office was seven-fifteen. But as he got off the elevator on the first floor of the morgue en route to the ID room, he noticed it was already seven twenty-five, and it bothered him. It wasn't as if he were late, it was just that Jack liked to keep to a schedule. Discipline in relation to his work was one of the ways he'd learned to avoid depression.
His first order of business was to pour himself a cup of coffee from the communal pot. Even the aroma seemed to have a beneficial effect, which Jack attributed to Pavlovian conditioning. He took his first sip. It was a heavenly experience. Though he doubted the caffeine could work quite so quickly, he felt like his mild hangover headache was already on the mend. He stepped over to Vinnie Amendola, the mortuary tech whose day shift overlapped the night shift. He was ensconced as usual at one of the office's government-issued metal desks. His feet were parked on the corner, and his face hidden behind his morning newspaper. Jack pulled the edge of the paper down to expose Vinnie's Italianate features to the world. He was in his late twenties, in sorry physical shape, but handsome. His dark, thick hair was something Jack envied. Jack had been noticing over the previous year a decided thinning of his gray-streaked brown hair on the crown of his head.
"Hey, Einstein, what's the paper say about the Franconi body incident?" Jack asked. Jack and Vinnie worked together on a frequent basis, both appreciating the other's flippancy, quick wit, and black humor. "I don't know," Vinnie said. He tried to pull his beloved paper from Jack's grasp. He was embroiled in the Knicks stats from the previous night's basketball game. Jack's forehead furrowed. Vinnie might not have been an academic genius, but about current news items, he was something of a resident authority. He read the newspapers cover to cover every day and had impressive recall.
"There's nothing about it in the paper?" Jack questioned. He was shocked. He'd imagined the media would have had a field day with the embarrassment of the body disappearing from the morgue. Bureaucratic mismanagement was a favorite journalistic theme. "I didn't notice it," Vinnie said. He yanked harder, freed the paper, and reburied his face. Jack shook his head. He was truly surprised and wondered how Harold Bingham, the chief medical examiner, had managed such a media coverup. Just as Jack was about to turn away, he caught the headlines. It said: MOB THUMBS NOSE AT AUTHORITY. The subhead read: "Vaccarro crime family kills one of its own then steals the body out from under the noses of city officials." Jack snatched the entire paper from the surprised Vinnie's grasp. Vinnie's legs fell to the floor with a thump. "Hey, come on!" he complained.
Jack folded the paper then held it so that Vinnie was forced to stare at the front page.
"I thought you said the story wasn't in the paper," Jack said.
"I didn't say it wasn't in there," Vinnie said. "I said I didn't see it." "It's the headlines, for crissake!" Jack said. He pointed at them with his coffee cup for emphasis. Vinnie lunged out to grab his paper. Jack pulled it away from his grasp. "Come on!" Vinnie whined. "Get your own freakin' paper." "You've got me curious," Jack said. "As methodical as you are, you'd have read this front-page story on your subway ride into town. What's up, Vinnie?" "Nothing!" Vinnie said. "I just went directly to the sports page." Jack studied Vinnie's face for a moment. Vinnie looked away to avoid eye contact. "Are you sick?" Jack asked facetiously. "No!" Vinnie snapped. "Just give me the paper." Jack slipped out the sports pages and handed them over. Then he went over to the scheduling desk and started the article. It began on the front page and concluded on the third. As Jack anticipated, it was written from a sarcastic, mocking point of view. It cast equal aspersion on the police department and the medical examiner's office. It said the whole sordid affair was just another glowing example of the gross incompetence of both organizations.
Laurie breezed into the room and interrupted Jack. As she removed her coat, she told him that she hoped he felt better than she.
"Probably not," Jack admitted. "It was that cheap wine I brought over. I'm sorry." "It was also the five hours of sleep," Laurie said. "I had a terrible time hauling myself out of bed." She put her coat down on a chair. "Good morning, Vinnie," she called out. Vinnie stayed silent behind his sports page. "He's pouting because I violated his paper," Jack said. Jack got up so Laurie could sit down at the scheduling desk. It was Laurie's week to divvy up the cases for autopsy among the staff. "The headlines and cover story are about the Franconi incident." "I wouldn't wonder," Laurie said. "It was all over the local news, and I heard it announced that Bingham will be on Good Morning America to attempt damage control." "He's got his hands full," Jack said.
"Have you looked at today's cases?" Laurie asked, as she started glancing through the twenty or so folders.
"I just got here myself," Jack admitted. He continued reading the article.
"I didn't say it wasn't in there," Vinnie said. "I said I didn't see it." "It's the headlines, for crissake!" Jack said. He pointed at them with his coffee cup for emphasis. Vinnie lunged out to grab his paper. Jack pulled it away from his grasp. "Come on!" Vinnie whined. "Get your own freakin' paper." "You've got me curious," Jack said. "As methodical as you are, you'd have read this front-page story on your subway ride into town. What's up, Vinnie?" "Nothing!" Vinnie said. "I just went directly to the sports page." Jack studied Vinnie's face for a moment. Vinnie looked away to avoid eye contact. "Are you sick?" Jack asked facetiously. "No!" Vinnie snapped. "Just give me the paper." Jack slipped out the sports pages and handed them over. Then he went over to the scheduling desk and started the article. It began on the front page and concluded on the third. As Jack anticipated, it was written from a sarcastic, mocking point of view. It cast equal aspersion on the police department and the medical examiner's office. It said the whole sordid affair was just another glowing example of the gross incompetence of both organizations.
Laurie breezed into the room and interrupted Jack. As she removed her coat, she told him that she hoped he felt better than she.
"Probably not," Jack admitted. "It was that cheap wine I brought over. I'm sorry." "It was also the five hours of sleep," Laurie said. "I had a terrible time hauling myself out of bed." She put her coat down on a chair. "Good morning, Vinnie," she called out. Vinnie stayed silent behind his sports page. "He's pouting because I violated his paper," Jack said. Jack got up so Laurie could sit down at the scheduling desk. It was Laurie's week to divvy up the cases for autopsy among the staff. "The headlines and cover story are about the Franconi incident." "I wouldn't wonder," Laurie said. "It was all over the local news, and I heard it announced that Bingham will be on Good Morning America to attempt damage control." "He's got his hands full," Jack said.
"Have you looked at today's cases?" Laurie asked, as she started glancing through the twenty or so folders.
"I just got here myself," Jack admitted. He continued reading the article.
"Oh, this is good!" Jack commented after a moment's silence. "They're alleging that there is some kind of
conspiracy between us and the police department. They suggest we might have deliberately disposed of the body for their benefit. Can you imagine! These media people are so paranoid that they see conspiracy in everything!"
"It's the public who is paranoid," Laurie said. "The media likes to give them what they want. But that kind of wild theory is exactly why I'm going to find out how that body disappeared. The public has to know we are impartial."
"I was hoping you'd have a change of heart and given up on that quest after a night's sleep," Jack mumbled while continuing to read.
"Not a chance," Laurie said.
"This is crazy!" Jack said, slapping the page of newsprint. "First they suggest we here at the ME office were responsible for the body disappearing, and now they say the mob undoubtedly buried the remains in the wilds of Westchester so they will never be found." "The last part is probably correct," Laurie said. "Unless the body turns up in the spring thaw. With the frost it's hard to dig more than a foot below the surface." "Gads, what trash!" Jack commented as he finished the article. "Here, you want to read it?" He offered the front pages of the paper to Laurie.
Laurie waved them off. "Thanks, but I already read the version in the Times," she said. "It was caustic enough. I don't need the New York Post's point of view." Jack went back over to Vinnie and quipped that he was willing to return his paper to its virginal state. Vinnie took the pages without comment.
"You are awfully sensitive today," Jack said to the tech. "Just leave me alone," Vinnie snapped.
"Whoa, watch out, Laurie!" Jack said. "I think Vinnie has pre-mental tension. He's probably planning on doing some thinking and it's got his hormones all out of whack." "Uh-oh!" Laurie called out. "Here's that floater that Mike Passano mentioned last night. Who should I assign it to? Trouble is I don't think I'm mad at anyone and to forestall guilt I'll probably end up doing it myself."
"Give it to me," Jack said.
"You don't care?" Laurie asked. She hated floaters, especially those which had been in the water for a long time. Such autopsies were unpleasant and often difficult jobs. "Nah," Jack said. "Once you get past the smell, you got it licked." "Please!" Laurie murmured. "That's disgusting."
conspiracy between us and the police department. They suggest we might have deliberately disposed of the body for their benefit. Can you imagine! These media people are so paranoid that they see conspiracy in everything!"
"It's the public who is paranoid," Laurie said. "The media likes to give them what they want. But that kind of wild theory is exactly why I'm going to find out how that body disappeared. The public has to know we are impartial."
"I was hoping you'd have a change of heart and given up on that quest after a night's sleep," Jack mumbled while continuing to read.
"Not a chance," Laurie said.
"This is crazy!" Jack said, slapping the page of newsprint. "First they suggest we here at the ME office were responsible for the body disappearing, and now they say the mob undoubtedly buried the remains in the wilds of Westchester so they will never be found." "The last part is probably correct," Laurie said. "Unless the body turns up in the spring thaw. With the frost it's hard to dig more than a foot below the surface." "Gads, what trash!" Jack commented as he finished the article. "Here, you want to read it?" He offered the front pages of the paper to Laurie.
Laurie waved them off. "Thanks, but I already read the version in the Times," she said. "It was caustic enough. I don't need the New York Post's point of view." Jack went back over to Vinnie and quipped that he was willing to return his paper to its virginal state. Vinnie took the pages without comment.
"You are awfully sensitive today," Jack said to the tech. "Just leave me alone," Vinnie snapped.
"Whoa, watch out, Laurie!" Jack said. "I think Vinnie has pre-mental tension. He's probably planning on doing some thinking and it's got his hormones all out of whack." "Uh-oh!" Laurie called out. "Here's that floater that Mike Passano mentioned last night. Who should I assign it to? Trouble is I don't think I'm mad at anyone and to forestall guilt I'll probably end up doing it myself."
"Give it to me," Jack said.
"You don't care?" Laurie asked. She hated floaters, especially those which had been in the water for a long time. Such autopsies were unpleasant and often difficult jobs. "Nah," Jack said. "Once you get past the smell, you got it licked." "Please!" Laurie murmured. "That's disgusting."
"Seriously," Jack said. "They can be a challenge. I like them better than gunshot wounds."
"This one is both," Laurie commented, as she put Jack down for the floater. "How delightful!" Jack commented. He walked back to the scheduling desk and looked over Laurie's shoulder.
"There's a presumptive, close range shotgun blast to the upper-right quadrant," Laurie said. "It's sounding better and better," Jack said. "What's the victim's name?" "No name," Laurie said. "In fact, that will be part of your challenge. The head and the hands are missing."
Laurie handed Jack the folder. He leaned on the edge of the desk and slid out the contents. There wasn't much information. What there was came from the forensic investigator, Janice Jaeger. Janice wrote that the body had been discovered in the Atlantic Ocean way out off Coney Island. It had been inadvertently found by a Coast Guard cutter which had been lying in wait under the cover of night for some suspected drug runners. The Coast Guard had acted on an anonymous tip, and, at the time of the discovery, had been essentially dead in the water with their lights out and radar on. The cutter had literally bumped up against the body. The presumption was that it was the remains of the drug runner/informer.
"Not a lot to go on," Jack said.
"All the more challenge," Laurie teased. Jack slipped off the desk and headed for the communications room en route to the elevator. "Come on, grouchy!" he called to Vinnie. He gave Vinnie's paper a slap and his arm a tug as he passed. "Time's a wasting." But at the door he literally bumped into Lou Soldano. The detective lieutenant had his mind on his goal: the coffee machine.
"Jeez," Jack commented. "You should try out for the New York Giants." Some of his coffee had sloshed out onto the floor.
"Sorry," Lou said. "I'm in sorry need of some Java." Both men went to the coffeepot. Jack used some paper towels to dab at the spill down the front of his corduroy jacket. Lou filled a Styrofoam cup to the brim with a shaky hand, then sipped enough to allow for plenty of cream and sugar.
Lou sighed. "It's been a grueling couple of days." "Have you been partying all night again?" Jack said. Lou's face was stubbled with a heavy growth of whiskers. He had on a wrinkled blue shirt with the top button undone and his tie loosened and askew. His Colombo-style trench coat looked like something a homeless person would wear.
"I wish," Lou grunted. "I've seen about three hours of sleep in the last two nights." He walked over, said
"This one is both," Laurie commented, as she put Jack down for the floater. "How delightful!" Jack commented. He walked back to the scheduling desk and looked over Laurie's shoulder.
"There's a presumptive, close range shotgun blast to the upper-right quadrant," Laurie said. "It's sounding better and better," Jack said. "What's the victim's name?" "No name," Laurie said. "In fact, that will be part of your challenge. The head and the hands are missing."
Laurie handed Jack the folder. He leaned on the edge of the desk and slid out the contents. There wasn't much information. What there was came from the forensic investigator, Janice Jaeger. Janice wrote that the body had been discovered in the Atlantic Ocean way out off Coney Island. It had been inadvertently found by a Coast Guard cutter which had been lying in wait under the cover of night for some suspected drug runners. The Coast Guard had acted on an anonymous tip, and, at the time of the discovery, had been essentially dead in the water with their lights out and radar on. The cutter had literally bumped up against the body. The presumption was that it was the remains of the drug runner/informer.
"Not a lot to go on," Jack said.
"All the more challenge," Laurie teased. Jack slipped off the desk and headed for the communications room en route to the elevator. "Come on, grouchy!" he called to Vinnie. He gave Vinnie's paper a slap and his arm a tug as he passed. "Time's a wasting." But at the door he literally bumped into Lou Soldano. The detective lieutenant had his mind on his goal: the coffee machine.
"Jeez," Jack commented. "You should try out for the New York Giants." Some of his coffee had sloshed out onto the floor.
"Sorry," Lou said. "I'm in sorry need of some Java." Both men went to the coffeepot. Jack used some paper towels to dab at the spill down the front of his corduroy jacket. Lou filled a Styrofoam cup to the brim with a shaky hand, then sipped enough to allow for plenty of cream and sugar.
Lou sighed. "It's been a grueling couple of days." "Have you been partying all night again?" Jack said. Lou's face was stubbled with a heavy growth of whiskers. He had on a wrinkled blue shirt with the top button undone and his tie loosened and askew. His Colombo-style trench coat looked like something a homeless person would wear.
"I wish," Lou grunted. "I've seen about three hours of sleep in the last two nights." He walked over, said
hello to Laurie, and sat down heavily in a chair next to the scheduling desk.
"Any progress on the Franconi case?" Laurie asked. "Nothing that pleases the captain, the area commander, or the police commissioner," Lou said dejectedly. "What a mess. The worry is, some heads are going to roll. We in Homicide are starting to worry we might be set up as scapegoats unless we can come up with a break in the case." "It wasn't your fault Franconi was murdered," Laurie said indignantly. "Tell that to the commissioner," Lou commented. He took a loud sip from his coffee. "Mind if I smoke?" He looked at Laurie and Jack. "Forget it," he said the moment he saw their expressions. "I don't know why I asked. Must have been a moment of temporary insanity." "What have you learned?" Laurie asked. Laurie knew that prior to being assigned to Homicide, Lou had been with the Organized Crime unit. With his experience, there was no one more qualified to investigate the case.
"It was definitely a Vaccarro hit," Lou said. "We learned that from our informers. But since Franconi was about to testify, we'd already assumed as much. The only real lead is that we have the murder weapon." "That should help," Laurie said.
"Not as much as you'd think," Lou said. "It's not so unusual during a mob hit that the weapon is left behind. We found it on a rooftop across from the Positano Restaurant. It was a scoped 30- Remington with two rounds missing from its magazine. The two casings were on the roof." "Fingerprints?" Laurie asked.
"Wiped clean," Lou said, "but the crime boys are still going over it." "Traceable?" Jack asked.
"Yeah," Lou said with a sigh. "We did that. The rifle belonged to a hunting freak out in Menlo Park. But it was the expected dead end. The guy's place had been robbed the day before. The only thing missing was the rifle."
"So what's next?" Laurie asked.
"We're still following up leads," Lou said. "Plus there are more informers that we've not been able to contact. But mostly we're just keeping our fingers crossed for some sort of break. What about you guys? Any idea how the body walked out of here?" "Not yet, but I'm looking into it personally," Laurie said. "Hey, don't encourage her," Jack said. "That's for Bingham and Washington to do." "He's got a point, Laurie," Lou said.
"Damn straight I got a point," Jack said. "Last time Laurie got involved with the mob she got carried out of here nailed in a coffin. At least that's what you told me."
"Any progress on the Franconi case?" Laurie asked. "Nothing that pleases the captain, the area commander, or the police commissioner," Lou said dejectedly. "What a mess. The worry is, some heads are going to roll. We in Homicide are starting to worry we might be set up as scapegoats unless we can come up with a break in the case." "It wasn't your fault Franconi was murdered," Laurie said indignantly. "Tell that to the commissioner," Lou commented. He took a loud sip from his coffee. "Mind if I smoke?" He looked at Laurie and Jack. "Forget it," he said the moment he saw their expressions. "I don't know why I asked. Must have been a moment of temporary insanity." "What have you learned?" Laurie asked. Laurie knew that prior to being assigned to Homicide, Lou had been with the Organized Crime unit. With his experience, there was no one more qualified to investigate the case.
"It was definitely a Vaccarro hit," Lou said. "We learned that from our informers. But since Franconi was about to testify, we'd already assumed as much. The only real lead is that we have the murder weapon." "That should help," Laurie said.
"Not as much as you'd think," Lou said. "It's not so unusual during a mob hit that the weapon is left behind. We found it on a rooftop across from the Positano Restaurant. It was a scoped 30- Remington with two rounds missing from its magazine. The two casings were on the roof." "Fingerprints?" Laurie asked.
"Wiped clean," Lou said, "but the crime boys are still going over it." "Traceable?" Jack asked.
"Yeah," Lou said with a sigh. "We did that. The rifle belonged to a hunting freak out in Menlo Park. But it was the expected dead end. The guy's place had been robbed the day before. The only thing missing was the rifle."
"So what's next?" Laurie asked.
"We're still following up leads," Lou said. "Plus there are more informers that we've not been able to contact. But mostly we're just keeping our fingers crossed for some sort of break. What about you guys? Any idea how the body walked out of here?" "Not yet, but I'm looking into it personally," Laurie said. "Hey, don't encourage her," Jack said. "That's for Bingham and Washington to do." "He's got a point, Laurie," Lou said.
"Damn straight I got a point," Jack said. "Last time Laurie got involved with the mob she got carried out of here nailed in a coffin. At least that's what you told me."
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