* * *
The old mahogany walls of the once-proud courtroom were patched with mismatched walnut pasteboard.
The common man gets pasteboard, the rich corporation marble.
Even worse, the client had to pay a filing fee before being permitted to seek justice. She had laid out the money, knowing her chances of ever seeing it again were slim to nonexistent.
She knew the attorney going up against her: good ol fat toupeed Chester Gruen, a member of the old boys club, whom she had met at her first Bar Association meeting in New York. There he had charmed her by pointing to his crotch. Youll never be a match for
this
in the courtroom, he had said. Manny had squinted. Im sorry. I seem to have forgotten my magnifying glass. Hell remember me, she thought now, fidgeting as they waited at counsel tables for the judge to take the bench.
What are you so impatient about, Ms. Manfreda? Your client aint going anyplace, Gruen said, roaring at his own witticism.
Manny stifled the temptation to ask if
it
had gotten any bigger since shed last seen him. Probably not, she decided, and comforted herself with the notion that it had shrunk.
Judge Melvin Bradford III, it turned out, was as fidgety as she. Manny made her case succinctly, stressing the need to identify all the people who had been buried with Lyons in case there was a connection between them that could add to her contention that Turner Psychiatric had been remiss, at the very least.
Gruen, who represented both Baxter County and its hospital a blatant conflict of interest, Manny told herself tried to dismiss the suit as frivolous and a nuisance, designed to cost the county taxpayers their hard-earned pay in these economically troubled times and to smear with false charges an institution that was the pride of Turner Township for more than a century.
He hadnt done his homework; thanks to Kenneth, Manny had. Judge Bradford, who had evidently listened to Gruen too many times, allowed her the first order ever granted in the State of New York to preserve four skeletons, dirt, the results of toxicological testing, X-rays if any, autopsy reports, medical examiners notes and files, photos, police officers reports and notes, clothing, medical records, paraffin blocks, formal-fixed tissues, microscopic slides, and a whole lot of other stuff anything you need.
Euphoric, Manny skipped out of the courtroom, ignoring Gruen, who had approached the bench to ask for a meeting in judges chambers.
That was fast, Kenneth said. After we serve the order on the hospital, well be home by supper.
I dont think so. As long as were here and finished so early, I thought we might take a little side trip on Patrices behalf. See if I can rouse some ghosts.
It took Jake three hours to complete his morning autopsies, and he still hadnt started on the paperwork. Pedersonll ream me a new one if I dont get it done, he thought, though the words swam before his eyes. Under Harrigan, Pedersons predecessor, there were far fewer forms with far fewer necessary signatures, and a doctor could get home at a decent hour. He had about decided that rest was worth a tongue-lashing when the phone rang.
Dr. Rosen? A mans voice, oozing honey. Bad news.
Speaking.
My firm represents R. Seward Reynolds, the developer of the Turner Mall.
And your name is . . . ?
Michael Thompson of Javalovich, Custer, Thompson and Warbler. We understand that your representative is in Baxter County trying to preserve the skeletons and close up the area where they were found, and that you yourself have been espousing preposterous theories that could cause our client financial harm.
Mannys work. Good girl! And wouldnt she love it if she knew he called her my representative.
Who told you that?
We dont reveal client confidences. We simply wanted to tell you, as a courtesy, that our client is prepared to litigate for any monies lost as a result of your or your representatives actions. To put it plainly: Stick to your own job.
Jake usually responded with great cool, but he had a few trigger points. Threats were high on his short list. Anger flooded his bloodstream like a serum. Mr. Thompson, are you threatening me? You tell your client that if he tries to stop me or my representative, Ill bury
his
bones next to those of Mr. Lyons and personally build a shopping center over them. He slammed down the phone, surprised at the vehemence of his loathing.
The phone rang again.
Look, you, if you ever
Dr. Rosen, said a womans breathless voice, thank God youre there! Youve got to help us. Something awfuls happened.
Jake rubbed at the vein throbbing in his temple. Who is this?
Its Paula Koros, Theresa Alessiss daughter.
His breathing slowed. Of course Ms. Koros. Forgive me for shouting. I was just about to call you. Ive completed the autopsy of your mothers body.
How best to break it to her?
She didnt give him a chance. Im at the funeral home. The whole familys here. Dr. Rosen, the body in the coffin its not my mother. Its a different woman altogether.
* * *
He knew the body hed worked on was Mrs. Alessis; he had seen her alive a few days before. But there were two other bodies at the morgue. Was it possible . . . ?
He called Baxter Community Hospital and got the morgue attendant, a man who sounded not much older than eighteen.
Last night I performed an autopsy on a woman named Theresa Alessis. She was to be transported this morning to the Fairview Funeral Home, only the wrong body went to that funeral parlor. I need to know what other female bodies were in the morgue last night.
Im not sure Im authorized to give out that information.
This is urgent! Tell me
now
! Jake ordered.
The answer came back quickly. There were two other bodies in the morgue: one female, one male. Female was Brigit Reilly, seventy-five. Husband deceased. No children. The death certificate says Alzheimers. File says she lived at Sweetbrook.
A nursing home.
Yes, sir.
And where was Mrs. Reillys body sent for preparation?
Shady Briar. Its like forty minutes away. Only its kinda weird. He paused.
Jake sighed in frustration. Whats weird?
The van for the county cemetery came here late this morning, looking for Mrs. Reilly. I told them she was gone, that we had received instructions to send her to Shady Briar for private internment.
The throbbing grew worse. Mrs. Reilly was initially supposed to be buried in a paupers grave?
Yes, sir.
Only the body now seems to be at a third place, Fairview?
Seems so. Jake could visualize the shrug.
The mix-up was too coincidental. It felt ominous to Jake. Petes murder. The stolen bottle. Thompsons call about the bones. The trashing of Petes house. And now a missing body. Let me have the numbers for Sweetbrook and Shady Briar. I tell you, young man, if this is a hospital error . . .
But it isnt. Its something more.
* * *
At Sweetbrook, a nurse from the Alzheimers wing agreed to go to the Fairview Funeral Home to look at the body and to call Jake on his pager once she had. An hour later, his suspicion was verified: The body that lay before Theresa Alessiss grieving family was, in fact, Brigit Reilly.
He called Shady Briar. My name is Dr. Jake Rosen and Im trying to locate a body that was delivered to your funeral home this morning, he told the director.
Were not strictly a funeral home, the man said. Were a mausoleum, for the interment of remains. As well as a crematorium, of course.
A curlicue of dread snaked toward his heart. The body is cremated?
Indeed. At the request of her son.
She didnt have any children! That wasnt Mrs. Reilly. Mrs. Reilly is lying in a casket at the Fairview Funeral Home in Turner.
Impossible, the director said. Youre mistaken, Dr. Rosen. We received instructions from Mrs. Reillys son early this morning; my service rang me around six. He told me his mother had expired at Baxter Community Hospital and he wanted her cremated as soon as possible. We picked her up her name was clearly present on the tag on the body bag. I met him myself. A polite man. Very clean. He paid for our services in cash. And we honor our commitments, doctor.
The dread struck. He felt dizzy. What did the son look like?
Hard to say. Im not good at describing people when theyre perpendicular. He chuckled. Average build, brown hair, in his forties.
Did he mention picking up the ashes or make any arrangements for a remains mausoleum?
Not as of now.
Isnt that unusual?
Not at all. Remains sometimes go unclaimed for years, regardless of the original intention. People dont know what to do with them. Thats why we offer eternal storage in our peaceful
Hold on to those ashes. Dont release them to anyone unless you personally deliver them to the Alessis family at Fairview.
The Alessis family? Whatever for?
I dont think you heard me. You cremated the wrong woman. That son hired you to get rid of evidence.
A beat. Evidence?
Mrs. Alessis was murdered.
Heavenly God!
God, said Jake, had nothing to do with it.
Edward Dyson, the administrator of Baxter Community Hospital, was smarm incarnate. You didnt have to bring the papers personally, he told Manny in his office. Judge Bradford called me himself. Too late, though, he said as he gnawed on a jelly bean from the jar on his desk.
The breath went out of her; she felt shed been punched in the chest. Too late?
Instead of answering, Dyson pressed a button by his phone. In moments, a thin man, appearing only old enough to have just graduated high school, arrived at the office door. Tommy, the administrator said, this is Ms. Manfreda. Tell her what you told me.
Mr. Dyson said we gotta hang on to those skeletons from the mental bin. But I told him they already got sent away.
Manny stood. When?
This morning. He cowered like a frightened puppy. Dont tell me I did another thing wrong. First I release bodies to the wrong funeral homes, and now bones are missing.
Calm down. Deep breath.
You were on duty when the four skeletons were released?
Yes, maam.
I need to know about the man who picked them up.
Wasnt no man. It was a lady. He sounded victorious, as though hed won a game of gin rummy.
Okay, a lady. Describe her.
Old.
How old?
Fortyish. Manny chuckled to herself. Dont know what color hair. Wore a scarf. His brow creased in concentration. Wore one of those shapeless dresses, sounds like a cow.
A muumuu?
Thats it. I didnt pay much attention to her. She had the release papers with her.
Dyson proffered a few sheets of bright yellow paper. This was a proper transfer, he said. Look. Tommy did just right.
Manny glanced at the first page. The bones were transferred to the New York City morgue? And the X-rays? And the files? Care of
Dr. Jacob Rosen
?
Yup. The woman said she was from his office. Dr. Rosen himself called me later around noon, but it was about something different. About a body, not bones. Doc Harrigan had the bones laid out in the drawers. I put them in body bags and gave them to the lady.
Manny felt a wash of relief, pissed as she was that Jake hadnt told her. The New York City morgue was probably the safest place in the world for the bones to be.
Ill call him. Give him a hard time about wasted effort. He can tell me about the body. Maybe we should meet, discuss the advantages of teamwork.
She smiled to herself.
That would be nice.
She turned to Dyson. Can I have a photocopy of this release?
He barely glanced at her. Of course. My secretary will make one for you on your way out.
* * *
Jake had just gotten off the phone with Paula Koros, who took the news about her mothers body with a defeated resignation that would, he guessed, later turn to rage. A new client for Manny, he thought.
His phone rang: the lawyer herself. Want to hear the Italian word for jackass? she asked.
Not particularly. In what context?
In the context that Kenneth and I killed ourselves to convince a judge to preserve the Turner skeletons. Mission accomplished. Why didnt you
tell
me you were transferring them to New York?
He felt a stab of pain in his eyes. I wasnt.
Im talking Skeletons One, Two, Three, and Four and all the other stuff, to use Judge Bradfords elegant terminology.