'I'll be down. Tell him I'm coming.'

When Harry Parker arrived at the office of the chief medical examiner, Dr George Romano was eating a sandwich and drinking coffee.

'Harry, my man, what's new?'

'This Jane Doe from the river. I took her out.'

'So you're feeling personal about it, right?'

'Something like that.'

'I'm about to finish the post-mortem. I was just taking a break. What do you want to know? Did she fall or was she pushed?'

'Something like that.'

'Okay, Harry, join me, 'cause this one stinks.' Romano drained his coffee and led the way out.

They went into the post-mortem room, where two technicnians waited, suitably gowned. Romano held up his arms and vne of them helped him into a robe. He went and scrubbed, vt the sink.

'There she is, all yours, Harry.'

Katherine Johnson lay on a slanting steel operating table, her head on a wooden block. She was naked, the Y cut of the preliminary vivid against her pale skin. Romano held up his hands and one of the technicians pulled on surgical gloves for him. There was a cart loaded with instruments and a TV video recorder on a swivel.

Romano said, 'Tuesday, March 2, resuming post-mortem Mrs. Katherine Johnson, 10 Barrow Street, Greenwich Village.'

'Hey, what is this?' Parker demanded.

'Didn't you know?' Romano looked surprised. 'The guy found, her, Richardson? He was hanging around and discovered her purse. She must have dropped it when she Over the pier. Plenty of ID.'

'Okay. Fine. Let's get on with it. Why did you say this stinks?'

'She's a nice lady, well nourished, good condition, about forty years of age.'

'So?'

'So she died of a massive heroin overdose. Enough to kill her twice over. It doesn't fit. Someone like her, in her condition? Plus, someone on that stuff at a high level would have needle sores all over. She only had two — the recent ones. One in the left thigh, the other in the right buttock. And what was she doing in the water?'