"One in a car accident, the other in a fall. I don't exactly see a trend here."

"Neither do I. Just mentioning it as a curiosity. ' "Fine. So basically we've got no evidence of foul play in the Schulz death. ' "None."

"Okay. Then let's fold up that tent and move on without muddying the water with plastic surgeons."

"Will do." . .

But Gerry's interest was piqued. It might be nothing, doubtless was nothing, but he'd keep an eye out for any other Lathram patients who wound up in the morgue.

Just for the sheer hell of it.

SURGERY DR. PANZELLA? " Gin sat before a computer terminal, completing a pre-op physical, summarizing her evaluation of a patient's cardiopulmonary status and suitability for surgery. At least that was what she was supposed to be doing. Actually she was staring at the screen ruminating about yesterday's disaster at Marsden's office and that officious little, Don't think about it.

She looked up. A young black woman, dressed in surgical scrubs and cap, had poked her head and upper body through the door of the record room and was looking at her expectantly.

'"He's ready to scrub, " said Joanna, the surgicenter's OR nurse.

"Be right there, " Gin said.

She hit F10 to save the H and P, jotted down the file name so she could finish it later, and headed upstairs for the operating suite. Even on a V.I.P morning, with only one very important patient, Duncan Lathram did not like to be kept waiting. She hustled.

Not that she had that far to go. Lathram Surgical Associates sounded like a multicenter medical group, but actually it was one surgeon at one location in Chevy Chase. That location was an old single-story stone building, somewhat Gothic looking, that had once been a bank.

Duncan Lathram and his brother Oliver, also a doctor, but a PhD in pharmacology, had maintained the old facade while completely gutting and refitting the interior into a state-of-the-art prlyate surgicenter.