"I'm not available at the moment. Please leave your name and number."

That was all. No cute music, no witty remarks, just that terse request, and then the beep.

M. J. said, "This is Dr. Novak at the Albion medical examiner's office. Please call me at eight-seven-nine, six-four-four-oh. It's in regard to a…" She paused. She couldn't exactly say she had a corpse that he might know. Instead she said, "Just call me. It's important." Then she hung up and looked at the two cops. "Now we wait and see what happens."

For the next few hours, nothing much did happen. Beamis and Shradick left on another call, and M. J. completed her external exam. She found no apparent injuries to explain the victim's death. With needle and syringe, she collected body fluids for analysis: blood from the subclavian vein, vitreous fluid from the eye, urine through the lower abdominal wall. All these she deposited in glass test tubes, some to be sent to the state lab, some reserved for preliminary tests she herself would run. She decided an autopsy could wait. There was no sense doing one if it wasn't necessary. If the body fluids showed toxic drug levels, she would have her answer. For now, the body would go into cold storage, to be listed under the name: Jane Doe 373-4-3-A.

At eleven o'clock, while M. J. was at her desk, the phone rang. She picked it up and answered: "Dr. Novak, Assistant ME."

"You left a message," said a man. She recognized atonce the voice from the answering machine. Its deep timbre was now edged with anxiety. "What's this all about?" he demanded.

M. J. at once reached for pen and paper. "Who am I speaking to?" she asked.

"You should know. You called me."

"I just had your telephone number, not a name-"

"And how did you get my number?"

"It was written on a matchbook. The police brought a woman into the morgue this morning, and she-"

He cut in: "I'll be right there."