"I'm Dr. Novak," she said, holding out her hand. He shook it automatically, quickly, as though to get the formalities done and over with.

"Adam Quantrell," he said. "You left that message on my answering machine."

"Why don't we go down to my office? You can wait there until the police-"

"You said something about a woman," he cut in rudely. "That the police brought in a woman." No, it wasn't rudeness, M. J., decided. He was afraid.

"It might be better to wait for Lieutenant Beamis," she said. "He can explain the situation."

"Why don't you explain it to me?"

"I'm just the medical examiner, Mr. Quantrell. I can't give out information."

The look he shot her was withering. All at once she wished she stood a little straighter, a little taller. That she didn't feel so threatened by that gaze of his. "This Lieutenant Beamis," he said. "He's from Homicide, right?"

"Yes."

"So there's a question of murder."

"I don't want to speculate."

"Who is she?"

"We don't have an ID yet."

"Then you don't know."

"No."

He paused. "Let me see the body." It wasn't a request but a command, and a desperate one at that.

M. J. glanced at the door and wondered when the hell Beamis would arrive. She looked back at the man and realized that he was barely holding it together. He's terrified. Terrified that the body lying in my refrigerated drawer is someone he knows and loves.

"That's why you called me, isn't it?" he said. "To find out if I can identify her?"

She nodded. "The morgue is downstairs, Mr. Quantrell. Come with me."

He strode beside her in silence, his tanned face looking pale under the fluorescent lights. He was silent as well on the elevator ride down to the basement. She glanced up once, and saw that he was staring straight