At Rosedene, Hannah Bernstein sighed gently and stopped breathing. The alarm sounded, a jarring, ugly sound. A young probationer nurse was nearest and got to her first, followed by Maggie Duncan, then Bellamy. Within seconds, the entire crash team was swinging into action, not that it did any kind of good. They finally switched off. Maggie was crying, Bellamy’s face was bleak.

“Time of death, five thirty-five. Agreed, Matron?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Strange the turns of life,” he said. “So many people loved her, yet at the end not one of them was here.” He shook his head. “I’d better make some phone calls. I’m not looking forward to that.”

“Especially Dillon.”

“All of them, really.”

The Gulfstream was an hour late due to bad headwinds. It was just descending into the lights of Farley Field when Ferguson got the call. He listened, his face grave.

“I’m desperately sorry. Have you spoken to everybody?”

“Yes.”

“How awful for her father and grandfather. And Dillon? How was he?”

“I don’t think he could take it in. He was at the Dark Man with Roper and the others. He passed the phone to Roper and apparently rushed out. Roper said he and the Salters would go after him. He’s probably gone to Rosedene.”

“You know her religion will have an impact here. I’m not sure they’ll allow an autopsy. Find out, would you? Thank you, Doctor, and we’ll talk again.”

Ferguson sat there, face grave as the Gulfstream rolled to a halt, then told Blake the bad news.

Blake was shocked. “How terrible.” He raised the inevitable question. “You mentioned an autopsy?”

“That’s not certain. Generally, they’re not allowed. The Jewish body is considered sacred, and the corpse must be buried within twenty-four hours. However, if it can be argued that an autopsy could save another life, for instance by helping to apprehend a killer and prevent him killing again, then there are exceptions. You’d need an expert rabbi to determine that.”