“Turns out it was here all along.” Corcoran’s voice brought me back. “The guy was so scrawny he got hidden behind an obese woman on an upper gurney shelf. The techs just missed him.”

“Happy ending,” Ryan said.

Corcoran snorted. “Tell that to Walczak.”

It was said of Stanley Walczak that only his ego surpassed his ambition in raw tonnage. His cunning was fierce too. Upon the resignation of the previous ME nine months earlier, having forged a complex web of political connections, to the surprise of few, and the dismay of many, Walczak had called in his chits and been appointed Cook County Medical Examiner.

“Walczak is pissed?” I asked.

“The man detests bad publicity. And inefficiency.” Corcoran sighed. “We handle roughly twenty pickups a day here. Between yesterday and this morning the staff had to phone over sixty funeral homes to see if a delivery had been made to the wrong place. Four techs and three investigators had to be pulled off their normal duties to help check toe tags. It took three sweeps to finally locate the guy. Hell, we’ve got half a cooler set aside just for long-term unknowns.”

“Mistakes happen.” I tried to sound encouraging.

“Here, misplacing a body is not considered a career-enhancing move.”

“You’re a fantastic pathologist. Walczak’s lucky to have you.”

“In his view, I should have been on top of the situation sooner.”

“You expect fallout?” Ryan asked.

“The family’s probably lawyer-shopping as we speak. Nothing like a few bucks to assuage unbearable anguish, even when there is no injury. It’s the American way.”

Corcoran circled the table and we all sat.

“Walczak says he won’t be long. He’s closeted with the Jurmain family lawyer. You’re gonna love him.”

“Oh?”

“Perry Schechter’s a Chicago legend. I once heard him interviewed. Explained his style as confrontational. Said being abrasive knocks people off their stride, causes them to reveal flaws.”