Chromosome 6 (22 page)
Authors: Robin Cook
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Mystery & Detective, #Suspense, #Thrillers, #Suspense Fiction, #Fiction - Espionage, #Thriller, #Detective and mystery stories, #Espionage, #Onbekend, #Medical, #Medical novels, #New York (N.Y.), #Forensic pathologists, #Equatorial Guinea, #Forensic pathologists - Fiction, #Robin - Prose & Criticism, #Equatorial Guinea - Fiction, #Cook, #New York (N.Y.) - Fiction
scratch Tom vigorously behind his ear.
"He was perspiring while I was talking with him," Laurie said. Lou paused with his coat half off. "Is that all?" he asked. "The man was perspiring?" "Yes, that's it," Laurie said. She knew what Lou was thinking; it was written all over his face. "Did he start perspiring after you asked him difficult and incriminating questions about Franconi's body?" Lou asked. "Or was he perspiring before you began talking with him?" "Before," Laurie admitted.
Lou rolled his eyes. "Whoa! Another Sherlock Holmes incarnate," he said. "Maybe you should take over my job. I don't have your powers of intuition and inductive reasoning!" "You promised not to give me grief," Laurie said. "I never promised," Lou said.
"All right, it was a wasted trip," Laurie said. "Let's get some food. I'm starved." Lou switched the bottle of wine from one hand to the other, allowing him to swing his arm out of his trench coat. When he did, he clumsily knocked Laurie's briefcase to the floor. The impact caused it to spring open and scatter the contents. The crash terrified the cat, who disappeared back into the bedroom after a desperate struggle to gain traction on the highly polished wood floor. "What a klutz," Lou said. "I'm sorry!" He bent down to retrieve the papers, pens, microscope slides, and other paraphernalia and bumped into Laurie in the process. "Maybe it's best you just sit down," Laurie suggested with a laugh. "No, I insist," Lou said.
After they'd gotten most of the contents back into the briefcase, Lou picked up the videotape. "What's this, your favorite X-rated feature?"
"Hardly," Laurie commented.
Lou turned it over to read the label. "The Franconi shooting?" he questioned. "CNN sent you this out-of-the-blue?"
Laurie straightened up. "No, I requested it. I was going to use the tape to corroborate the findings when I did the autopsy. I thought it could make an interesting paper to show how reliable forensics can be." "Mind if I look at it?" Lou asked.
"Of course not," Laurie said. "Didn't you see it on TV?" "Along with everyone else," Lou said. "But it would still be interesting to see the tape."
"He was perspiring while I was talking with him," Laurie said. Lou paused with his coat half off. "Is that all?" he asked. "The man was perspiring?" "Yes, that's it," Laurie said. She knew what Lou was thinking; it was written all over his face. "Did he start perspiring after you asked him difficult and incriminating questions about Franconi's body?" Lou asked. "Or was he perspiring before you began talking with him?" "Before," Laurie admitted.
Lou rolled his eyes. "Whoa! Another Sherlock Holmes incarnate," he said. "Maybe you should take over my job. I don't have your powers of intuition and inductive reasoning!" "You promised not to give me grief," Laurie said. "I never promised," Lou said.
"All right, it was a wasted trip," Laurie said. "Let's get some food. I'm starved." Lou switched the bottle of wine from one hand to the other, allowing him to swing his arm out of his trench coat. When he did, he clumsily knocked Laurie's briefcase to the floor. The impact caused it to spring open and scatter the contents. The crash terrified the cat, who disappeared back into the bedroom after a desperate struggle to gain traction on the highly polished wood floor. "What a klutz," Lou said. "I'm sorry!" He bent down to retrieve the papers, pens, microscope slides, and other paraphernalia and bumped into Laurie in the process. "Maybe it's best you just sit down," Laurie suggested with a laugh. "No, I insist," Lou said.
After they'd gotten most of the contents back into the briefcase, Lou picked up the videotape. "What's this, your favorite X-rated feature?"
"Hardly," Laurie commented.
Lou turned it over to read the label. "The Franconi shooting?" he questioned. "CNN sent you this out-of-the-blue?"
Laurie straightened up. "No, I requested it. I was going to use the tape to corroborate the findings when I did the autopsy. I thought it could make an interesting paper to show how reliable forensics can be." "Mind if I look at it?" Lou asked.
"Of course not," Laurie said. "Didn't you see it on TV?" "Along with everyone else," Lou said. "But it would still be interesting to see the tape."
"I'm surprised you don't have a copy at police headquarters," Laurie said.
"Hey, maybe we do," Lou said. "I just haven't seen it." "Man, this ain't your night," Warren teased Jack. "You must be getting too old." Jack had decided when he'd gotten to the playground late and had had to wait to get into the game, that he was going to win no matter whom he was teamed up with. But it didn't happen. In fact, Jack lost every game he played in because Warren and Spit had gotten on the same team and neither could miss. Their team had won every game including the last, which had just been capped off with a sweet "give and go" that gave Spit an easy final lay-up. Jack walked over to the sidelines on rubbery legs. He'd played his heart out and was perspiring profusely. He pulled a towel from where he'd jammed it into the chain-link fence and wiped his face. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. "Come on, man!" Warren teased from the edge of the court, where he was dribbling a basketball back and forth between his legs. "One more run. We'll let you win this time." "Yeah, sure!" Jack called back. "You never let nobody win nothing." Jack made it a point to adapt his syntax for the environment. "I'm out'a here." Warren sauntered over and hooked one of his ringers through the fence and leaned against it. "What's up with your shortie?" he asked. "Natalie's been driving me up the wall asking questions about her since we haven't seen nothing of you guys, you know what I'm saying?" Jack looked at Warren's sculpted face. To add insult to injury, as far as Jack was concerned, Warren wasn't even perspiring, nor was he breathing particularly heavily. And to make matters worse, he'd been playing before Jack had arrived. The only evidence of exertion was a tiny triangle of sweat down the front of his cut-off sweatshirt.
"Reassure Natalie that Laurie's fine," Jack said. "She and I were just taking a little vacation from each other. It was mostly my fault. I just wanted to cool things down a bit." "I hear you," Warren said.
"I was with her last night," Jack added. "And things are looking up. She was asking me about you and Natalie, so you weren't alone."
Warren nodded. "You sure you're finished or do you want to run one more?" "I'm finished," Jack said.
"Take care, man," Warren said as he pushed off the fence. Then he yelled out to the others: "Let's run, you bad asses."
Jack shook his head in dismay as he watched Warren amble away. He was envious of the man's stamina. Warren truly wasn't tired.
Jack pulled on his sweatshirt and started for home. He'd not won a single game, and although during the play the inability to win had seemed overwhelmingly frustrating, now it didn't matter. The exercise had
"Hey, maybe we do," Lou said. "I just haven't seen it." "Man, this ain't your night," Warren teased Jack. "You must be getting too old." Jack had decided when he'd gotten to the playground late and had had to wait to get into the game, that he was going to win no matter whom he was teamed up with. But it didn't happen. In fact, Jack lost every game he played in because Warren and Spit had gotten on the same team and neither could miss. Their team had won every game including the last, which had just been capped off with a sweet "give and go" that gave Spit an easy final lay-up. Jack walked over to the sidelines on rubbery legs. He'd played his heart out and was perspiring profusely. He pulled a towel from where he'd jammed it into the chain-link fence and wiped his face. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. "Come on, man!" Warren teased from the edge of the court, where he was dribbling a basketball back and forth between his legs. "One more run. We'll let you win this time." "Yeah, sure!" Jack called back. "You never let nobody win nothing." Jack made it a point to adapt his syntax for the environment. "I'm out'a here." Warren sauntered over and hooked one of his ringers through the fence and leaned against it. "What's up with your shortie?" he asked. "Natalie's been driving me up the wall asking questions about her since we haven't seen nothing of you guys, you know what I'm saying?" Jack looked at Warren's sculpted face. To add insult to injury, as far as Jack was concerned, Warren wasn't even perspiring, nor was he breathing particularly heavily. And to make matters worse, he'd been playing before Jack had arrived. The only evidence of exertion was a tiny triangle of sweat down the front of his cut-off sweatshirt.
"Reassure Natalie that Laurie's fine," Jack said. "She and I were just taking a little vacation from each other. It was mostly my fault. I just wanted to cool things down a bit." "I hear you," Warren said.
"I was with her last night," Jack added. "And things are looking up. She was asking me about you and Natalie, so you weren't alone."
Warren nodded. "You sure you're finished or do you want to run one more?" "I'm finished," Jack said.
"Take care, man," Warren said as he pushed off the fence. Then he yelled out to the others: "Let's run, you bad asses."
Jack shook his head in dismay as he watched Warren amble away. He was envious of the man's stamina. Warren truly wasn't tired.
Jack pulled on his sweatshirt and started for home. He'd not won a single game, and although during the play the inability to win had seemed overwhelmingly frustrating, now it didn't matter. The exercise had
cleared his mind, and for the hour and a half he'd played, he hadn't thought about work.
But Jack wasn't even all the way across 106th Street when the tantalizing mystery of his floater began troubling him again. As he climbed his refuse-strewn stairs, he wondered if there was a chance that Ted had made a mistake with the DNA analysis. As far as Jack was concerned the victim had had a transplant.
Jack was rounding the third-floor landing when he heard the telltale sound of his phone. He knew it was his because Denise, the single mother of two who lived on his floor, didn't have a phone. With some effort, Jack encouraged his tired quadriceps to propel him up the final flight. Clumsily, he fumbled with his keys at his door. The moment he got it open, he heard his answering machine pick up with a voice that Jack refused to believe was his own. He got to the phone and snatched it up, cutting himself off in mid-sentence. "Hello," he gasped. After an hour and a half of full-court, all-out basketball, the dash up the final flight of stairs had put him close to collapse.
"Don't tell me you're just coming in from your basketball," Laurie said. "It's going on nine o'clock. That's way off your schedule."
"I didn't get home until after seven-thirty," Jack explained between breaths. He wiped his face to keep his perspiration from dripping on the floor. "That means you haven't eaten yet," Laurie said. "You got that right," Jack said.
"Lou is over here, and we were going to have salad and spaghetti," Laurie said. "Why don't you join us?" "I wouldn't want to break up the party," Jack said jokingly. At the same time he felt a mild stab of jealousy. He knew about Laurie's and Lou's brief romantic involvement and half wondered if the two friends were starting something up.
Jack knew he had no right to such feelings, considering the ambivalence he had about becoming involved with any woman. After the loss of his family, he'd been unsure if he ever wanted to make himself vulnerable to such pain again. At the same time, he'd come to admit both his loneliness and how much he enjoyed Laurie's company.
"You won't be breaking up any party," Laurie assured him. "It's going to be a very, very casual dinner. But we have something we want to show you. Something that is going to surprise you and maybe even make you want to give yourself a boot in the rear end. As you can probably tell, we're pretty excited." "Oh?" Jack questioned. His mouth had gone dry. Hearing Lou laughing in the background, and putting two and two together, Jack knew what they wanted to show him; it had to be a ring! Lou must have proposed!
"Are you coming?" Laurie asked.
"It's kind of late," Jack said. "I've got to shower."
But Jack wasn't even all the way across 106th Street when the tantalizing mystery of his floater began troubling him again. As he climbed his refuse-strewn stairs, he wondered if there was a chance that Ted had made a mistake with the DNA analysis. As far as Jack was concerned the victim had had a transplant.
Jack was rounding the third-floor landing when he heard the telltale sound of his phone. He knew it was his because Denise, the single mother of two who lived on his floor, didn't have a phone. With some effort, Jack encouraged his tired quadriceps to propel him up the final flight. Clumsily, he fumbled with his keys at his door. The moment he got it open, he heard his answering machine pick up with a voice that Jack refused to believe was his own. He got to the phone and snatched it up, cutting himself off in mid-sentence. "Hello," he gasped. After an hour and a half of full-court, all-out basketball, the dash up the final flight of stairs had put him close to collapse.
"Don't tell me you're just coming in from your basketball," Laurie said. "It's going on nine o'clock. That's way off your schedule."
"I didn't get home until after seven-thirty," Jack explained between breaths. He wiped his face to keep his perspiration from dripping on the floor. "That means you haven't eaten yet," Laurie said. "You got that right," Jack said.
"Lou is over here, and we were going to have salad and spaghetti," Laurie said. "Why don't you join us?" "I wouldn't want to break up the party," Jack said jokingly. At the same time he felt a mild stab of jealousy. He knew about Laurie's and Lou's brief romantic involvement and half wondered if the two friends were starting something up.
Jack knew he had no right to such feelings, considering the ambivalence he had about becoming involved with any woman. After the loss of his family, he'd been unsure if he ever wanted to make himself vulnerable to such pain again. At the same time, he'd come to admit both his loneliness and how much he enjoyed Laurie's company.
"You won't be breaking up any party," Laurie assured him. "It's going to be a very, very casual dinner. But we have something we want to show you. Something that is going to surprise you and maybe even make you want to give yourself a boot in the rear end. As you can probably tell, we're pretty excited." "Oh?" Jack questioned. His mouth had gone dry. Hearing Lou laughing in the background, and putting two and two together, Jack knew what they wanted to show him; it had to be a ring! Lou must have proposed!
"Are you coming?" Laurie asked.
"It's kind of late," Jack said. "I've got to shower."
"Hey, you old sawbones," Lou said. He'd snatched the phone from Laurie. "Get your ass over here.
Laurie and I are dying to share this with you." "Okay," Jack said with resignation. "I'll jump in the shower and be there in forty minutes." "See ya, dude," Lou said.
Jack hung up the phone. "Dude?" he mumbled. That didn't sound like Lou. Jack mused that the detective must be on cloud nine.
"I wish I knew what I could do to cheer you up," Darlene said. She'd made the effort to put on a slinky silk teddy from Victoria's Secret, but Raymond hadn't even noticed. Raymond was stretched out on the sofa with an ice pack on his head and his eyes closed. "Are you sure you don't want anything to eat?" Darlene asked. She was a tall woman over five feet ten, with bleached blond hair and a curvaceous body. She was twenty-six years old, and as she and Raymond joked, halfway to his fifty-two. She'd been a fashion model before Raymond had met her in a cosy East Side bar called the Auction House. Raymond slowly took his ice pack off and glared at Darlene. Her bubbly vivaciousness was only an irritation.
"My stomach is in a knot," he said deliberately. "I'm not hungry. Is that so difficult to understand?" "Well, I don't know why you are so upset," Darlene persisted. "You just got a call from the doctor in Los Angeles, and she's decided to come on board. That means we'll soon have some movie stars as clients. I think we should celebrate."
Raymond replaced the ice pack and closed his eyes. "The problems haven't been about the business side. That's all been going like clockwork. It's these unexpected snafus, like Franconi and now Kevin Marshall." Raymond was loath to explain about Cindy Carlson. In fact, he'd been trying to avoid even thinking about the girl himself.
"Why are you still worried about Franconi?" Darlene asked. "That problem has been taken care of." "Listen," Raymond said, trying to be patient, "maybe it would be best if you go watch some TV and let me suffer in peace."
"How about some toast or a little cereal?" Darlene asked. "Leave me alone!" Raymond shouted. He'd sat up suddenly and was clutching his ice pack in his hand. His eyes were bulging and his face was flushed. "Okay, I can tell when I'm not wanted," Darlene pouted. As she was leaving the room, the phone rang. She looked back at Raymond. "Want me to get it?" she asked. Raymond nodded and told her to take the call in the study. He also said that if the call was for him, she should be vague about where he was, since he wasn't up to talking with anyone.
Laurie and I are dying to share this with you." "Okay," Jack said with resignation. "I'll jump in the shower and be there in forty minutes." "See ya, dude," Lou said.
Jack hung up the phone. "Dude?" he mumbled. That didn't sound like Lou. Jack mused that the detective must be on cloud nine.
"I wish I knew what I could do to cheer you up," Darlene said. She'd made the effort to put on a slinky silk teddy from Victoria's Secret, but Raymond hadn't even noticed. Raymond was stretched out on the sofa with an ice pack on his head and his eyes closed. "Are you sure you don't want anything to eat?" Darlene asked. She was a tall woman over five feet ten, with bleached blond hair and a curvaceous body. She was twenty-six years old, and as she and Raymond joked, halfway to his fifty-two. She'd been a fashion model before Raymond had met her in a cosy East Side bar called the Auction House. Raymond slowly took his ice pack off and glared at Darlene. Her bubbly vivaciousness was only an irritation.
"My stomach is in a knot," he said deliberately. "I'm not hungry. Is that so difficult to understand?" "Well, I don't know why you are so upset," Darlene persisted. "You just got a call from the doctor in Los Angeles, and she's decided to come on board. That means we'll soon have some movie stars as clients. I think we should celebrate."
Raymond replaced the ice pack and closed his eyes. "The problems haven't been about the business side. That's all been going like clockwork. It's these unexpected snafus, like Franconi and now Kevin Marshall." Raymond was loath to explain about Cindy Carlson. In fact, he'd been trying to avoid even thinking about the girl himself.
"Why are you still worried about Franconi?" Darlene asked. "That problem has been taken care of." "Listen," Raymond said, trying to be patient, "maybe it would be best if you go watch some TV and let me suffer in peace."
"How about some toast or a little cereal?" Darlene asked. "Leave me alone!" Raymond shouted. He'd sat up suddenly and was clutching his ice pack in his hand. His eyes were bulging and his face was flushed. "Okay, I can tell when I'm not wanted," Darlene pouted. As she was leaving the room, the phone rang. She looked back at Raymond. "Want me to get it?" she asked. Raymond nodded and told her to take the call in the study. He also said that if the call was for him, she should be vague about where he was, since he wasn't up to talking with anyone.
Darlene reversed her direction and disappeared into the study. Raymond breathed a sigh of relief and
put the ice pack back on his head. Lying back, he tried to relax. He was just getting comfortable when Darlene returned.
"It's the intercom, not the phone," she said. "There's a man downstairs who wants to see you. His name is Franco Ponti, and he said it was important. I told him that I'd see if you were here. What do you want me to say?"
Raymond sat back up with a new jolt of anxiety. For a moment, he couldn't place the name, but he didn't like the sound of it. Then it hit him. It was one of Vinnie Dominick's men who'd accompanied the mobster to the apartment the previous morning. "Well?" Darlene questioned.
Raymond swallowed loudly. "I'll talk to him." Raymond reached behind the couch and picked up the telephone extension. He tried to sound authoritative when he said hello. "Howdy, Doc," Franco said. "I was going to be disappointed if you hadn't been at home." "I'm about to go to bed," Raymond said. "It's rather late for you to be calling." "My apologies for the hour," Franco said. "But Angelo Facciolo and I have something we'd like to show you."
"Why don't we do this tomorrow?" Raymond said. "Say between nine and ten." "It can't wait," Franco said. "Come on, Doc! Don't give us a hard time. It's Vinnie Dominick's express wish that you become intimately acquainted with our services." Raymond struggled to come up with an excuse to avoid going downstairs. But given his headache, nothing came to mind.
"Two minutes," Franco said. "That's all I'm asking." "I'm awfully tired," Raymond said. "I'm afraid..." "Hold on, Doc," Franco said. "Listen, I have to insist you come down here or you're going to be very sorry. I hope I'm making myself clear."
"All right," Raymond said, recognizing the inevitable. He was not naive enough to believe that Vinnie Dominick and his people made idle threats. "I'll be right down." Raymond went to the hall closet and got his coat. Darlene was amazed. "You're going out?" "It appears that I don't have a lot of choice," Raymond said. "I suppose I should be happy they're not demanding to come inside."
As Raymond descended in the elevator, he tried to calm himself, but it was difficult since his headache had only gotten worse. This unexpected, unwanted visit was just the kind of turn that was making his life
put the ice pack back on his head. Lying back, he tried to relax. He was just getting comfortable when Darlene returned.
"It's the intercom, not the phone," she said. "There's a man downstairs who wants to see you. His name is Franco Ponti, and he said it was important. I told him that I'd see if you were here. What do you want me to say?"
Raymond sat back up with a new jolt of anxiety. For a moment, he couldn't place the name, but he didn't like the sound of it. Then it hit him. It was one of Vinnie Dominick's men who'd accompanied the mobster to the apartment the previous morning. "Well?" Darlene questioned.
Raymond swallowed loudly. "I'll talk to him." Raymond reached behind the couch and picked up the telephone extension. He tried to sound authoritative when he said hello. "Howdy, Doc," Franco said. "I was going to be disappointed if you hadn't been at home." "I'm about to go to bed," Raymond said. "It's rather late for you to be calling." "My apologies for the hour," Franco said. "But Angelo Facciolo and I have something we'd like to show you."
"Why don't we do this tomorrow?" Raymond said. "Say between nine and ten." "It can't wait," Franco said. "Come on, Doc! Don't give us a hard time. It's Vinnie Dominick's express wish that you become intimately acquainted with our services." Raymond struggled to come up with an excuse to avoid going downstairs. But given his headache, nothing came to mind.
"Two minutes," Franco said. "That's all I'm asking." "I'm awfully tired," Raymond said. "I'm afraid..." "Hold on, Doc," Franco said. "Listen, I have to insist you come down here or you're going to be very sorry. I hope I'm making myself clear."
"All right," Raymond said, recognizing the inevitable. He was not naive enough to believe that Vinnie Dominick and his people made idle threats. "I'll be right down." Raymond went to the hall closet and got his coat. Darlene was amazed. "You're going out?" "It appears that I don't have a lot of choice," Raymond said. "I suppose I should be happy they're not demanding to come inside."
As Raymond descended in the elevator, he tried to calm himself, but it was difficult since his headache had only gotten worse. This unexpected, unwanted visit was just the kind of turn that was making his life
miserable. He had no idea what these people wanted to show him, although he guessed it had something
to do with how they were going to deal with Cindy Carlson. "Good evening, Doc," Franco said as Raymond appeared. "Sorry to trouble you." "Let's just make this short," Raymond said, sounding more confident than he felt. "It will be short and sweet, trust me," Franco said. "If you don't mind." He pointed up the street where the Ford sedan had been pulled to the curb next to a fire hydrant. Angelo was half-sitting, half-leaning against the trunk, smoking a cigarette.
Raymond followed Franco to the car. Angelo responded by straightening up and stepping to the side. "We just want you to take a quick look in the trunk," Franco said. He reached the car and keyed the luggage compartment. "Come right over here so you can see. The light's not so good." Raymond stepped between the Ford and the car behind it, literally inches away from the trunk's lid as Franco raised it.
In the next second, Raymond thought his heart had stopped. The instant he glimpsed the ghoulish sight of Cindy Carlson's dead body crammed into the trunk, there was a flash of light. Raymond staggered back. He felt sick with the image of the obese girl's porcelain face imprinted in his brain and dizzy from the flash of light which he quickly realized was from a Polaroid camera. Franco closed the trunk and wiped his hands. "How'd the picture come out?" he asked Angelo. "Gotta wait a minute," Angelo said. He was holding the edges of the photo as it was developing. "Just a second longer," Franco said to Raymond. Raymond involuntarily moaned under his breath, while his eyes scanned the immediate area. He was terrified anybody else had seen the corpse. "Looks good," Angelo said. He handed the picture to Franco who agreed. Franco reached out with the photo so Raymond could see it. "I'd say that's your best side," Franco said. Raymond swallowed. The picture accurately depicted his shocked terror as well as the awful image of the dead girl.
Franco pocketed the picture. "There, that's it, Doc," he said. "I told you we wouldn't need a lot of your time."
"Why did you do this?" Raymond croaked. "It was Vinnie's idea," Franco said. "He thought it best to have a record of the favor he'd done for you just in case."
to do with how they were going to deal with Cindy Carlson. "Good evening, Doc," Franco said as Raymond appeared. "Sorry to trouble you." "Let's just make this short," Raymond said, sounding more confident than he felt. "It will be short and sweet, trust me," Franco said. "If you don't mind." He pointed up the street where the Ford sedan had been pulled to the curb next to a fire hydrant. Angelo was half-sitting, half-leaning against the trunk, smoking a cigarette.
Raymond followed Franco to the car. Angelo responded by straightening up and stepping to the side. "We just want you to take a quick look in the trunk," Franco said. He reached the car and keyed the luggage compartment. "Come right over here so you can see. The light's not so good." Raymond stepped between the Ford and the car behind it, literally inches away from the trunk's lid as Franco raised it.
In the next second, Raymond thought his heart had stopped. The instant he glimpsed the ghoulish sight of Cindy Carlson's dead body crammed into the trunk, there was a flash of light. Raymond staggered back. He felt sick with the image of the obese girl's porcelain face imprinted in his brain and dizzy from the flash of light which he quickly realized was from a Polaroid camera. Franco closed the trunk and wiped his hands. "How'd the picture come out?" he asked Angelo. "Gotta wait a minute," Angelo said. He was holding the edges of the photo as it was developing. "Just a second longer," Franco said to Raymond. Raymond involuntarily moaned under his breath, while his eyes scanned the immediate area. He was terrified anybody else had seen the corpse. "Looks good," Angelo said. He handed the picture to Franco who agreed. Franco reached out with the photo so Raymond could see it. "I'd say that's your best side," Franco said. Raymond swallowed. The picture accurately depicted his shocked terror as well as the awful image of the dead girl.
Franco pocketed the picture. "There, that's it, Doc," he said. "I told you we wouldn't need a lot of your time."
"Why did you do this?" Raymond croaked. "It was Vinnie's idea," Franco said. "He thought it best to have a record of the favor he'd done for you just in case."
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