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Fred checked his little book. “Yeah, you’re authorized. Take the right corridor, third door on the left. Dr. Saville is waiting for you.”

I raised an eyebrow at that. It wasn’t often that the chief medical examiner did errands for the police or anybody else. I just nodded as if I had expected royal treatment.

“Thanks, Fred, see you on the way out.”

“More and more people do,” he said. He didn’t sound happy about it.

My Nikes made no sound in the perpetual quiet. John Burke wasn’t making any noise either. I hadn’t pegged him as a tennis shoe man. I glanced down, and I was right. Soft-soled brown tie-ups, not tennis shoes. But he still moved beside me like a quiet shadow.

The rest of his outfit sort of matched the shoes. A dressy brown sport jacket so dark brown it was almost black, over a pale yellow shirt, brown dress slacks. He only needed a tie, and he could have gone to corporate America. Did he always dress up, or was this just what he had brought for his brother’s funeral? No, the suit at the funeral had been perfectly black.

The morgue was always quiet, but on a Saturday morning it was deathly still. Did the ambulances circle like planes until a decent hour on the weekend? I knew the murder count went up on the weekend, yet Saturday and Sunday morning were always quiet. Go figure.

I counted doors on the left-hand side. Knocked on the third door. A faint “Come in,” and I opened the door.

Dr. Marian Saville is a small woman with short dark hair bobbed just below her ears, an olive complexion, deeply brown eyes, and fine high cheekbones. She is French and Greek and looks it. Exotic without being intimidating. It always surprised me that Dr. Saville wasn’t married. It wasn’t for lack of being pretty.

Her only fault was that she smoked, and the smell clung to her like nasty perfume.

She came forward with a smile and an offered hand. “Anita, good to see you again.”

I shook her hand, and smiled. “You, too, Dr. Saville.”

“Marian, please.”

I shrugged. “Marian, are those the personal effects?”

We were in a small examining room. On a lovely stainless-steel table were several plastic bags.

“Yes.”

I stared at her, wondering what she wanted. The chief medical examiner didn’t do errands. Something else was up, but what? I didn’t know her well enough to be blunt, and I didn’t want to be barred from the morgue, so I couldn’t be rude. Problems, problems.

“This is John Burke, the deceased’s brother,” I said.

Dr. Saville’s eyebrows raised at that. “My condolences, Mr. Burke.”

“Thank you.” John shook the hand she offered him, but his eyes were all for the plastic bags. There was no room today for attractive doctors or pleasantries. He was going to see his brother’s last effects. He was looking for clues to help the police catch his brother’s killer. He had taken the notion very seriously.

If he wasn’t involved with Dominga Salvador, I would owe him a big apology. But how was I to get him to talk with Dr. Marian hovering around? How was I supposed to ask for privacy? It was her morgue, sort of.

“I have to be here to make sure no evidence is tampered with,” she said. “We’ve had a few very determined reporters lately.”

“But I’m not a reporter.”

She shrugged. “You’re not an official person, Anita. New rules from on high that no nonofficial person is to be allowed to look at murder evidence without someone to watch over them.”

“I appreciate it being you, Marian.”

She smiled. “I was here anyway. I figured you’d resent my looking over your shoulder less than anyone else.”

She was right. What did they think I was going to do, steal a body? If I wanted to, I could empty the damn place and get every corpse to play follow the leader.

Perhaps that was why I needed watching. Perhaps.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” John said, “but could we get on with this?”

I glanced up at his handsome face. The skin was tight around the mouth and eyes as if it had thinned. Guilt speared me in the side. “Sure, John, we’re being thoughtless.”

“Your forgiveness, Mr. Burke,” Marian