Rick watched his mother, her red head cushioned on the pillow and out like a light. No matter how much she claimed she was okay there was no way a normal person wouldn't be in shock after an incident like that, and coming on the heels of the past few it was no surprise her body had decided it required rest without bothering to consult with her mind.

It was also possible the nurse had included something in the injection she'd given her on Dr Siddig's orders, but the truth was – however it had come about – she needed to sleep.

They'd had some difficult times in the past, not least when her ex had run off with all her money and she'd come to live with him, but that was just the icing on the proverbial and perennially surprising cake that was his life. When he was young it was the 'uncles' she'd presented him with as she tried to find her soul mate, and he remembered feeling resentment that they took what little time she had when she was working, and more when she wasn't.

Edgewyck Academy hadn't improved things – a lonely boy with the usual age-related angsts plus a mother who needed to be away to work ... it took a long time before he realised she hadn't just dumped him because she was bored with him, and it was really only when Damian (whatever his faults) had encouraged him to write that he found, by pouring his emotions out on the page, he could understand them. And her.

She snuffled, her plastered arm coming up to rub at her nose, but she didn't complete the manoeuvre, just relaxed again.

It couldn't have been easy for her, Rick knew now. Working at her career because that was what she was didn't mean it was who she was, and Martha Rodgers the woman wanted something much more permanent than the short-term relationships she found herself in, even if she never admitted it to anyone, least of all herself. What she wanted was a family, and the truth was – thanks to something she couldn't control – she'd finally got that and was living with a grand-daughter who adored her, and a son who loved her. Of course he did, she was his mother. She was also infuriating, frustrating, stubborn, single minded ...

He had to chuckle, swiftly subdued to avoid waking her as he contemplated his last thoughts. A psychologist would have a field day with the fact that pretty much all of those words described how he felt about Kate, too. He'd always thought he would never be looking for a mother figure ... No. He wasn't feeling particularly Oedipal, and his mother wasn't like Kate. Except for maybe the drive and ambition.

Rick smiled ruefully. The family dynamic was about to change again, now that Alexis was heading to Columbia, and that was going to be an interesting time.

Martha muttered something, the words blurred, and all he could make out was 'earnest'. Perhaps something she needed to do, or perhaps it was the play on her mind. How she was going to make it work with a cast on her wrist was likely to be interesting too, although he had a vague memory of her once telling a story of portraying Peter Pan in a neck brace.

She settled back, her head turned slightly, her mouth open, and Rick wondered if he should risk life and limb and tell her she drooled in her sleep.

He felt the other woman in his life's presence before she put her hand on his shoulder and spoke.

"Hey."

"Hey." He looked up. "Get everything?"

Kate held up a brightly coloured overnight bag. "Toiletries, change of clothes, makeup."

He smiled, but the expression behind his eyes was tired. "Good. My mother will be furious if she wakes up and finds out people will have to see her as nature intended." He paused. "And I mean without –"

"I know what you mean." She perched on the arm of the chair he was sitting in. "And you look like you could do with a solid eight hours yourself."

"Long day." He took her hand, wondering why he felt amazed when she didn't pull away. "I take it nobody had tried to break into the loft."

"No." Kate nodded towards the purse on the bedside table. "And since you have Martha's bag here, it's looking increasingly unlikely to have been an ordinary break-in at the theatre, either."

"Unless she surprised them, they pushed her out of the way and then got scared because she was obviously hurt." At her raised eyebrows he went on, "And no, I don't believe that either."

"Not that there's anything we can do."

Something in the way she said it made Rick's writerly instincts prick up their ears. "Don't we?"

She squirmed, just a tiny bit, almost nothing at all. "I just said we don't."

"Kate." He rubbed his thumb in small circles over the back of her hand. "Tell me."

She rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation. "I ... might have spoken to Lanie. Asked her to take a look at the autopsy on Clive Sheldon."

Rock didn't quite punch the air in triumph, but he felt like doing so. "Thank you."

"For what? It still won't prove anything, except to make the both of us even more paranoid that we already are."

"Maybe we're not paranoid. Could be they really are out to get us."

"Yes, well." She skirted the implications, the ever-present possibility that the man who ordered her mother's death was still intent on killing her too. "Anyway, Lanie's looking. And the truth is that the body's cremated, so any evidence of foul play is gone, and a respectable and very senior ME declared it a heart attack. It's going to take a miracle to find anything from a few sheets of paper."

"I've come to think miracles happen more often than we know," Rick said slowly. "I mean – look at us."

"True. That's genuinely astonishing."

He chuckled. "Mind boggling. But we try, right?"

She knew he wasn't talking about the new level to their relationship. "Yes. Of course. We try." She changed hands with him so she could run her fingers through his hair. "And I meant it when I said you needed some sleep." Rick glanced at his mother, and Kate interpreted it correctly. "The nurses are here. They'll look after her. Besides, she'll make your life hell if she finds out you watched over her all night."

"It's still early."

"Long day," she reminded him.

"I suppose." He still didn't look convinced.

She withheld the sigh and went down on her heels in front of him, making him maintain eye contact. "Rick. Come home."

If he hadn't forgotten how to blush he would have, from the depths of his chest to the roots of his hair as she said his name and spoke of the apartment as home in the same breath. He gave in. "Okay."

She stood up and pulled him to his feet. "And I'm hungry," she added. "Take out Remmy's?"

He wrinkled his nose a jot. "I'd prefer Chinese."

"Just because you like to show off your chopstick skills."

"Of course." His smile was lighter, easier this time. "You have no idea the hours I spent learning how to pick up just one grain of rice."

She shook her head in mock exasperation. "Okay, grasshopper. Chinese. Just because I'm feeling generous."

"My stomach will thank you." He allowed her to lead him out of the room, only looking back once to make sure his mother hadn't woken.

"She'll be fine."

"I know."

As they waited at the elevator Kate asked, "Everything okay at the theatre?"

"Apart from the busted stage door, yes."

"Did you leave it like that? If it's wide open there won't anything left by the morning."

"Right now I don't care if Twitter announced open house on the place." Her look of mild astonishment made him add, "No, I didn't." He sighed. "I wedged the door shut and called my locksmith again. I tell you, he should give me a bulk discount, the amount of work I've put his way lately, but he promised to get there before dark."

"And if he locks any intruders in?"

"Tough." His seriousness cracked and he laughed, if only briefly. "He'll probably check first."

They were outside when she asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yes." He immediately contradicted himself. "No. Not really."

"You were thinking about what might have happened."

"Among other things, yes." He shook his head and laughed ruefully. "God, I thought it was bad with Alexis, now I have to worry about my mother as well."

"As if you didn't anyway."

"Well, yes, but it usually isn't whether she's likely to end up in the hospital. Apart from with alcoholic poisoning, of course." He winced when she hit him.


"I heard you were looking for me?"

Lanie turned, holding her arms carefully away from her body. "Harry. Yes."

Dr O'Connor, ME, stepped over the threshold into the autopsy room. "But you look like you're busy."

"Finishing up," she admitted, glancing at the ladle she held in one hand and the glass jar containing an unidentifiable liquid she'd just extracted from the corpse on the table in front of her in the other. "The jumper from last night. Just checking he was."

"And was he?"

"Yes. And from his stomach contents I'd say he was higher than the Empire State at the time."

"Booze?"

"And what looks like the remains of pills. I think he wanted to make sure."

"And when it didn't work fast enough ..."

"He took a walk off the roof."

"Open and shut."

"Well, I'll wait until the test results come in before I sign off on it." She nodded towards her office. "Make yourself comfortable – I'll only be a few more minutes then Thomas can stitch up. He needs the practice." She glared at the young man standing in the corner taking notes, who blushed heavily from his neck all the way up to his spiky red hair.

Ten minutes later Lanie followed O'Connor. He was sitting in the visitor's chair, his feet up on the table, flicking through a Cosmo magazine.

"Don't you dare do the quiz," she said, going around to her side of the desk and taking her own seat. "I haven't done that yet."

"You really need to find out if the love of your life is right around the corner?" O'Connor joked, tossing the magazine back onto her desk.

"Doesn't everyone?"

"I thought you'd found that in a certain homicide detective." He chuckled at her glare, his grey skin wrinkling as he smiled. "So, you coming to my farewell party?"

"Of course." She shook her head. "I can't believe you're retiring."

"Me neither." He rubbed at his neck ruefully. "It only seems like yesterday I was making bigger cock ups than your intern out there."

"I doubt you were ever as bad as him." Lanie studied him, the pallor that made him look more akin to some of the corpses that crossed her tables than a living, breathing human being.

"You have no idea. But that's the past. I just finished my last body. Tomorrow's all paperwork, finishing things up, then that's it. A man of leisure." He returned her gaze. "So what's up?"

"Up?"

He put his feet back on the ground. "You wanted to see me, if I recall, and my memory is about the only part of me that isn't failing."

"Clive Sheldon."

His look didn't waver. "What about him?"

"I read the report."

"And?"

"And I wondered if you could talk me through it."

"Why, is there a problem with it?"

"No. No problem. At least as far as it goes."

He straightened up a little. "Exactly what does that mean?"

"It's a little ... sparse."

"It's perfectly acceptable."

Lanie didn't speak for a moment, then said, "Doesn't make it right."

"Are you accusing me of something?"

"No. Harry, I'm not calling your skills into question. Just perhaps your judgement."

For a moment she thought he was doing to steam out, but instead he took a deep breath.

"Clive Sheldon was under the care of a specialist cardiac physician. He'd been examined by that very physician two days before his death. I've seen the said physician's medical notes – Sheldon was a walking time bomb, and the countdown was almost through. In my opinion there was no reason to perform a full autopsy at that point."

"And now?"

"I hold to my conclusions." He stood up, habitually thumbing his shirt back into the top of his pants. "If you have any real issue with my findings you are within your remit to report it, but I warn you, it won't do your reputation any good."

"Harry –"

O'Connor held up a hand. "I'm not perfect. I've never said I was. But you're suggesting I deliberately did a poor job on Sheldon, just because I'm retiring? I wanted him off my table?" He sighed heavily through his nose. "Lanie, I thought you knew me better than that."

"I'm just asking you to take another look."

"What at? The body's gone."

"And I know you. Read it through again. Something ... anything out of place, anything you might have put to one side when you found out about his medical history."

His spine stiffened. "Dr Parish, I'm the senior ME in this department. I may be retiring, but I suggest you watch your step." He strode out with as much dignity as he could muster.

Lanie stared after him, then muttered, "Well, Kate, I did like you asked. The ball's in his court, now. And girl? You'd better be right about this."


Rick hung his black suit up in the wardrobe and fervently hoped it would be a long time before he had to wear it again. In the past year it seemed like it had been out far too often, and as much as dark colours suited him – black always was slimming – he felt the need for it to be away for some time to come.

Mind, he probably should spend some time going through his clothes and toss ... sorry, no, give to one of the homeless shelters if Alexis had any say in it, although he'd fight tooth and nail to keep the Hallowe'en costumes at the far end. The brown leather duster and tight pants weren't going anywhere, and the zombie outfit was destined for an outing come October 31st.

It did mean, though, that it was becoming somewhat cramped behind the doors, and he ran his hand down the suit, pushing the sleeve inside the wardrobe. He paused as his fingers encountered something in the pocket, and sighed. He'd done it again, forgotten to empty out the pockets. It didn't usually matter – since he tended to wear jeans and different jackets that he'd rotate on a fairly regular basis, he would come across anything he'd forgotten within a week or so. His suits, on the other hand ... there had been that one time when Alexis and he had hunted all day for the source of an odd smell, only to run it to earth in his closet in the pocket of an Armani suit. He couldn't remember what it had been, but the mess it made meant the suit went straight to the cleaners and Alexis fumigated the rest.

At least what was in the black suit was only from today, and he reached confidently into the pocket, pulling out the contents and tossing them onto the bed. Closing the door he glanced at his reflection in the bronze effect finish, and idly wondered if Kate had plans to redecorate.

He turned back and examined the items. A handful of coins, two screwed up receipts, an unlabelled mouth spray and the cellphone the nurse had given him in the hospital that had been in his mother's pocket. He shook his head. He'd meant to leave it with her, just in case she woke up and wondered where he was, but when Kate hustled him out of the hospital it had slipped his mind.

He checked the phone.

"Everything okay?" Kate asked, leaning in the doorway.

He held up the cell. "Mother's. With two missed calls from Alexis."

"Are you really not going to tell Alexis what's happened?" When he didn't answer she moved into the room and stood next to him. "She won't thank you for keeping her in the dark."

He responded by pocketing the cell. "I'll sleep on it," he promised. "She needs her vacation time."

"Well, rather you than me." She reached up the bare couple of inches in height and brushed her lips across his cheek.

"What was that for?" he asked, surprised.

"In advance. You're probably going to need it when Alexis finds out."

He laughed. "Probably." He slipped his arm around her waist. "Did I hear the bell?"

"Mmn. Food's here."

"Good. I'm starving." His stomach grumbled its agreement.

"Well, I can't possibly get between you and food. That could be dangerous." This time she winced when he pinched her.


Harry O'Connor sat in his office – well, it was his for another 24 hours, at least – and read through the autopsy again. He'd been right, of course: everything was totally legal, down to the last full stop. Still, Lanie Parish's words wouldn't stop rolling round inside his head. Anything out of place ... put to one side. He didn't believe he'd done it on purpose, but perhaps there had been something that nagged at him.

He tossed the folder onto his desk. No. No, he was right. Everything was fine. Clive Sheldon died of heart failure after a long history of cardiac disease. There were no puncture wounds, no bullet holes, no signs of external violence.

Still, there was that odd smell ...

No. He'd done his last autopsy, and in a day none of this was going to matter anymore. He was going to spend time reading all those biographies he'd never got around to, maybe grow prize-winning begonias or buy the fishing boat he'd dreamed about when he was a boy. All the dead bodies in New York were going to be somebody else's business, not his.

He sighed heavily and got to his feet, walking slowly to the door then leaning out of it and shouting, "Gilbert!"

His technician, a short, round young man wearing scrubs that stretched painfully across his midriff, stuck his head out of the department's kitchen, his mouth chewing assiduously. "Yes, boss?"

"You weren't planning on seeing that boyfriend of yours tonight, were you?"

Gilbert swallowed. "Well, we did have tickets to the Met – they're doing a modern day interpretation of Coppelia where the doll is an android."

"Call him and tell him you'll be late."

"Do you know how difficult ... Okay, fine, don't look at me like that. What delights do you have planned for us on your penultimate day?"

"Get out the test tubes."