As soon as Asten emerged from the door to Quincy's office, Monahan pounced on him. "Who's the guy down in the lab? Where's Quincy? Is he all right?"

Asten held his hands up in a defensive posture. "Easy, lieutenant, Quincy's okay. The 'guy' down in the lab is his twin brother."

"His what?"

"You heard me."

"I didn't know Quincy had a brother."

Asten moved Monahan toward a more secluded spot. "Join the club of the uninformed..."

Monahan stared into the dark brown eyes of the director. "Is Quincy really okay?"

"Yes."

"Well lemme talk to him then..."

Asten grabbed Monahan by the arm as the man moved back toward Quincy's office. "Not now, lieutenant. Maybe later."

"Whaddya mean, maybe later? Quincy's brother's brought into the morgue with a bullet in his head and you don't want me to question Quincy?"

"Lieutenant...I gave Quincy some valium, so he's going to be out for awhile."

The statement landed squarely in the pit of Monahan's stomach, causing him to swallow hard. "You shot Quincy up with valium?"

Asten had a hard time not sounding defensive. "I needed to calm him down, lieutenant, don't make it sound like I'm turning him into some kind of junkie."

The two men stared at one another for a long moment, and then embarrassed, Monahan looked away. "I'm sorry, Dr. Asten," he said, finally glancing back at the director, "I didn't mean it that way."

Asten shook his head at himself . "And I didn't mean to bite your head off, lieutenant."

"Guess we're both a little spooked..."

"Apparently so," Asten agreed.

"How long will Quincy be out of it?"

Asten shrugged. "Two or three hours probably."

But Monahan could see that Asten hadn't told him all of it. "You're worried," he prompted.

The dark brown eyes bore into light blue. "Yes. I've never seen Quincy that shaken."

But still the cop sensed more. "And...?"

Asten's eyes narrowed into dark little slits. "And what?"

"Is Quincy really all right?"

Asten looked down at his hands. "I don't know."

"You're a doctor, aren't you?" Monahan's annoyed voice asked.

"Yes," Asten hissed, not offering anything more.

Monahan couldn't cover the worry in his voice any more than in his eyes. "Is there anything I can do?" He asked quietly.

Asten softened slightly. "No, lieutenant, not at the moment. I'm going to perform an autopsy on Quincy's brother, and as soon as the report's ready, I'll send it over."

The lieutenant nodded. "Okay." An awkward pause peppered the air around them, and finally Monahan said, "If Quincy needs anything--"

"--Thank you, lieutenant," Asten answered quickly, sensing either one or both of them was about to become emotional, "I'll keep you informed."

Monahan nodded and left the main lab, feeling as helpless as he could ever remember.


Mark stood quietly behind Dr. Asten as the director cleared his throat, preparing to speak into the lab recorder.

"Autopsy case number AF-896472, the body of Michael Quincy, male victim of a gunshot wound, approximately 56 years of age. Dr. Robert Asten, reporting. The body is 172 centimeters long, weighing 159 pounds; the victim suffered a seven point seven millimeter gunshot entrance wound in the back of the skull in the upper left quadrant, ten point six centimeters above the skull base. Exit wound is at a down angle of 13 degrees and is seven point nine millimeters in diameter in the upper right quadrant of the forehead, two centimeters above the eyebrow." Asten swallowed hard and cleared his throat again as he examined the wounds. "Both the entrance and exit wounds suggest a blunt-nose cartridge caliber, rounded possibly by a muzzle. There are no powder burns surrounding the entrance wound, indicating that the shot was fired from some distance away, and the down angle suggests the shooter was firing from above the victim."

Mark watched the sweat begin to trickle down the director's forehead as his hand reached for the scalpel. Asten swallowed the lump in his throat again and plunged the scalpel into the victim's neck below the adam's apple, slicing it all the way down, stopping in the lower abdomen. He made a cross-section cut from side to side and then reached for the rib splitters. After inserting the device and cranking it to separate the ribcage making examination easier, Mark noticed the man's pallor.

"Dr. Asten, are you all right?"

"Uh-huh," Asten managed to say, "Yes, I'm fine."

He continued the exam, weighing each organ, and reporting the condition and weight into the recorder. When he was finished with the organs, he took the saw, powered it and prepared to open the skull. And Dr. Asten felt bile rising from his stomach. He swallowed it down, but his hands shook slightly. Mark stepped forward then, and gently removed the saw from his hands, turned it off and set it on the instrument table. The young assistant reached over and shut off the recorder.

"Dr. Asten, why don't we take a break?"

Asten stood frozen, staring at the familiar face on the table, constantly reminding himself that it wasn't his medical examiner lying there dead. "This is a little tougher than I thought it was going to be," the director uttered.

Mark nodded. "Understood, sir. Let's take five minutes, I could use a breather away from this room myself..."

Asten looked at the young man and smiled. "No, Mark, let's get this finished. The sooner the better."

Asten turned on the lab recorder again, picked up the saw, and turned on the power. He dug it into the victim's skull, sending splinters of bone out into the air. He peeled away the flesh, and examined the entrance and exit wounds once more. "No powder burns, but both wounds display an odd edge on the right side. Ballistic tests will have to be conducted to determine the cause of the jaggedness if a weapon and bullet can be found, but it could be from a scratch in the gun barrel itself, or possibly from a silencer. Given the amount of rigor mortis, the apporximate time of death can be set between 11 pm and two am."

Mark observed as the director expertly measured and examined the skin and skull from every angle, diligently reporting his findings into the microphone in front of him. Finally, after three hours of careful work, Asten turned the microphone off, covered the body and removed his gloves. He looked wrung out.

"Mark, can you be sure the body is properly tagged and stored?"

"Yes sir."

"And I'll want the results on the tox and bloods as soon as possible." Asten started for the door, and then turned back. "Thanks for your help, Mark."

"You're welcome, Dr. Asten."

Asten pulled his outer gown off, and tossed it into the bin outside the lab doors. He leaned his back against the wall for a minute, and let out a long sigh of air. He felt sick.

"Dr. Asten? Is everything all right?"

Asten wearily looked up at the guard. "Yes, Pete, everything's fine, thanks."

"You look a little peaked."

"Yes," Asten said as he moved away from the wall, "I'm a little tired."

Pete observed the director, still wearing green scrubs, walk through the main lab, and disappear into Dr. Quincy's office door.

Asten quietly closed the door behind him and glanced at Fujiyama. "How is he, Sam?"

"Still asleep," Fujiyama answered quietly. "Is the autopsy finished?"

"Yes. Victim died from gunshot trauma to the head. Bullet went into the back of his skull, passed through the left hemisphere of the brain, crossing over into the right, and then back out through his forehead. The velocity must have been terrific because it splintered the skull where it exited."

Sam shook his head. "It's so odd to think that Quincy had a twin, much less that the man was shot through the head in a restaurant parking lot..."

"You've seen a preliminary police report?"

"Yes, Sgt. Brill brought it by awhile ago. It's over there on Quincy's desk."

Asten picked up the manilla folder. "For now, Sam, let's keep this between us."

"If you think that's best, Dr. Asten..."

The director looked down at Quincy, worry filling his dark brown eyes. "Yes, Sam, for now, I think it's best." Asten put the folder under his arm, walked over to Quincy and felt the beat in the man's wrist. "Pulse is better, slower and stronger."

"The valium seemed to do the trick."

Asten looked at his watch. "He should be coming out of it soon. Monahan's going to want to speak with him." His eyes flicked down into Sam's. "I want to talk with Quincy first. Call me the moment he awakens."

"Yes, Dr. Asten."

Without another word, Asten walked through the door, still carrying the manilla folder under his arm. Sam wondered what it was he had seen flash through the dark brown eyes a split second before Asten left the room; but the logical part of him reasoned that he was somehow better off not knowing.