Robin Cook - Crisis

Percy continued to ignore Harold's increasingly frenzied gestures. Instead, he drew in the scoop, creating a scraping, screeching noise as the scoop's metal teeth dragged along the vault's concrete lid.

In desperation, Harold dashed to the backhoe's cab and pounded on the glass. Only then did the scoop stop and the roar of the diesel abate. Percy opened the door and looked at the livid funeral director with an innocent questioning expression.

"You're going to break the vault's lid or tear off the eyehooks, you…" Harold yelled, unable to come up with a sufficiently vulgar descriptive noun to express what he thought of Percy. His anger had him tongue-tied.

Content to let the professionals sort out their differences, Jack climbed into his car. He wanted to use his phone, and he thought the car would shield him from the noise of the backhoe's diesel when Percy recommenced digging. The missing passenger-side window faced away from the action.

Jack called Dr. Latasha Wylie. This time, he got her directly.

"I got your message earlier," Latasha admitted. "Sorry I didn't get back to you. Thursdays are our Grand Rounds conference."

"No problem," Jack said. "I'm calling now because they are finally digging up the body as we speak. If all goes smoothly, which I have no reason to suspect, considering the obstacles I've had to deal with to get this far, I'm looking at doing the case between six and seven at the Langley-Peerson Funeral Home. You offered to help. Is that still a possibility?"

"The timing couldn't be better," Latasha said. "Count me in! I've got the bone saw packed and ready to go."

"I hope I'm not taking you away from something more fun."

"The pope was coming in for dinner, but I'll tell him we have to reschedule."

Jack smiled. Latasha had a sense of humor akin to his.

"I'll plan to meet you at the home around six thirty," Latasha continued. "If that's not appropriate for whatever reason, give me a call!"

"Sounds like a plan. Can I offer you dinner after all the fun and games?"

"If it's not too late. A girl needs her beauty sleep."

Jack disconnected. As he'd been speaking, Enrique and Cesar had disappeared into the pit and shovelfuls of dirt had begun flying up into the air. Meanwhile, Percy had started rigging steel cables from the scoop's teeth. Harold had returned to the edge of the pit, staring down into its depths with his hands on his hips. Jack was pleased that he was taking such personal interest.

Switching his attention to his phone, Jack considered calling Laurie. He now knew that he'd missed even what he'd called the worst-case scenario on the phone the night before: getting home that evening. Events had inexorably pushed his departure until tomorrow morning, the day of the wedding. Although his cowardly side tried to talk him into putting off the call until after the autopsy he knew he had to make the call now. But that wasn't the only conundrum: What to tell her about the morning's demolition derby on the Mass Pike was another issue. After a moment's thought, he decided to come clean. He felt the sympathy factor trumped the worry factor, since he could say he was reasonably confident Franco had to be convalescing, at least for a few days, and wouldn't be apt to pop up again. Of course, that didn't exclude Antonio, whoever he was. Jack could recall an image of the man standing behind and to the side of Franco at the Memorial Drive basketball court confrontation, as well as his sitting in court that morning. Jack had no idea how he fit in with the Fasano team, but the fact that he existed had passed through Jack's mind when Percy had started digging Patience's grave. Unconsciously, Jack had touched the revolver in his pocket at the time just to reassure himself it was there. Considering the seriousness of the threat communicated to the girls, it wasn't a wild leap of imagination to think of someone showing up and contesting the exhumation.

Taking a fortifying breath, Jack speed-dialed Laurie's number. There was always the hope he'd get her voicemail. Unfortunately, that didn't happen. Laurie answered quickly.

"Where are you?" she demanded with no preliminaries.

"The bad news is that I'm in a cemetery in Boston. The good news is that I'm not one of the residents."

"This is no time for jokes."

"Sorry! I couldn't help myself. I am in a cemetery. The grave is being opened at this moment."

There was an uncomfortable pause.

"I know you are disappointed," Jack said. "I've done everything I could to speed up the process. I'd hoped to be on my way home at this time. It's not been easy." Jack went on to describe the morning's run-in with Franco. He told her everything that had happened, including the bullet lodging in the rent-a-car's windshield support.

Laurie listened in stunned silence until Jack finished his monologue, which had included the need to bribe both the cemetery superintendent and the backhoe operator. He also had mentioned that Craig's testimony had been a disaster.

"It pisses me off that now I don't know whether to be angry or sympathetic."

"If you are asking my opinion, I'd lean in the direction of sympathy."

"Please, Jack. No jokes! This is serious."

"After I finish the autopsy, I'll surely have missed the last shuttle flight tonight. I'll stay in a hotel at the airport. Flights start sometime around six thirty."

Laurie sighed audibly. "I'm going over to my parents' early to get ready, so I'll miss you here at the apartment."

"No problem. I think I'll be able to get into my tuxedo without any help."

"Will you come to the church with Warren?"

"That's my intention. He's inventive the way he always finds parking for his ride."

"All right, Jack. See you at the church." She disconnected abruptly.

Jack sighed and flipped his phone shut. Laurie wasn't happy, but at least he'd gotten the unpleasant chore out of the way. For a moment, he marveled that there was nothing in life that was simple and straightforward.

Slipping his phone into his pocket, Jack climbed out of the car. As he'd been talking with Laurie, things seemed to be coming to a head at graveside. Percy was back inside the backhoe's cab and had the diesel engine cranking. The scoop was poised over the excavation with attached steel cables stretching downward into the depths. It was apparent the backhoe was putting significant tension on the cables.

Jack walked to the edge of the hole to join Harold. Looking down, he could see that the cables were attached to eyehooks embedded in the vault's lid.

"What's happening?" Jack yelled over the diesel roar.

"We're trying to break the seal," Harold yelled back. "It's not easy. It's an asphalt-like material that's used to make it waterproof."

The backhoe grunted and strained and then eased off only to begin anew.

"What will we do if the seal holds?" Jack questioned. "We'd have to come back another day with the vault company people."

Jack cursed but not audibly.

Suddenly, there was a low-pitched popping noise and a brief sucking sound.

"Well, hallelujah!" Harold said as he motioned for Percy to slow down by flapping his hand.

The vault lid rose up. When it got up to the edge of the pit, Enrique and Cesar grabbed it to keep it steady while Percy swung it away from the grave. Carefully, he set it down on the grass. Percy then climbed out of the cab.

Harold peered into the vault. The lining was mirror-like stainless steel. Resting inside was the white-gold metallic coffin. There was a good two feet of clearance all around.

"Isn't she a beauty?" Harold said with near religious veneration. "That's a Huntington Industries Perpetual Repose. I don't sell many of those. It's really a sight to behold."

Jack was more interested in the fact that the interior of the vault was as dry as a bone. "How do we get the coffin out?" he asked.