Robin Cook - Critical

Franco and Angelo were sitting in the Lucia organization's van, which was mostly used for hijacking and other forms of thieving at Kennedy Airport. They were parked at the curb between 29th and 30th streets in a no parking/no standing area in front of one of the original Bellevue Hospital buildings. They had a good view of the entrance to the OCME, except for a Range Rover parked in front of them.

"What's with this SUV?" Angelo complained. "This is a no-parking zone for chrissake. It's amazing how people just ignore the law."

"Calm down!" Franco responded.

Angelo hit the steering wheel several times in frustrated anger. "Of all days, why do they have to have their protest today?"

"You're getting yourself all worked up," Franco warned. "Why don't we just leave. With all these cops around, much less all these bellyaching nuts, there's no way we're going to be able to make a grab."

"I want to at least see her," Angelo groused. "Then I want to go to Home Depot."

With a dumbfounded expression, Franco looked over at Angelo. "Home Depot? What the hell are you going to get at Home Depot?"

Angelo returned the stare, and in the process raised his eyebrows as much as he was able.

"Wait a second!" Franco said, suddenly remembering. "Tell me you're not going to get a bucket and quick-set!"

"Vinnie specifically said I could do it my way, and that is exactly what I plan to do. Ever since I saw it in that movie, I've wanted to do it to someone who deserved it, and no one deserves it more than Laurie Montgomery, as I'm sure Vinnie would agree."

"Oh, for the love of God." Franco groaned, raising his eyes heavenward.

"There she is!" Angelo shouted excitedly, pointing out his side window. He reached for the door handle and had the door open before Franco was able to get ahold of his arm.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Franco shouted as Angelo struggled to free his arm. "The place is crawling with cops. It's suicide to go out there."

Angelo stopped struggling, pulled his foot in, and closed the door. He knew Franco was right. There was no way he could approach Laurie under the circumstances. As tense with anticipation as he'd been all morning, he'd reacted by reflex when he'd caught sight of her getting out of a taxi on the opposite side of the street.

obviously avoiding the crowd of protesters in front of the OCME. Suffering from acute and frustrating impotence, he was forced to watch Laurie a mere fifty or so feet away as she leaned back into the taxi and extracted a pair of crutches. Next to emerge was Jack.

"That's her boyfriend," Angelo growled. "I wouldn't mind icing him at the same time."

"Calm down!" Franco said again. "I feel like I'm sitting with a mad dog."

For almost a minute, Laurie and Jack stood in plain sight, severely testing Angelo's restraint, waiting for the light to change. Then, like a cat forced to watch a tempting mouse walk directly in front of its nose, Angelo had to find the self-control to witness their slow progress across First Avenue. When they turned to cross 30th Street, they were only the length of the Range Rover in front.

"This would have been perfect, if it hadn't been for the protest."

"Maybe so, maybe not," Franco said philosophically. "So now you've seen her, let's get the hell out of here."

Angelo started the van. "I'm thinking," he said. "She's going to recognize me just as easily as I recognized her."

"Maybe easier," Franco agreed.

"That means we should have more people." Angelo put the van in gear, looked behind him down First Avenue, and pulled away from the curb. "When we come back later this afternoon, I think we should have Freddie and Richie with us."

"I think that's a good idea," Franco agreed.

ADAM HAD SCOUTED the area around the OCME the night before and had come up with a plan to make a definitive ID on the target. He'd arrived that morning just before seven and had parked his Range Rover in an appropriate no-parking zone where he was reasonably confident the commercial plates would work their usual magic. He hadn't been happy about the protest, which was just beginning to form, not because of the people and the confusion they would cause but because of the TV vans and crews he assumed would be sent to cover the event. Adam wanted to avoid at all costs being caught on film.

As he'd expected, the outer door to the OCME had been open, although it had been locked the night before. Why he'd been so sure it would be open in the morning was that by peering in the previous night, he had been able to see a reception desk inside and another set of glass doors beyond.

Once inside, Adam had retreated to a vinyl couch with a copy of The New York Times. The receptionist asked Adam if she could be of assistance. He had told her that he was told to wait for one of the medical examiners.

For fifteen minutes, Adam had sat in the reception area. Several people had come in, including one medical examiner whom the receptionist had greeted as Dr. Mehta. The other people had been addressed by their first names. The receptionist's name he learned was Marlene Wilson.

At exactly seven-fifteen, the outer door opened. The first person to come in did so on crutches. Adam lowered the paper so he could see over the top. The second person looked encouraging. She was of medium height with sculptured features, brunette hair with auburn highlights, and a surprisingly pale, almost blond complexion. In Adam's mind she matched the description, as meager as it was, but he had to be certain.

"Good morning, you two," the receptionist said to Adam's chagrin, meaning he was forced to go to plan B. He'd quickly learned the modus operandi for entry was for the receptionist to make verbal contact before buzzing the employees in. The regular employees went through the double doors directly opposite doors to the street. The one medical doctor who'd come in went to a door beyond the receptionist's desk to be buzzed in, requiring her to walk across the room in front of Adam. The person Adam believed to be the target proceeded to follow the route of the previous doctor, as did the man on the crutches.

"Excuse me," Adam called out. "Are you Dr. Laurie Montgomery?"

Laurie stopped a step beyond Adam, as did Jack, who was almost even with the man's location.

Adam got to his feet and regarded Laurie for a beat. In keeping with her light complexion, her eyes were a pale blue-green. Adam asked again if she were Laurie Montgomery.

"Why do you ask?" Laurie questioned.

"I'm from ABC Collection," Adam said. "Could you tell me if you have ever lived in the SoHo section of Greenwich Village?"

Laurie exchanged a questioning glance with Jack. "No, I haven't," Laurie said.

"But your name is Laurie Montgomery."

"Yes, but I've never lived in SoHo."

"Sorry to bother you, then," Adam said and started for the door. "Why are you looking for a Laurie Montgomery in SoHo, if I may ask?"

"For a phone bill which was unpaid when she moved."

"Sorry," Laurie said as she turned toward the ID room door.

Adam continued outside. The protest was in full swing, with the protesters marching in a circle in front of the building, chanting over and over in unison, "Police brutality must be stopped! Cover-up! Cover-up!"

Being careful to avoid any chance of being caught by any of the cameras, Adam returned to his vehicle, climbed in, and then skirted the commotion. Heading north on First Avenue, he thought he'd return to the hotel, do a little planning over a second cup of coffee, and then head up to the Metropolitan Museum. It had been a favorite destination in his youth. He was quite certain he'd not see Laurie Montgomery until late that afternoon. Since he had yet to have her home address, he was going to have to rely on the OCME to provide access.