"WHAT THE FUCK is this all about?" John Tyler asked nobody in particular. The telex in his hand only gave orders, not the reasons behind them.

The bodies had been transported to the city coroner, with a request for no action to be taken with them. Tyler thought for a moment and then called the Assistant U.S. Attorney he usually worked with.

"You want what? Peter Mayfair asked in some incredulity. He'd graduated third in his Harvard Law School class three years before and was racing up the career ladder at the U.S. Attorney's office. People called him Max.

"You heard me."

"What is this all about?"

"I don't know. I just know it comes straight from Emil's office. It sounds like stuff from the other side of the river, but the telex doesn't say beans. How do we do it?"

"Where are the bodies?"

"Coroner's office, I guess. There's a note on them—mother and daughter—that says don't post them. So I suppose they're in the freezer."

"And you want them raw, like?"

"Frozen, I suppose, but yeah, raw." What a hell of a way to put it, the Assistant Special Agent in Charge thought.

"Any families involved?"

"The police haven't located any yet that I know of."

"Okay, we hope it stays that way. If there's no family to say no, we declare them indigent and get the coroner to release them to federal custody, you know, like a dead drunk on the street. They just put them in a cheap box and bury them in Potter's Field. Where you going to take them?"

"Max, I don't know. Guess I send a reply telex to Emil and he'll tell me."

"Fast?" Mayfair asked, wondering what priority went on this.

"Last week, Max."

"Okay, if you want, I'll drive down to the coroner's right now."

"Meet you there, Max. Thanks."

"You owe me a beer and dinner at Legal Seafood," the U.S. Attorney told him.

"Done." He'd have to deliver on this one.