“Can I help you?” Dr. Bivelli asked with solemn enthusiasm as befitted his somewhat gruesome occupation. He was a short man in his late fifties, completely bald, a protruding paunch testing the buttons on his gray vest. His face was kind and reserved with a bright, trusting smile.

“My name is Graham Rowe. We spoke on the phone earlier.”

“Oh, yes,” Bivelli said. “The sheriff of Palm’s Cove.”

“And this is Laura Baskin.”

Dr. Bivelli turned toward Laura, his face grim. “I’m very sorry about your husband, Mrs. Baskin.”

“Thank you.”

“Please,” Bivelli said with a wave of his hand, “make yourself comfortable.” He walked around to his side of the desk. “I reread your husband’s file after I spoke with Sheriff Rowe this morning, Mrs. Baskin. I truly hope I can be of some service.”

“Maybe you can help us clear up a couple of loose ends,” Graham said.

“I’ll certainly try.”

“Let me begin by asking you this, Doctor. Could there have been foul play in the death of Mr. David Baskin?”

Dr. Bivelli sat back in his chair. “That’s a tough question, Sheriff. I mean, I guess it’s a possibility but I doubt it heavily. First of all, Mr. Baskin’s lungs were filled with water when we found him. That means the cause of death was drowning. He was not killed first and then dumped into the ocean. How did he drown? Well, that’s anyone’s guess. He was bopped around a lot out there.”

“Bopped around a lot?” Laura asked.

“Yes, Mrs. Baskin,” Dr. Bivelli replied, turning his attention toward her. “Your husband’s body was brutally thrashed around by the rough waters. It was hurled against rocks and crunched against the surf. It was splattered against jagged coral and sliced up very badly. Fish probably gnawed on it.”

Laura’s face blanched.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Baskin,” Dr. Bivelli added quickly. “I’m a pathologist. I never had much use for proper bedside manner.”

Laura swallowed. “That’s okay. Please continue.”

“What I’m trying to say is that the body was in horrible shape when we found it. Could someone have knocked him on the head and dumped his body out to sea? Very doubtful but yes.”

“Why do you say very doubtful?” Laura asked.

“Because most of the time that’s not how it works. Sometimes a man is murdered and his body is dumped in the water to make it look like an accidental drowning. Sometimes a man is killed and a large weight is tied to his body so that it won’t be found for a while. But like I said before, David Baskin drowned and rarely is a man knocked out and then left in the water in the hopes he will end up dead. It’s too risky. He may survive the ordeal by being rescued by a boat or by waking up or whatever.”

Graham nodded. “You say Mr. Baskin’s body was in bad shape?”

“Yes.”

“Beyond recognition?”

Dr. Bivelli eyed Laura. “Pretty close.”

“How did you get a positive identification then?”

Dr. Bivelli coughed into a fist. “Two ways. First, that American policeman who was a friend of his”—he slipped on a pair of reading glasses and opened the file—“an Officer Terry Conroy, was able to recognize certain features. More important, his medical records were sent to me via a fax machine. The dental X-rays arrived the next day and confirmed what we already knew.” Bivelli looked down at the file again. “According to Officer Conroy, Mr. Baskin should have been wearing a nineteen eighty-nine NBA championship ring, but we couldn’t use that to ID him because his right hand . . . He wore the ring on his right hand, right, Mrs. Baskin?”

She nodded. The ring. She had forgotten all about the last championship ring that had adorned David’s hand. And that was the only piece of jewelry that he liked to wear—that and the wedding band they intended to buy when they returned from their honeymoon.

Bivelli cleared his throat again. “Yes, well, his right hand was gone.”

“Gone?” Laura repeated.

Bivelli lowered his head. “As I said, many parts of the deceased were badly damaged.”

“I see,” Graham replied. “Let me ask you this, Doctor. How exact was the estimated time of death?”

“For a drowning like this, it’s never more than guesswork,” Dr. Bivelli continued. “I could have been off by as much as twelve to fifteen hours.”

“You estimated the time of death to have been around seven p.m.,” Graham reminded him. “Would it shock you to hear that we have an eyewitness who saw Mr. Baskin at midnight?”

“Not at all, Sheriff,” Bivelli replied casually. “Like I said earlier, dissecting a drowning victim with a battered body is not going to produce exact, scientific results. I wish it did. My time estimate was influenced in large part by statements made by Mrs. Baskin. She said her husband went for a swim at around four or five in the afternoon. It would certainly be more logical to assume that he died within a few hours of that time than after midnight.”

Graham scratched at his beard. “One last question and then we’ll be out of your way. Why were you called in on this case? Why wasn’t the local coroner used?”

Bivelli shrugged. “I can’t say for sure, but I can make a guess.”

“Please do.”

“First off, Mr. Baskin was a foreigner and a rather famous personality,” Bivelli began. “When a death of that magnitude occurs, the Aussie government usually gets involved and I have done quite a bit of work for them in the past. They feel comfortable with me. Townsville is only about an hour flight from Cairns, so they probably thought I would be the better man for this particular situation.”

“Then Officer Terry Conroy of Boston didn’t contact you?”

“No, he did not.”

Graham rose. Laura did the same. “Thank you, Dr. Bivelli. You’ve been very helpful.”

“Anytime, Sheriff,” he replied with a firm handshake. “And again, Mrs. Baskin, please accept my most sincere condolences.”

They headed down the hall and into the elevator. When the door slid closed and the lift started to move upward, Laura turned to Graham. “He’s lying.”

Graham nodded. “Like a rug.”

JUDY stared at the photograph.

Tears welled in her eyes as she stared at the all too familiar images. How many years would this go on? How long would this black-and-white photograph be able to jab painfully into her heart? God, how she had loved him. She had loved him like no other man before or since. Had he ever felt the same? Judy thought the answer was yes. She remembered a time when they were both deliriously happy, a time when they were so in love that nothing else mattered . . . until something took him away. Until something blinded him like a great flash of light.