Skeleton Justice

Forensic expert Dr. Michael Baden of the HBO series Autopsy and trial attorney and legal commentator Linda Kenney Baden bring us a chilling new thriller featuring their crack crime-fighting duo: Dr. Jake Rosen, world-famous pathologist, deputy chief medical examiner, and devoted scientist; and top litigator Manny Manfreda, who is as lovely (and accessorized) as she is gutsy. The case begins with New York City on high alert for a most bizarre serial killer - a strange kind of thief who stalks his victims for the purpose of extracting a vial of blood, earning him the tabloid nickname the Vampire. As the attacks become more and more vicious and escalate to torture and then to murder, Jake and Manny begin to suspect there is a connection between the killer's seemingly random victims. But what is the link between the Vampire and a case that Manny's been working for a kid whose high school prank-gone-wrong has earned him the moniker the Preppy Terrorist and an FBI electronic ankle bracelet? Jake's careful forensic examinations, Manny's courtroom tenaciousness, and an unusual clue suggesting that a high-ranking politician has risen from the grave take the pair from the bowels of the morgue to the world of international intrigue. At the heart of this story is a tragic tale of corruption interlaced with cover-ups, conspiracies, death squads, and dictators who committed crimes that to this day go unpunished. A fast-paced, boldly imagined work from an exuberant new team in suspense.

Chapter One

The harsh buzz of the doorbell shocked the knife out of Annabelle Fiore’s hand.

She jumped back to avoid being nicked by the blade as it clattered to the floor.Just what I need right now . . . chop off my own toe.

As Annabelle put the knife safely on the counter, the microwave clock rolled to 7:00. The Linggs were unfashionably punctual. She had been counting on their tardiness to give her time to finish making the salad.

But Rosemarie and David weren’t expecting to be entertained. Her friends were here to distract her from pre- opening-night jitters, relax her—they’d be happy to sit in the kitchen while she cooked. Annabelle crossed the foyer and opened the door of her Greenwich Village brownstone. The final aria fromTosca,piped through her high- end sound system, tumbled into the raindarkened street.

“Welco—”

A person dressed in black—not Rosemarie, not David—pushed Annabelle backward. A hand, gloved despite the balmy night, grasped her forearm. A steel- toed boot kicked the door closed.

Annabelle opened her mouth. The quick intake of breath needed to scream accelerated her downfall. A cloying, harsh scent burned her nose and mouth as a thick square of damp cloth pressed into her face. The bold tones of the Roger Selden abstract paintings on the foyer wall faded into the distance. Annabelle’s knees buckled, and the gloved hand released its grip.

Falling, she glimpsed a flash of metal.

Her attacker’s fist opened, revealing a small glass vial. Annabelle’s last coherent thought formed.Why me, dear God, why me?skeleton justice



Chapter Two

Get back where you belong.

Dr. Jake Rosen could hear his boss saying it as he looked down at Annabelle Fiore. The opera singer’s olive skin had blanched to white; her arms lay stiffly at her sides. Jake reached out to touch her wrist. Her eyelids fluttered.

The living are not your concern.

That’s what Pederson would say if he knew his leading forensic pathologist was at St. Vincent’s Hospital conducting a physical exam of a living victim. As deputy chief medical examiner of the City of New York, Jake spent most of his working hours at crime scenes or in the autopsy suite of the morgue. The chief ME, Charles Pederson, frowned on unauthorized field trips.

Gently, Jake turned Fiore’s right arm to examine the inner side. There, in the crook of her elbow, was a tiny puncture where a needle had been inserted to draw blood. He studied it closely. No multiple attempts, not even much bruising around the site.

The emergency room physicians and residents who had treated Fiore the night before wouldn’t have noticed this. They had saved Fiore the night before wouldn’t have noticed this. They had saved the opera singer's lofe by evaluating her injuries from a medical standpoint. To them, the lack of trauma at the blood-extraction site was good news: no treatment required, so they could focus all their attention on her compromised central nervous system. To Jake, that tiny, perfect puncture was significant.

Whoever had attacked Fiore knew how to extract blood from a vein. This was not the work of an amateur. Not a random act of violence.

His gaze traveled down the length of her arm. There, near the wrist, were three distinct bruises. Her assailant had gripped her arm tightly and held her until she stopped struggling. Just as with the first four victims.

Jake hadn’t examined them, but he’d been briefed by Vito Pasquarelli, lead detective on the case. The first attack had occurred over a month ago. A young mother on the Upper West

Side had responded to a knock on her door in the middle of the day. The next thing she remembered was waking up groggy from ether-induced unconsciousness. She, and the polic

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Excerpted from Skeleton Justice by Michael Baden, Linda Kenney Baden
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