Lucky enough to get the Honda again today, Harry parked and entered the stubby Coroner's Office building in long strides. He went straight to the board receptionist filing her nails in the Sunday morning lull.

"A Jorge Bernardo was brought here last night."

The lady - her tag read Clara - took out a clipped-on list from an inner shelf.

"Yes. The body was released to Farley Bronco, brother-in-law at noon."

"I know that… Umm … I was looking to meet the doctor who looked at the body."

"In what capacity?" Miss Clara asked after giving him a questioning onceover. Harry after all was merely a scrappy lad.

Harry took out his Bureau-issue ID and placed it on the counter. Clara held it up to check for the Bureau logo - a bald eagle perching on a pair of binoculars - layered into the official card paper.

"You have to know that these really don't carry that much weight," said Miss Clara handing the card back.

Well, didn't Harry know that well? He decided to add the personal connection to the mix.

"Look, ma'am. I was raised by Jorge, very close to him. I really need to have this talk for reasons that I'm sure the ME would understand." Seeing the look of hesitation on Clara's face, he hastily apoke again: "I was the one who called Sergeant Sito on the scene. I found Jorge. There were things … I was expecting to be called in honestly. I don't know how that didn't happen. Must have slipped Sergeant Sito's mind or something."

His last few statements were a blind shot in the air but at least the receptionist seemed a bit unsure of herself now.

Harry took the last shot with more confidence: "My boss is taking interest due to a few deaths under similar circumstances in Charlotte. Please."

"You'll have to wait as Dr. Nagasi is finishing another examination right now." With that Miss Clara dismissed him toward the waiting chairs in the foyer.

Five minutes later, a tall man in white overalls emerged from a corridor and went to the kitchen behind the reception desk. Clara pointed Harry toward a small interview room and Harry went into it. It wasn't unlike Oweb Glieberman's austere recording room in aspect. Harry waited a few more minutes before the man in the overalls entered with a steaming cup of coffee and introduced himself as Dr. Dehane Nagasi.

After introducing himself in turn, Harry wasted no time in getting to business.

"Look, doctor, I'm not here to waste your time. I just want to know what's your conclusion from the autopsy?"

"An autopsy was not indicated. It seemed like a straight up natural death. Sergeant Sito was aware of the decedent's drug abuse history. There were clear signs of both cocaine and alcohol use - recent. There were apparent symptoms of congestive heart failure which would have interacted negatively with any substance building up to a cardiac arrest."

"Did I mention I personally know him? He hasn't touched any substance in more than a year. He's sworn off everything since he heard the baby news." Harry realized he was talking of Jorge as if he was still alive. That's what it felt like - not like Jorge was gone, but still around. It felt strange. It felt right.

"You were neither his family, nor a roommate. You are not from the shelter - I just asked. You simply weren't around him enough to know."

"So there was nothing … I mean … nothing which was unnatural? How did you know about his heart condition? He never told me. He hadn't seen a doctor in some time." It had taken conscious effort on Harry's part to discuss Jorge in the past tense.

"His widow confirmed a Blooming Lives physician was treating him for a cardiovascular disease until fifteen months ago. Your friend did not seek a replacement after his doctor got killed in a mugging." Dr. Nagasi got up from his chair rather impatiently and added, seeing the look of disbelief on Harry's face: "See? He didn't tell you about that."

The doctor was leaning over and would have offered a hand for a parting shake when Harry blurted.

"What about those fingers?"

"Fingers?"

"When I found the body, they were curved… rigid … and frozen in odd, fanning, curved positions." He mimicked with his right hand as best as he could the indelible memory of Jorge's hand in death.

The doctor squinted his eyes thoughtfully, unconsciously shifting his weight from one leg to the other. "Hmm. The fingers were stiff. And colder than usual. I did notice they had turned bluer than the rest of his skin. But they definitely weren't curved like how you've shown me. There's no doubt about that."

"Is that a syndrome? Is that known?" Harry persisted, "I mean … you know… fingers going through these changes after some people's death?"

"Why would I call it a syndrome? That would be arbitrary. It would have been interesting to record, that hand position you showed me, had it appeared that way when I received the body. But other than curiosity, it doesn't register anywhere."

"Would you call it a syndrome if the same position was observed on more than one street corpses? A repeat occurrence?" Harry had the circled image on his wall projection in mind asking these questions.

Nagasi flashed a beatific smile and spoke with a discernible snarl: "If medical investigation is an area in your aptitude, I suggest you bust your ass to get yourself a college degree and find your way into a lab."

The doctor turned to leave, but Harry was not ready to let go.

"What about Tryptovam?"

The doctor rotated slowly on the heels of his Cole Haans and minced his words.

"What about Tryptovam?"

"Or any other new drug? I observed similar fingers in pictures uploaded by someone on the Homeless Tracker."

"A dead person's pictures?"

Harry sheepishly pushed a hand through his hair. "I don't know that."

"Then maybe you should do your homework first."

"Bunch of new street candies keep showing up with freaky outcomes, doctor. Tryptovam is one of the latest … I thought maybe ..." Harry responded carefully.

"I'm not aware of any drug-related deaths with a rigor mortis concentrated in the digits of either hand. And I don't remember having examined a death involving Tryptovam at Lee County yet. I'm sorry but I've got a report to finish."

With a deliberate check of his wrist watch, the doctor left.

***

As Harry came out of the building, he got a ping. It was Nelson, the guy with whom he was supposed to be hunting rentals.

"Are you up or not?" the text asked.

"Not really." Harry typed in the reply. "If anyone asks though, I'm with you all day."

Harry's next stop was to be the homeless row near Medusa. High time to start on the homework.

It took him forty-five minutes on the bike on a route that took almost two hours when busing. Business seemed to be on as usual at the homeless row, when he arrived. There were only a few people lounging on the curb. The rest would have left for whatever they spent their days doing. Parking the bike near the row, Harry greeted the one man he had hoped to see and the only one he knew by name here: Roku.

Roku was an affable middle-aged Mongolian guy. He was one of the dozed-off men yesterday. Today, he was sitting cross-legged at the far end of the row, counting some money.

"Howya doing, Harry! Good day, isn't it?" Roku asked with his patent happy smile, tying the money away in an old scarf. The sun wasn't hot and a pleasant breeze was running in from the open land under development beyond them.

"You all weren't looking too good yesterday." Harry cut to the chase squatting down beside Roku. "What happened?"

Roku laughed heartily for some reason. "I didn't even see you there! When?" The conversation was often punctuated by distant sounds of construction equipment.

"You were all passed out. Like this." Harry mimed the uncomfortable angled limbs and torsos they all seemed to have fainted in.

"I'm guessing that explains my cramps," Roku rubbed his hand across his neck as he spoke, sounding all bubbly as he if he would burst in laughter at any moment. He was definitely more jollier than Harry found him on two occasions before.

"All of you. All of you were dozing, or unconscious, I have no idea for how long. And then half an hour later you all looked fine as if nothing happened." Harry pulled up yesterday's pictures on his phone and showed them to Roku to help jog his memory. He hadn't noticed senility in the man before, but who knew.

"Oh yeah, I even said hi to you, now I remember," said Roku looking at the pictures in amazement as Harry scrolled them on his screen. "They took Dennis away."

"Him?" Harry pointed to the one man who had been prone then absent half-hour later. "That's Dennis? What happened?"

"That's what woke me up! The usual … paramedics, ambulance. They took him away." Roku's forehead was wrinkled with focus.

"Who called them in?"

"Could have been any of the guys." Roku shrugged his shoulders and spread his arm toward the mostly vacant row.

Somehow, Harry didn't believe that. He went and talked to the other two guys present, an old black man by the name of George and a Greek named Mack. They both appeared similarly hazy in their recall of what had happened yesterday and claimed to have woken up after Dennis was already gone. George remembered a white van driving away when he came to, but that was about it.

At last, Harry stood up, arms akimbo and lost in thought.

"Do you remember anything unusual from the morning or even the day before, or later after you'd woken up with Dennis gone?"

"It's nothing unusual here, man," the black man said. "Always the same shit of life."

"How did you feel after waking up yesterday? Try to focus on that. Did you feel sick? Anything felt different?" Harry felt like a conductor who was trying to get rookie musicians to reach notes beyond their reach. But he had to try. For the sake of Jorge.

"I been feeling lil iffy since I came back from the check up," said Mack busily scratching his shoulder bone.

"The check up?" Harry raised his eyebrows?

"Yeah, we all go together these days; it's easier on them," said Roku with that laughing expression on his face.

"Why do you all go together? Who said it's easier on them?" Harry had heard that sometimes the Care for the Homeless group took all the members of a homeless row together in a van if all of them needed check ups. But that couldn't be something regular.

"Sometimes we go; once in two months," George quipped helpfully. "They real kind. Treat us real nice."

"What did you mean when you said you felt funny since the check up?" Harry turned to Mack who was sitting on his haunches looking up at Harry.

"Iffy, not funny, though you could use that word," the man replied thoughtfully.

"Could you try to describe what exactly you mean?" Harry used his gentlest tone.

"Hey, why you so 'ntrested in us all of a sudden? Are you a volunteer or sumthin'? Making you freelance writeup money off us?" the black man asked skeptically.

"Because what happened here also happened to another homeless row at Main street, Corkscrew Colony, right after the bridge crossing. I don't know the status of those people yet, but they looked all similar to you guys when it happened. And one of my dearest friends died yesterday and I found his body. His fingers were just like here, you see?" Harry pointed to his phone as he showed them the picture in question, zoomed to those curved fingers.

They remained silent for some moments. George shrugged. Roku scratched his head. Mack spoke up:

"I felt like there was something wrong. I remember saying no. I know I said it, but I don't remember it." Mack was clearly struggling with recall.

"What else you remember?" Harry prodded him, racking his mind at the same time to come up with useful questions. "What felt funny? Did they give you new medicines? Something they said you must take on the premises?"

While the homeless men, still lost in the confusion of their spotty recall, turned their heads in uncertain, tentative negation, Harry immediately pulled up the Care for the Homeless website on his phone and booked an appointment.

With one last look at the three people sitting down, who had already forgotten anything about yesterday or even Harry's questions about yesterday moments ago, Harry stood up. He felt neither disappointment nor irritation at their inability to help. They were brothers one never thinks less of just because they got left behind.

Between Jorge, Brian, the girl, and his special Bureau assignment, Harry felt like he was trying to hold on to too many pieces of a breaking boat with bare hands.

Whatever life throws at you ...