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taken, as have external prelims. Judging from the state of rigor and the level of decomposition at the time the body was found, the time of death has been estimated between one and four a.m. on Saturday morning.
    “The deceased has a large incision in her chest and abdomen, running from the top of her sternum to approximately two inches above her navel. There’s significant lividity at the edges of the wound at the bottom, much less at the top. It’s apparent that the sternum has been cleaved and the rib cage opened. The wound has been partially sewn together with what appears to be either a light fishing line or a heavy surgical suture. I’m proceeding to open the stitches, and I’m spreading the rib cage to examine the chest cavity.
    “There’s significant surface damage to both lungs, as well as to the trachea. The damage appears to have been caused by a straight blade with a fine edge, possibly a surgical scalpel.”
    Farmalant switched off his microphone. “He’s losing his patience,” he said to Flaherty.
    “What do you mean?”
    “Well, he’s never been what I would consider a skilled surgeon. I mean, I wouldn’t want him operating on me. But he’s always shown a reasonable amount of proficiency. He’s known what he’s after, and where to get it. In the past there’s been relatively little damage to the other organs. This is a hatchet job by comparison.”
    “You think he may have rushed this one?”
    “It’s possible. But we still haven’t established that this woman’s killer is in fact Little Jack.” He turned the microphone back on. “I’m now separating the lungs to reveal the thoracic cavity.” He paused as he ran his hands around the insides of the body. “There’s a defined severance of the aorta at approximately one-quarter inch. There’s a similar severance of the pulmonary artery. There’s significant arterial and tissue damage to the surrounding area.” He paused again and looked at Flaherty. “The deceased’s heart has been completely removed.”
    “Little Jack,” Flaherty said under her breath.
    “Little Jack,” Farmalant repeated. He didn’t realize his microphone was still on.
    Back in Farmalant’s office, Flaherty sat in one of the doctor’s matching leather chairs. He’d clearly bought these himself, she thought. The city didn’t spring for such luxuries.
    “I thought we might be dealing with a copycat when I saw the damage to the lungs,” Farmalant was saying. “It just didn’t seem like Little Jack’s work.” He said it casually enough, but to Flaherty it still felt like a sharp jab.
    “We haven’t told the press about the missing hearts, though. So how could a copycat have known what to mimic?”
    “Yeah, it doesn’t make sense. Still …”
    “If somebody
had
leaked something like that, it would have been in every newspaper in Boston. We haven’t even told everyone on the task force. That’s on a need-to-know basis. It’s hard to see how the information about the hearts could have gotten out when we’re even keeping it from our own guys.” Flaherty leaned back and looked at the ceiling. The truth was, she didn’t want to consider the possibility that they had a copy-cat on the loose. That would mean they had two serial killers to catch. The thought was more than she could bear.
    “You’re probably right,” the coroner admitted. He said it without conviction, though.
    “I’ve gotta get this guy. Did you see anything in there that might give us some direction?”
    “Not really. Just what we already know. We’re almost certainly dealing with a white male in his twenties or thirties. All of the victims have been prostitutes, so there may be some sort of moral or retributive motive. And the skillful cutting of the previous six victims suggests it’s someone with at least some medical training. Finally, given the location where the bodies have been found, it’s likely our boy lives or works either in downtown Boston or in