pre-Columbian roots of the custom.”
“The Mayans also cut out people’s hearts. Doesn’t mean we should give that a whirl.”
“That was the Aztecs.”
Ryan started to comment. I cut him off.
“Spider Lowery’s Huey went down with four crew members aboard. Three were recovered and ID’ed straight off. The fourth, the maintenance specialist, was never found.”
“I’m guessing he was Latino.”
“Luis Alvarez. He was Mexican-American.”
“Wouldn’t gold hardware be mentioned in Alvarez’s dental antemorts?”
“His file contains no dental or medical records. Besides, if Alvarez added the sparkle after his last checkup, that wouldn’t be in his record.”
“Or he might have removed the thing when reporting for duty.”
“Exactly.”
Rico appeared at our table.
Ryan requested the check.
Rico pulled out his pad. As he summed, I tried observing his tooth. No go. His lips were compressed with the effort of the complex math.
Finally a slip hit the table.
Ryan and I reached for it. Argued. Our usual ritual.
I won. Handed Rico my Visa.
Smirking at Ryan, Rico headed off.
“What about Spider Lowery?” Ryan asked.
“What about him?”
“Might he have slipped into something a little more gold? He could have picked the thing up in Nam.”
“He could have.”
“Or he might have gotten the little doodad before shipping out, but removed it when he was around Mommy and Daddy.”
“Another possibility.”
“Is there anyone he might have told?” Ryan asked. “A buddy? A sibling?”
I remembered the photo session in my car.
“The brother’s dead, but Plato said Spider was close to a cousin. They played on the same high school baseball team.”
“The cousin still live in Lumberton?”
“I don’t know.”
“Might be worth a phone call. You know, cover all bases.”
True.
The band launched into “If I Had a Hammer,” the singer trying hard for Trini Lopez but missing badly.
“But Spider Lowery died in Quebec,” I said.
“Or the FBI screwed up the prints. I’d say the first step is to establish that your gold duck-mushroom thingy is, in fact, a broken gold sparkle. Then go from there.”
True again.
Rico returned with my card. I signed and added a tip. A big one, hoping for a smile.
Nope. With a mumbled “
“Does Alvarez’s file contain photos?” Ryan asked.
“Several.”
“Any smiling shots?”
In my mind’s eye I pictured the three black-and-whites.
A head-and-shoulders portrait of a uniformed young man.
A grainy reproduction of a high school graduate.
Nine sweaty soldiers, one glancing away from the camera.
I looked at Ryan.
Suddenly I was in a frenzy to reexamine that snapshot.
