Mandela.”
“He didn’t say that.”
“Maybe not Mandela.”
“Why so angry?”
“We kept his brother on our shelves for over four decades.”
Good point, I thought.
“Again, I offered to do comparative testing, said DNA had been successfully sequenced from the remains in two thousand one. He demanded that that information be destroyed, said he didn’t want his family in”—Danny’s voice went gruff—“no bullshit government database.”
“Anything else?”
“He said heads would roll.”
“First Plato Lowery, now Nickie Lapasa. Weird.”
“I’ve dealt with weirder.”
Changing gears, I shared my theory concerning the gold duck-mushroom thing buried in Lumberton with 2010- 37, and described my conversation with Sheriff Beasley.
“He’d never heard of dental sparkles?”
“No.”
“You’d think Beasley would have encountered at least one if they occurred with any frequency in his jurisdiction,” Danny said.
“The sparkle craze may have bypassed Robeson County.” I thought a moment. “It may go nowhere, but we could try locating Reggie Cumbo.”
“The cousin,” Danny said.
“Yes.”
“The guy you exhumed in Lumberton has to be Luis Alvarez,” Danny said. “Alvarez is still missing. His bioprofile is identical to Lowery’s and fits the remains. Alvarez is Mexican-American. Sparkles are big with Mexican- Americans.”
“Now,” I said. “But was that the case back in the sixties?”
“I’m not sure, but I think so.” Danny was silent a beat. “We should recheck the photos in Alvarez’s file.”
“We should,” I agreed.
“First thing tomorrow.”
“First thing.”
We had another date.
SUNDAY EVENING WE ENJOYED, OR ENDURED, A “BATTLE OF THE ringtones.” Our musical choices were the stuff of psych dissertations.
Lily’s current pick was “Super Freak” by Rick James. Katy was using Cab Calloway’s “Minnie the Moocher.” Ever the optimist, I’d switched to the
Dinner was once again cooked on the grill. While we were clearing the dishes, Cab announced an incoming call. Katy excused herself, returned minutes later, pensive, but face basically arranged in a grin.
One query from me brought full disclosure.
Katy’s caller had been Coop’s older brother, Jed. Jed had been exceedingly apologetic about the manner in which Katy had been treated. Because Coop’s death had received so much publicity, the Cooperton home had been inundated with contact from journalists, well-wishing strangers, and citizen wackos opposed to the war. As self- appointed protector of the family’s privacy, Jed’s uncle Abner had assumed phone responsibility. His strategy: rebuff any caller unknown to himself personally.
Jed told Katy that he had something he believed Coop would want her to have. Though perplexed, Katy clearly was pleased. And more relaxed than I’d seen her since Coop’s murder.
Ryan was next. Despite the sunny ringtone, his news came from the other end of the spectrum. His voice was grim as he updated me later, alone in the kitchen.
Lutetia was leaving Montreal for her home in Nova Scotia. Until further notice Lily would be Ryan’s responsibility. Bye-bye. Adios.
My reaction was mixed. While I knew Lutetia’s departure would hurt Lily and cause Ryan untold complications, I can’t say I was sorry to bid Ryan’s ex adieu. Metaphorically, of course. We’d never once spoken.
My first caller was Hadley Perry. She told me three things.
One, she’d gotten no hits with the MP families. Two, Honolulu PD Detectives Lo and Hung would begin canvassing hospitals first thing in the morning. Three, she was taking heat from the mayor and city council for closing Halona Cove.
Again in hushed tones, I shared Perry’s report with Ryan, this time on the lanai.
