I did a quick survey of titles. Standard medical journals.
A door opened off the far corner of the room. Bathroom?
I held my breath and listened.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
I hurried over and turned the knob.
Whatever I was expecting, it was not what I saw. The room was dominated by two long counters crammed with microscopes, test tubes, and petri dishes. Glass-fronted cabinets held bottles and tubs. Jars of embryos and fetuses filled a set of shelves, each labeled with gestational age.
A young man was placing a container in one of three refrigerators lining the back wall. I read the label.
On hearing the door, the man turned. He wore a green T-shirt and camouflage pants tucked into black boots. His hair was slicked and bound at the neck. The initials JS hung from a gold chain around his neck. Styling commando.
His eyes shot past me into Zuckerman’s office.
“The doc let you in here?”
Before I could answer Zuckerman burst through the outer door. I turned, and our eyes locked for a couple of beats.
“You don’t belong here.” Her face was florid to the roots of her bad hair.
“I’m sorry. I got lost.” Zuckerman circled me and closed the lab door.
“Go.” Her lips were compressed, and she was breathing deeply through her nose.
Hurrying from the office, I heard the lab door open, then the sound of an angry voice. A name. I didn’t linger to eavesdrop. I had to find Galiano.
Though we’d never met, I knew the name of Commando Boy.
27
“YOU’RE CERTAIN?”
“Daddy’s rat face, Mama’s two-tone eyes.”
“One brown, one blue.”
I nodded. It was hard to forget the dullard owners of the Paraiso.
“And the letters JS hanging from his neck.”
“Jorge Serano.”
“Yes. And I heard Zuckerman say his name.”
I felt a burst of elation. Then it was gone.
“What the hell are he and Zuckerman doing in that lab?”
“Did you see any rabbits?”
I looked to see if he was joking. He was.
“Look, if you’re right about Jorge Serano—”
“I’m right, Galiano.”
“Jorge Serano links Zuckerman to the Paraiso. Zuckerman knew Patricia Eduardo. Could be our first break at stringing some things together.”
We were in Galiano’s cruiser, one block east of Zuckerman’s clinic.
“Zuckerman fights with Eduardo. Eduardo turns up dead at a hotel owned by the parents of one of Zuckerman’s employees.” I was trying but failing to keep my voice calm.
“Don’t have a coronary.”
“I’m showing energy and purpose.”
“I’m inspired by your drive. Let’s go talk to Serano.”
When we reentered the clinic, Serano was gone.
So was Zuckerman.
So were the women who’d been waiting for care.
Score one for the Hippocratic oath.
The receptionist admitted Jorge Serano was an employee. She described him as a personal assistant to Dr. Zuckerman. The only address she had was his parents’ hotel.
I suggested another peek at Zuckerman’s lab. Galiano refused, preferring to wait until he had a warrant.
We drove to the Paraiso.
