The senior Seranos hadn’t had an infusion of brainpower since our first meeting. They had not seen their son in weeks, and knew nothing of his whereabouts. They hadn’t a clue where Jorge was on October twenty-ninth. They didn’t know Maria Zuckerman, hadn’t heard of her clinic.
Galiano produced Patricia Eduardo’s picture. They’d never laid eyes on her, had no idea how she came to be in their septic tank.
Senora Serano admired the horse.
After leaving the Paraiso, Galiano dropped me at FAFG headquarters and set off on a quest for Jorge Serano. I was laying out a Chupan Ya skeleton when Ryan called.
“I found something in Nordstern’s undies.”
“Skidmarks?”
“You’re a laugh riot, Brennan. I need you to translate.”
“Your Spanish is better than mine.”
“Different type of translation. Biology-ese.”
“Can’t you work it out? Ever since I agreed to help Galiano I’ve hardly had time to look at Chupan Ya bones, and that’s my day job.”
“Bat told me you hadn’t had lunch.”
Ryan made my grandmother look like an amateur when it came to concern for eating regular meals.
“I promised Mateo—”
“Go.” Mateo had materialized beside my workstation. “We’ll all be here when you catch your killer.”
I held the phone to my chest.
“Are you sure?”
He nodded.
I gave Ryan directions and cut off.
“Can I ask you something, Mateo?”
“Of course.”
“Who is Alejandro Bastos?”
The scar on his lip went dagger-thin. He waved a hand at the skeleton lying between us.
“Army colonel. The murdering bastard responsible for this, may he rot in hell.”
Next to a hot poker up the nose, my favorite thing is mealy, overfried fish. That’s what I was eating as Ryan leafed through the date book he’d found in Nordstern’s suitcase.
Locating the entry, Ryan held the book out so I could read.
On May 16 Nordstern scheduled a meeting with Elias Jimenez.
I thought back.
“That was two days before his interview with me.”
I chewed and swallowed. The former was a formality.
“Who’s Elias Jimenez?” I asked.
“Professor of cell biology at San Carlos University.”
“Was the interview taped?”
“It isn’t on any of the cassettes I’ve been through.”
“Is the professor about to enjoy the pleasure of our company?”
“As soon as Detective Galiano is free.”
“Intimidated by academia?”
“I’m a visiting cop in a foreign land. No authority. No weapon. No support. I might as well be a journalist.”
“And a strictly by-the-book kind of guy.”
“Straight arrow.”
I pushed the fish as far from me as possible.
“Jumping genomes! Another ride in the Batmobile!”
On the way to Ciudad Universitaria in Zone 12, Galiano updated Ryan and me on the afternoon’s progress. There was little to report concerning Jorge Serano. The kid had a thick jacket, mostly minor offenses. Shoplifting. Vandalism. Drunk driving. But Jorge hadn’t stuck around to discuss past indiscretions. He’d vanished like money into a wahala.
Galiano’s partner had researched Antonio Diaz.
Hernandez discovered that the DA had been an army lieutenant in the early eighties, served most of his hitch near Solola. His commanding officer was Alejandro Bastos.
Terrifico.
