“Where does Ollie Nordstern fit in?” Ryan asked.
No one had an answer.
“Here’s a plan,” Ryan said. “Bat rolls out a judge to get his warrant.”
“And it damn well won’t be that scumbag Diaz.”
“I finish the interview tapes. Brennan goes through the rest of Nordstern’s papers.”
“Fine,” I agreed. “But I’ll work at my hotel.” I felt a sudden need to stay near my bathroom.
“Don’t like my company?” Ryan made his hurt face.
“It’s the fly,” I said. “We don’t get along.”
By the time we swung by headquarters, picked up Nordstern’s file folders, and returned to my hotel, it was after five.
The sidewalk now looked like it had been struck by a tomahawk missile. Four jackhammers were engaged in a full-throttle assault that sent vibrations through every lobe of my brain. Floodlights and lunch pails suggested the noise might continue through the night.
I muttered a particularly colorful expletive.
Ryan and Galiano asked if I’d be all right. I assured them all I needed was rest. I didn’t mention the bathroom.
As they roared off I noticed the boys were laughing.
The paranoia flared.
I repeated the expletive.
Upstairs, I went straight to my med kit.
Katy always laughs at me. When traveling to foreign countries, I carry a drugstore. Eyedrops. Nasal spray. Antacid. Laxative. You never know.
Today I knew.
I downed an Imodium and a mouthful of Pepto-Bismol, and stretched out on the bed.
And shot straight to the bathroom. Decades later I lay down again, shaky but better.
The jackhammers pounded.
My head joined in.
I turned on the fan. Instead of blunting the noise, the fan added to it.
I returned to the bathroom, soaked a rag in cold water, placed it on my forehead, and went supine again, questioning whether I really wanted to live.
I’d barely drifted off when my cell phone rang.
Expletive.
“Yes!”
“Ryan.”
“Yes.”
“Feeling better?”
“Damn you and your fish.”
“I told you to have the corn dog. What’s that noise?”
“Jackhammers. Why are you calling?”
“You were right-on about Melbourne. Zuckerman spent two years there on a Reproductive Biology research fellowship or something.”
“Uh huh.”
I was half listening to Ryan, half listening to my stomach.
“You’ll never guess who else was there.”
The name got my full attention.
28
THE LUCAS WHO CONFISCATED THE PARAISO SKELETON FOR Antonio Diaz?”
“Hector Luis Castillo Lucas.”
“But Lucas is a forensic doctor.”
“Apparently he didn’t start out that way.”
“What’s the Diaz-Lucas link?” I asked.
“Better question: What’s the Zuckerman-Lucas link?”
