I awoke standing in the bathroom, palms and forehead pressed to the mirror.
Had that been the word Molly had overheard? Not
Hector Lucas.
Did I really have it backward? Was the doctor in fact controlling the DA? Had Lucas ordered the attack on Molly and Carlos? What was his link to our work at Chupan Ya? I couldn’t make sense of it. Did he have Nordstern killed when the reporter got too close to the truth? Did he have Patricia Eduardo killed? Would Lucas deal with Zuckerman and Jorge Serano in the same way?
Would he try to kill Galiano and Ryan?
I lurched to the bedside table, fumbled for my cell.
Neither Ryan nor Galiano answered.
I wiped perspiration from my face with the back of an arm.
Where were they going? Zuckerman’s clinic? The morgue?
Think!
I took a deep breath, opened and closed my eyes. Images swirled. Stars flashed on my lids.
What to do?
I blew out a breath. Then another.
If Lucas really was dangerous, Ryan and Galiano would have no way to know. Zuckerman may already have reached him, and Lucas might think they were coming to arrest him, and shoot.
Throwing on shoes, I grabbed my purse and headed downstairs.
It took twenty minutes to hail a taxi.
Where?
Where had Ryan and Galiano gone? Not the Paraiso or Zuckerman’s clinic. Those places were staked out.
The driver drummed his fingers on the wheel.
Where would Lucas be?
Or did I want Diaz? Maybe Dr. Fereira could tell me.
I was trembling all over, my teeth clicking like a cheap party toy.
Focus!
“Morgue del Organismo Judicial.”
“Zona Tres?”
That was wrong. Why?
As the taxi crossed the city I watched an ever-changing panoply of color and shape. Banners strung above the streets. Ads posted on fences, walls, and billboards. I didn’t try to read them. I couldn’t. My head spun as it had in my drinking days when I’d fall asleep with one foot on the floor to remain stuck to the planet.
I knew I overpaid the driver by his smile and his blast-off.
No matter.
I looked up and down the block. The neighborhood was as bleak as I remembered, the cemetery larger and darker. Galiano’s car was nowhere in sight.
I stared at the morgue. Fereira. I needed to see Dr. Fereira. I followed a gravel driveway along the left side of the building. My sneakers made crunching sounds that thundered in my ears.
The drive led to a parking area containing two transport vehicles, a white Volvo, and a black station wagon. No Batmobile.
A drop of sweat rolled into my right eye. I wiped it away with my sleeve.
Now what? I hadn’t thought about entering without Ryan or Galiano. Look for Fereira?
