Vector

Chapter 16

Wednesday, October 20

5:30 a.m.

Jack could not remember a time in his life when he’d been more preoccupied by so many disparate problems. First, there was Laurie, who confused him both in her behavior and his own reaction to it. After she’d left early that morning, he’d had a devil of a time getting to sleep. He kept mulling over everything she’d said and done in the previous forty-eight hours. He’d still been feeling guilty about his jealous reaction to her engagement news and angry at her response to his attempt at apology, when she’d arrived on his doorstep unannounced. He didn’t know what to make of it all.

And second, there were the two mysterious cases. Try as he might, he’d not been able to come up with an explanation of the grossly contaminated tiny star. As far as Connie Davydov was concerned, his strong suspicion that she’d been poisoned with a respiratory-depressant drug had been shot full of holes by the toxicology department, and despite several hours of reading and even more hours of thinking, he’d not been able to come up with a replacement theory. Laurie’s suggestion of methemoglobinemia was the only idea that he thought had even a slight chance of being correct.

The last problem that was weighing on Jack was the need to come up with some justification for his behavior at both the Brooklyn ME’s office and Strickland’s Funeral Home. Bingham had just bawled him out the day before for something that was tame by comparison. If and when Bingham got wind of what had happened in Brooklyn, he’d be livid, and would demand an explanation Jack was ill-prepared to give. For the first time in his career at the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner, he truly thought that come evening, he might be on forced administrative leave.

Not only did Jack have trouble getting to sleep, he also woke up earlier than usual. Still trying to come to terms with his various dilemmas, he bicycled to work just as dawn was breaking. That gave him an hour to work in his office before going down to the ID room.

When he arrived, Vinnie Amendola was in the process of making coffee, and Dr. George Fontworth had just begun looking over the cases that had come in during the night.

“Excuse me, George,” Jack said. “What kind of day does it look like autopsy-wise: heavy or light?”

George’s sleepy eyes ran down his list.

“I’d say the light side of normal.”

“Good,” Jack said. “I’d like to take a paper day if you wouldn’t mind.” A paper day was when one of the medical examiners chose not to do any autopsies, but rather, took the time to catch up on his never-ending paperwork. Normally paper days were scheduled in advance.

“What’s the matter?” George asked. “Are you ill?”

George wasn’t being sarcastic. It was well known around the office that Jack was a glutton for punishment when it came to doing postmortems. He did more than anyone else, and by choice. When anyone asked why, he said that keeping himself busy kept him out of trouble.

“Health-wise, I’m fine,” Jack said. “I’ve just got a lot of things piling up.”

“I don’t see it being a problem,” George said accommodatingly. “Of course, it might be a different story if someone calls in sick at the last moment.”

“If that happens,” Jack said, “just give a shout.”

Jack walked over to the coffeepot.

“Are you finished yet, maestro?” Jack asked Vinnie.

“You can have a cup in two seconds,” Vinnie said.

“Do you have any idea when Peter Letterman usually arrives?” Jack asked.

“The toxicology lab opens officially at nine,” Vinnie said. “But I happen to know that Peter gets in early, usually before eight.”

“Gosh, he spends a lot of time here,” Jack commented.

“You should talk,” Vinnie said.

With coffee in hand, Jack went back to the elevator to return to his office. He was surprised to run into Laurie, who was just arriving. Jack looked at his watch. He was amazed to see her.

“This is early for you, isn’t it?” he asked.

“It is,” Laurie admitted. “I’m turning over a new leaf. I’m going to concentrate on work for a while. It’s something I always do when I’m upset about something.”

“I see,” Jack said. He wasn’t sure if he should ask her what she was upset about or not.

“I want to thank you again for last night,” Laurie said. “You really helped.”

“But I didn’t do anything,” Jack said.

“You were there and you made me feel comfortable,” Laurie said. “You acted like a friend, and that was what I needed.”

They boarded the elevator. Jack pushed the button for the fifth floor.

“Do you want to tell me what happened at your dinner last night?” Jack asked hesitantly.

Laurie smiled. “Not yet. I’ve got to process it a bit more myself. But thanks for asking.”

Jack smiled weakly He shifted his weight. It was amazing how easily Laurie could make him feel uncomfortably awkward.

“Are you going to work on your mystery cases today?” Laurie asked.

“I’m going to try,” Jack said. “Any other ideas for me about Connie Davydov?”

“Only what I gave you last night,” Laurie said.

“If you think of anything, don’t hesitate to tell me,” Jack said. “I might need it to keep the bounty hunters at bay.”

Laurie nodded. She knew what Jack was referring to.

They walked down the corridor together. When they got to Jack’s door they stopped.

“There is one thing I’d like to say,” Laurie offered. “I want to apologize for the way I acted when you and Lou told me about Paul yesterday afternoon. I wasn’t happy to hear it, but as you suggested, I was taking it out on the messengers. You two were right to tell me, although I’m not sure Lou was right to look it up in the first place.”

“Jealousy makes people do strange things,” Jack said. “And I’m speaking for myself.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Laurie said. “And good luck today.”

“Thanks,” Jack said. “I’ll need it.”

Jack went into his office and got back to work. He concentrated on the prisoner-in-custody case. If nothing else, he hoped to have that done by tomorrow to keep Calvin happy. While he worked, he glanced up at the wall clock repeatedly. When it got close to eight, he put down his pen and descended a floor to the toxicology lab.

As he approached the door, it didn’t look promising. It was closed and the lab appeared dark through the frosted glass. Jack tried the door anyway. It was locked. As he turned around to head back to the stairs, he caught sight of Peter on his way along the corridor from the direction of the elevator. He’d just arrived, as evidenced by his coat over his arm.

“Did you think of something else to test for?” Peter asked as he arrived at the laboratory door. He had his key out.

“I did,” Jack said. “Or actually, Dr. Laurie Montgomery did.”

Jack explained about the methemoglobin idea as he followed the lab tech into the lab and his tiny windowless office. Peter nodded as he hung up his coat.

“That means I should look for things like amyl nitrite, sodium nitrite, and nitroprusside,” Peter said as he donned his white coat. “Did this patient have a history of heart disease?”

“Not that I know of,” Jack said.

“Then I can’t imagine she’d be taking any of those drugs,” Peter said. “But there’s a handful of other substances that can cause methemoglobinemia. Do you want me to test for all of them, whether or not she’d be likely to be taking them as a medication?”

“Please!” Jack said. “I’m desperate.”

“Okay,” Peter said agreeably. He started out of his office. Jack trailed him like a puppy.

“When can you do it?” Jack asked.

“I’ll set it up right away,” Peter said. “It’s better for me to get it going before Dr. Devries gets here. Otherwise he’d start asking questions.”

“I do appreciate your help, Peter,” Jack said. “I hope I can reciprocate in some way. Speaking about your chief, do you happen to know about the status of David Jefferson’s samples?”

“Is that the prisoner-in-custody case?” Peter asked.

“It sure is,” Jack voiced.

“John was complaining about it yesterday,” Peter said. “As far as I know it’s done. Anyway it was positive for cocaine if that’s what you wanted to know.”

“Thank God for small favors,” Jack said. “Calvin is going to be jubilant. Now if I can only be so lucky with Connie Davydov.”

“I’ll give it my best shot,” Peter promised.

Jack started out of the lab but stopped when he remembered Laurie’s final suggestion. “There’s one other thing that Laurie suggested to test for,” he called back to Peter. “Botulinum toxin.”

Peter waved to indicate that he’d heard.

Jack climbed the stairs. With the Jefferson case sure to be completed by the Thursday deadline with what Calvin would consider a positive spin, there seemed to be a pinpoint of light at the end of Jack’s current tunnel of problems.

Back in the office, Jack ran into Chet, who was brimming with news of his previous evening’s experience at aerobics. Not only had the girl with the curvaceous figure shown up, but she’d deigned to have a yogurt fruit drink with him after the class. Jack had to wait until he’d heard all about the woman before he could get a word in edgewise.

“Tell me, Casanova,” Jack said. “Would you know how to get ahold of any of those vets who gave that seminar you went to yesterday?”

“I think so,” Chet said. “Why?”

“I want to find out if and when they figure out what killed those rats. Also, whether any more of them had anthrax.”

“I’ll try to find out sometime today,” Chet said.

“I’d appreciate it,” Jack said, and quickly redirected his attention to his work spread out on his desk.

“Aren’t you doing any posts today?” Chet asked.

“I’ve taken an unscheduled paper day,” Jack said without looking up.

“Are you sick?”

Jack laughed. “That’s what George asked. I wish I were. It would be a convenient excuse. I’m just trying to eliminate one of the reasons the front office is always on my case, namely, being perennially behind getting my cases signed out.”

“One of the main reasons you’re always behind is because you take on too many cases in the first place,” Chet said.

“Whatever,” Jack mumbled as he began scanning a section of David Jefferson’s brain under his microscope.

After Chet left for the pit, Jack kicked the door shut to avoid the distraction of the casual visitor. Still, he found that he couldn’t truly concentrate. As preoccupied as he was about everything, he was unable to keep himself from glancing up at the clock every so often. Particularly as the time approached ten, he started to worry about the phone ringing. He fully expected Cheryl to call with the standard message that the chief wanted to see him ASAP. After all, by that time in the morning both Dr. Jim Bennett and Gordon Strickland would have had more than enough opportunity to phone their complaints about Jack.

As if on cue, the phone did ring at ten sharp. Despite Jack’s expecting it, its jangle unnerved him. For several rings he considered not answering. But recognizing the futility of putting off the inevitable, he picked it up. To his surprise, it wasn’t Cheryl. It was Peter Letterman.

“I’ve got some surprising news for you,” Peter said.

“Good or bad?” Jack questioned.

“I suppose you’ll think it’s good,” Peter said. “Connie Davydov did not have methemoglobinemia, but she does have botulinum toxin in all the samples you gave me, including her stomach contents.”

“Good Lord!” Jack said. “This isn’t some kind of sick joke, is it?”

“Not at all,” Peter said. “I ran several of the assays twice just to be sure. The results were strongly positive, suggesting the victim had a large dose. I can follow up with some quantitative tests, but that will take a while. I wanted you to know the qualitative results right away.”

“Thanks,” Jack said. “I owe you.”

“Glad to be of assistance,” Peter said before ringing off.

Jack hung up the phone slowly. He felt a mix of emotions. One was a kind of elation at the validation of his suspicions about Connie Davydov having been poisoned. The other was shock. Botulism probably was the last thing he expected.

Thrusting his chair back from his desk, Jack jumped up. Throwing open his door, he ran down to Laurie’s office. He wanted her to be the first to know the news, since botulism had been her suggestion. Unfortunately, her office was empty. She was undoubtedly down in the autopsy room.

Back at his desk, Jack’s mind churned over whom to call first. With a delicious sense of reprisal, he settled on Randolph Sanders. It took a few moments to get the doctor on the line. He’d been in the middle of an autopsy. Jack had insisted to the operator it was an emergency. When Randolph finally answered, his voice had an understandable urgency.

“Ah, hello, Randolph,” Jack said buoyantly. “This is your favorite colleague, Jack Stapleton.”

“I was informed this was an emergency,” Randolph growled.

“And indeed it is,” Jack said. “Just this moment I’ve been informed that your case, Connie Davydov, which we had reason to discuss yesterday, apparently succumbed to a rather large dose of botulinum toxin.”

A pregnant pause ensued.

“How was this determined?” Randolph demanded.

“By my personal persistence,” Jack said. “I went to the funeral home, where the director graciously allowed me to take some appropriate body fluid samples.”

“I’d not heard that had occurred,” Randolph said with a voice that had lost a good deal of its edge.

“Really?” Jack questioned. “I’d assumed you had. Nevertheless, as a favor to you, since we hold each other in such high esteem, I’m calling you rather than rushing down and informing Dr. Harold Bingham.”

“I appreciate that,” Randolph managed.

“Of course there is a practical aspect,” Jack said. “Connie Davydov is a Brooklyn case. I would assume you’d like to get the body back as soon as possible. I’ll also leave in your capable hands the chore of alerting the proper authorities.”

“Of course,” Randolph said. “Thank you.”

“Not at all,” Jack said, thoroughly enjoying himself. “It’s nice to know we can help each other out on occasion.”

Jack disconnected. He couldn’t suppress a broad smile. Revenge had been sweet. It had been easy to tell just how much Randolph had been squirming.

Next, Jack put in a call to Warren. Jack briefly explained what he’d found concerning Connie and asked for Flash’s work number. It took Warren a few minutes, but he found it and gave it to Jack.

Flash worked at a moving and storage company, and it took a few minutes for him to be located. When he finally came on the line he was out of breath. He’d been moving boxes around the storage facility.

“I got the answer about Connie,” Jack said after he’d identified himself. “As Warren suggested yesterday, I think you’re going to have to take your anger out on the basketball court and not Connie’s husband.”

“He didn’t kill her?”

“It doesn’t seem that way,” Jack said. “She apparently died of botulism. Have you ever heard of that?”

“I think so,” Flash said. “Isn’t that some kind of food poisoning?”

“Generally, yes,” Jack said. “It’s caused by a toxin that a specific type of bacteria manufactures. What makes this bacteria particularly dangerous is that it can grow without oxygen. You used to hear about it mainly in connection with canned goods when the food wasn’t heated enough during processing to kill the spores. But in your sister’s case, the important thing for you to understand is that it appears that foul play wasn’t involved.”

“Are you sure?”

“I just got the report back from the laboratory,” Jack said. “The technician assured me they checked the results. I’m personally confident she died of botulism, and except for a few apocryphal stories of the toxin being used to assassinate Reinhard Heyrich, one of Hitler’s cronies, back in World War II, I’ve never heard of the agent being used in a deliberate poisoning. The stuff is not easy to come by. The idea of Connie’s husband using it would be giving him more credit than he deserves.”

“Damn!” Flash exclaimed.

“I tell you what,” Jack said. “Warren and I will let you win at basketball the next time we’re on opposing teams.”

Flashed laughed halfheartedly. “You’re too much, Doc! As competitive as you and Warren are, I can’t see you guys throwing a game, nohow. Anyway, thanks for looking into this mess for me. I appreciate it.”

“I’m glad to have been able to help,” Jack said. “Now I have a question for you. What’s Connie’s husband’s name?”

“Yuri,” Flash said, practically spitting the name. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m afraid I have to call him up,” Jack said. “With Connie passing away with botulism, Yuri is certainly at risk.”

“I couldn’t care less,” Flash said.

“I can appreciate that,” Jack said. “And as your friend, I couldn’t care either. But as a doctor, I feel differently. Would you mind giving me his phone number?”

“Do I have to?” Flash asked.

“I suppose I could look it up,” Jack said. “Or get it from the Brooklyn office. But it would just be easier if you gave it to me.”

“I feel like I’m doing the turd a favor,” Flash complained before giving Jack the number.

Jack wrote it down. They talked for a few more minutes about possibly playing ball that evening before saying goodbye and hanging up.

Once they did, Jack immediately dialed the Brighton Beach number. As the call went through, he mentally outlined what he’d say. He wondered if Yuri Davydov would have an accent, and if he truly was the ogre that Flash believed he was. But Jack didn’t get through. The line was occupied.

In a significantly more buoyant mood, Jack returned to his paperwork. With enhanced efficiency, he completed yet another of his cases. After placing it on top of the completed pile, he tried the Brighton Beach number again. He got the same busy signal.

Jack wasn’t surprised. He imagined the man had a lot of calls to make in the aftermath of his wife’s death. But as the morning wore on, and Jack continued to try to place the call with the same lack of success, he finally lost patience. He dialed the operator and asked for Yuri’s telephone to be checked. A few minutes later the operator returned to say there was no conversation on the line.

“What does that mean?” Jack asked.

“It’s either off the hook or out of order,” the operator said. “I can connect you to repair if you’d like.”

“Never mind,” Jack said. He realized that Yuri was most likely at home but unwilling to talk to anybody. As understandable as it might be for the man to take his phone off the hook, it still frustrated Jack not to be able to get through; sometimes it seemed that nothing was easy. All he wanted to do was contact the man to warn him about possible botulism infection. Having put the case back in Randolph Sanders’s lap, he expected the Brooklyn office to follow up with the case as they were legally bound to do. That meant alerting the Department of Health and ultimately Jack’s nemesis, Dr. Clint Abelard, the city epidemiologist. As Jack had been duly informed on several occasions, it was Clint’s job to do the follow-up, which, of course, included contacting Yuri Davydov. Yet, as a physician, Jack felt honor-bound to notify the widower himself.

Jack absently played with the telephone cord while pondering the situation. There was always the chance that the Brooklyn office could run into trouble by not getting the body back. After all, Jack reasoned, the body could have been cremated. If that was the case and no further samples were available to confirm the diagnosis, a delay would be inevitable. What it all boiled down to was that Yuri Davydov might not learn about his risk in time to make a difference.

Pulling open one of the drawers of his desk, Jack took out a map of New York City. He opened it to the Brooklyn section and searched for Brighton Beach. The assumption it was somewhere on the waterfront helped; he found it next to Coney Island, jutting out into the Atlantic Ocean.

Jack estimated that Brighton Beach was about fifteen miles away. He’d never ridden out to that area on his bike but he’d been as far as Brooklyn’s Prospect Park on several weekend occasions and remembered how to get there. From the map he could see that Brighton Beach was a straight shot down Coney Island Avenue from the base of the park.

Checking his watch, Jack decided a bicycle jaunt to Brighton Beach would be a nice way to spend his lunch hour, even if it turned out to be a two-hour-plus trip. Although Yuri Davydov’s health was his main reason for wanting to go out there, he could also justify the outing as a reward for having made a significant dent in his paperwork and for coming up with a compelling alibi for the previous day’s escapades. But what really clinched the decision was the knowledge that it happened to be a particularly gorgeous Indian summer day with strong sunshine, warm temperature, and gentle wind. As Jack explained it to himself, it might be the last great day weather-wise before winter’s onslaught.

Before he left, Jack looked for Laurie again to tell her about the botulism, but he was told that she was still in the autopsy room. Jack decided he’d see her when he got back.

The trip was even better than Jack imagined it would be, especially going over the Brooklyn Bridge and riding through Prospect Park. The Coney Island Avenue portion was less stimulating but still enjoyable. As he passed Neptune Avenue, he noticed something he’d not expected: all the business signs were written in the Cyrillic alphabet.

As soon as Jack saw Oceanview Avenue, he pulled over and asked directions to Oceanview Lane. It wasn’t until he’d asked three people that he found someone who could tell him where to go.

Jack was surprised by the neighborhood. Just as Flash had described it, there was a whole section of small wood-frame houses jammed together in a cheek-by-jowl hodgepodge. Some were reasonably maintained while others were dilapidated. Fences constructed of a melange of materials separated individual properties. Some yards were clean and planted with fall flowers, while others served as junk heaps for doorless refrigerators, TVS with their guts hanging out, broken toys, and other discarded refuse. Roof lines angled off in bewildering juxtapositions, a testament to the uncoordinated way the original structures had been enlarged. A forest of rusted TV antennae sprouted like dead weeds from the ridgepoles.

Jack slowed and looked at individual buildings. Some still had definite Victorian embellishments. Most were in sore need of paint and repair. About half had freestanding garages. There were a lot of dogs that barked and snarled as Jack rode past. Very few people were in evidence and no children save for a few infants in the care of their mothers. Jack remembered that it was a school day.

The area had a grid of normal streets, but also numerous lanes, some named, some not. The lanes were narrow, some so narrow that they permitted only pedestrian traffic, and the houses on them could only be reached by foot. Across all the lanes stretched a spiderweb of telephone and electric wires.

Jack located Oceanview Lane with the help of a hand painted sign precariously nailed to a telephone pole. He turned into the lane and immediately had to pay attention to the large cracks in the concrete pavement or his bike would have toppled over.

Few of the houses had numbers on them, although Jack did see number thirteen written on a garbage can. Assuming the next building was fifteen, he continued until he was abreast of it. The structure was similar to the others although it sat on a full foundation rather than the more typical cinder-block piers. It also had a two-car garage. The roof was asphalt shingle; a number of the shingles were missing. The screen door was torn. The downspout at the corner was broken, and the top part angled off precariously. The whole thing looked as though it might fall over if the front door was slammed hard enough.

A waist-high chain-link fence separated the tiny, overgrown front lawn from the concrete alleyway. Jack locked his bike to it. He opened the gate and approached the door. Venetian blinds in the windows on either side of the door were closed shut, so Jack couldn’t peek in.

After vainly searching for a doorbell, Jack opened the torn screen door and knocked. When there was no response, he knocked harder. After one more attempt with sustained knocking, Jack gave up. He allowed the screen door to close with a thump. He was discouraged. After making such an effort to get there, he still was not going to be able to contact Yuri Davydov.

Jack was about to walk back to his bike when he became aware of a continuous, low-pitched hum. Turning back to the door, he listened. Now that he concentrated on the sound, he realized that it wasn’t continuous but rather modulated, like a very distant helicopter or a fan with very large blades. Jack eyed the house warily. It didn’t seem large enough for the size fan that would yield such a vibration.

Jack glanced around at the other houses in the immediate neighborhood. All seemed shuttered as if their owners were at work or at least not at home. The only person in sight was an elderly gentleman sitting in his yard who was totally unconcerned about Jack’s presence.

Jack walked across the lawn to peer down between Yuri’s house and his neighbor’s. The separation was only about six feet, and it was bisected by the chain-link fence. After another glance at the elderly man, Jack walked between the buildings to emerge in Yuri’s tiny backyard. There he found what looked like a metal furnace vent issuing forth from a recently patched hole in the house’s foundation. The vent angled upward to extend higher than Jack could reach. By touching the vent and feeling the vibration Jack could tell he’d at least found the exhaust for the fan. Considering the size of the house, the kind of furnace the vent suggested seemed like overkill.

Jack continued to circle the cottage. On the side facing the garage was another door where Jack again knocked. Cupping his hands around his face, he peered through one of the small glass panels. He could see an L-shaped room that served as both living room and kitchen.

Leaving the door, Jack walked along the garage toward the front of the house. As he arrived at the patch of lawn, a bearded man appeared walking along the alleyway carrying a bag of groceries. Jack hadn’t seen him until the last possible moment because the garage had blocked his view.

This sudden appearance of the individual within arm’s reach made Jack start. He hadn’t realized quite how uneasy his trespassing had made him. But as startled as Jack was, it was apparently less than the stranger. The man dropped his groceries while trying vainly to get his right hand out of his jacket.

“I beg your pardon,” Jack intoned.

The man took a moment to recover. Jack used the time to come out through the gate and help retrieve some of the man’s purchases, which had fallen out of the bag.

“I’m awfully sorry to have startled you,” Jack said as he picked up several boxes of cake flour, a frozen dinner, a tin of cinnamon, and a bottle of vodka, which miraculously had not broken.

“It’s not your fault,” the man said. He squatted down, righted the bag, and began repacking his groceries. At the same time his eyes kept nervously darting around as if he was afraid someone else might startle him.

Jack handed over what he’d picked up. He couldn’t help but have noticed the man’s strong Slavic accent. It seemed appropriate given his dark beard and Russian-style hat.

“Are you a resident of this enclave?” Jack asked.

The man hesitated for a moment before answering. “I am,” he said.

“Do you happen to know Yuri Davydov? He lives here in number fifteen.”

The man made a point to look around Jack and study the building.

“Vaguely,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

Jack struggled to get his wallet out of his back pocket. As he did so, he asked the man if he was Russian. The man said he was.

“I noticed all the signs up the street were in the Cyrillic alphabet,” Jack said.

“There are a lot of Russians living in Brighton Beach.”

Jack nodded. He opened his wallet and showed the man his shiny medical examiner’s badge. Jack appreciated that the official emblem generally made people more cooperative and willing to answer questions.

“My name is Dr. Jack Stapleton.”

“Mine is Yegor.”

“Glad to meet you, Yegor,” Jack said. “I’m a medical examiner from Manhattan. Would you by any chance know where Yuri Davydov is at the moment? I knocked on his door, but he’s not at home.”

“He’s probably out driving his taxi,” Yegor said.

“I see.” To Jack, that meant that either Yuri was emotionally strong or there’d been the lack of domestic bliss Flash suggested. “When do you think he’ll be getting home?”

“Not until late tonight,” Yegor said.

“Like nine or ten?” Jack asked.

“Something like that,” Yegor said. “Is there a problem?”

Jack nodded. “I need to talk with him. Do you know what taxi company he works for?”

“He just works for himself,” Yegor said.

“That’s too bad,” Jack said.

“I’d heard that his wife just died,” Yegor said. “Is that what you want to talk with him about?”

“It is,” Jack said.

“Would you like to tell me what it is in case I see him?” Yegor said.

“Just tell him we know what killed his wife,” Jack said. “But the important thing is that he call me because what killed his wife is very dangerous, and he could be at risk. Let me give you one of my cards, which you can give to him if you see him.”

Jack took out a business card. “I’ll even include my home number.” Jack wrote on the back and handed the card to Yegor.

Yegor examined the front of the card. “Is this the address where you work?”

“That’s it,” Jack said. He tried to think if there were any other questions he could ask Yegor, but none came to mind. “Thank you for your help.”

“It was my pleasure,” Yegor said. “How late will you be at work?”

“Probably at least until six,” Jack said.

“I’ll tell Yuri if I see him,” Yegor said. Then he nodded to Jack before continuing on his way.

Jack watched the receding Russian for a moment before looking back at Yuri Davydov’s house. That was when he thought about leaving one of his cards under the door. The only potential downside was that when and if Clint Abelard came out and the card was brought to his attention, he’d have evidence of what he called Jack’s interference. Then Jack would undoubtedly hear about it from Bingham.

“Ah, who the hell cares,” Jack said out loud. He got out another card. On the back he wrote a message for Yuri to call him ASAP. He included his direct extension as well as his home number. Then he went back up the front walk and slipped the card under the door.

Jack unlocked his bicycle and pedaled away. He had it in his mind to take a quick loop around Brighton Beach before heading back to the office. He was mainly just curious about the area, but he thought that if he happened to see a veterinary office, he’d stop in to ask if they had information about the rat die-off.