“Bingo!” Lou said cheerfully. “I got some good news for you.”
“I’m all ears,” Jack said. He slipped out of his bomber jacket and sat down.
“I put in a call to my friend in Immigration, and he just phoned me back,” Lou said. “When I asked him your question, he told me to hang on the line. I could even hear him entering the name into the computer. Two seconds later, he had the info. Carlo Franconi entered the country exactly thirty-seven days ago on January twenty-ninth at Teterboro in New Jersey.”
“I’ve never heard of Teterboro,” Jack said.
“It’s a private airport,” Lou said. “It’s for general aviation, but there’s lot’s of fancy corporate jets out there because of the field’s proximity to the city.”
“Was Carlo Franconi on a corporate jet?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know,” Lou said. “All I got is the plane’s call letters or numbers or whatever they call it. You know, the numbers and letters on the airplane’s tail. Let’s see, I got it right here. It was N69SU.”
“Was there any indication where the plane had come from?” Jack asked as he wrote down the alphanumeric characters and the date.
“Oh yeah,” Lou said. “That’s gotta be filed. The plane came from Lyon, France.”
“Nah, it couldn’t have,” Jack said.
“That’s what’s in the computer,” Lou said. “Why don’t you think it’s correct?”
“Because I talked with the French organ allocation organization early this morning,” Jack said. “They had no record of an American with the name of Franconi, and they categorically denied they’d be transplanting an American since they have a long waiting list for French citizens.”
“The information that Immigration has must correlate with the flight plan filed with both the FAA and the European equivalent,” Lou said. “At least that’s how I understand it.”
“Do you think your friend in Immigration has a contact in France?” Jack asked.
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Lou said. “Those upper-echelon guys have to cooperate with each other. I can ask him. Why would you like to know?”
“If Franconi was in France I’d like to find out the day he arrived,” Jack said. “And I’d like to know any other information the French might have on where he went in the country. They keep close tabs on most non-European foreigners through their hotels.”
“Okay, let me see what I can do,” Lou said. “Let me call him, and I’ll call you back.”
“One other thing,” Jack said. “How can we find out who owns N69SU?”
“That’s easy,” Lou said. “All you have to do is call the FAA Control Aviation Center in Oklahoma City. Anybody can do it, but I’ve got a friend there, too.”
“Jeez, you have friends in all the convenient places,” Jack remarked.
“It comes with the territory,” Lou said. “We do favors for each other all the time. If you have to wait for everything to go through channels, nothing gets done.”
“It’s certainly convenient for me to take advantage of your web of contacts,” Jack said.
“So you want me to call my friend at the FAA?” Lou asked.
“I’ll be much obliged,” Jack said.
“Hey, it’s my pleasure,” Lou said. “I have a feeling that the more I help you the more I’m helping myself. I’d like nothing better than to have this case solved. It might save my job.”
“I’m leaving my office to run over to the University Hospital,” Jack said. “What if I call you back in a half hour or so?”
“Perfect,” Lou said before disconnecting.
Jack shook his head. Like everything else with this case, the information he’d gotten from Lou was both surprising and confusing. France probably was the last country Jack suspected Franconi to have visited.
After donning his coat for the second time, Jack left his office. Given the proximity of the University Hospital, he didn’t bother with his bike. It only took ten minutes by foot.
Inside the busy medical center, Jack took the elevator up to the pathology department. He was hoping that Dr. Malovar would be available. Peter Malovar was a giant in the field, and even at the age of eighty-two he was one of the sharpest pathologists Jack had ever met. Jack made it a point to go to seminars Dr. Malovar offered once a month. So when Jack had a question about pathology, he didn’t go to Bingham because Bingham’s strong point was forensics, not general pathology. Instead, Jack went to Dr. Malovar.
“The professor’s in his lab as usual,” the harried pathology department secretary said. “You know where it is?”
Jack nodded and walked down to the aged, frosted-glass door which led to what was known as “Malovar’s lair.” Jack knocked. When there was no response, he tried the door. It was unlocked. Inside, he found Dr. Malovar bent over his beloved microscope. The elderly man looked a little like Einstein with wild gray hair and a full mustache. He also had kyphotic posture as if his body had been specifically designed to bend over and peer into a microscope. Of his five senses only his hearing had deteriorated over the years.
The professor greeted Jack cursorily while hungrily eyeing the slide in his hand. He loved people to bring him problematic cases, a fact that Jack had taken advantage of on many occasion.
Jack tried to give a little history of the case as he passed the slide to the professor, but Dr. Malovar lifted his hand to quiet him. Dr. Malovar was a true detective who didn’t want anyone else’s impressions to influence his own. The aged professor replaced the slide he’d been studying with Jack’s. Without a word, he scanned it for all of one minute.
Raising his head, Dr. Malovar put a drop of oil on the slide and switched to his oil-immersion lens for higher magnification. Once again, he examined the slide for only a matter of seconds.
Dr. Malovar looked up at Jack. “Interesting!” he said, which was a high compliment coming from him. Because of his hearing problem, he spoke loudly. “There’s a small granuloma of the liver as well as the cicatrix of another. Looking at the granuloma, I think I might be seeing some merozoites, but I can’t be sure.”
Jack nodded. He assumed that Dr. Malovar was referring to the tiny basophilic flecks Jack had seen in the core of the granuloma.
Dr. Malovar reached for his phone. He called a colleague and asked him to come over for a moment. Within minutes, a tall, thin, overly serious, African-American man in a long white coat appeared. Dr. Malovar introduced him as Dr. Colin Osgood, chief of parasitology.
“What’s your opinion, Colin?” Dr. Malovar asked as he gestured toward his microscope.
Dr. Osgood looked at the slide for a few seconds longer than Dr. Malovar had before responding. “Definitely parasitic,” he intoned with his eyes still glued to the eye pieces. “Those are merozoites, but I don’t recognize them. It’s either a new species or a parasite not seen in humans. I recommend that Dr. Lander Hammersmith view it and render his opinion.”
“Good idea,” Dr. Malovar said. He looked at Jack. “Would you mind leaving this overnight? I’ll have Dr. Hammersmith view it in the morning.”
“Who is Dr. Hammersmith?” Jack asked.
“He’s a veterinary pathologist,” Dr. Osgood said.
“Fine by me,” Jack said agreeably. Having the slide reviewed by a veterinary pathologist was something he’d not thought of.
After thanking both men, Jack went back out to the secretary and asked if he could use a phone. The secretary directed him to an empty desk and told him to push nine for an outside line. Jack called Lou at police headquarters.
“Hey, glad you called,” Lou said. “I think I’m getting some interesting stuff here. First of all, the plane is quite a plane. It’s a G4. Does that mean anything to you?”