"We should be able to locate it" He tapped something into the controls. "Maybe I should leave you to find your own way to the information. It's straightforward now. You just follow the instructions when they come up in highlighted text"
"I'd rather you stayed," Diamond admitted without shame. "My brain goes dead when I sit in front of one of these things."
"That's reassuring to hear. From some of the things you've been saying, I thought you were information-oriented, and nothing else. Do we have the researcher's name?"
"YukoMasuda."
The librarian keyed in an instruction. "I hope you weren't serious-about not being able to appreciate the film because it wasn't strictly true."
"Don't let it depress you," Diamond told him. "It's the way I was trained."
"Too much left hemisphere."
"Too much what?"
"Of the brain. The left side of the brain marshals facts. I've always thought the police would do well to recognize that they have a right hemisphere as well, with a capacity for intuition."
"How, exactly?"
"Not 'exacdy' at all, Mr. Diamond. I'm suggesting you clear your mind of all those facts you collect and allow it to be receptive to psychic forces."
"You mean tea leaves and Tarot cards?"
"No, no, I'm being serious. I think you detectives might benefit by tapping into your sixth sense occasionally."
"Don't give me that That's how the wrong people get stitched up," said Diamond. "A detective who thinks he knows the truth in advance of the evidence is a dangerous man. I've met a few in my time."
"Isn't this a hunch-4ooking up a research student?"
"No, this is desperation. I know damn all about this woman. I've got to start somewhere."
"And I think we've found her," said the librarian, who had been scrolling the text as they talked.
Diamond stared at the screen and saw, midway down:
Masuda, Yuko, Ph.D., Yokohama Univ. "An insult to the brain: coma and its characteristics." 1979381. S. Manflex. "Narcosis and coma states." (American Journal of Biochemistry, May 1981.) "The treatment of alcoholic coma." Paper presented to Japanese Pharmacological Conference, Tokyo, 1983. "Drug- and alcohol-induced comas." 1983. S. Manflex.
"Talk about an insult to the brain," he said. "My brain cells turn their back and walk away when I'm faced with stuff like this. S. Manflex. Narcosis. Can you understand any of it?"
"That phrase, an insult to the brain, is faintly familiar," the librarian said. "Where have I heard it? Give me a moment." Given a moment, he said suddenly, "I've got it. That wonderful poet from your country, Dylan Thomas."
"Not my country," Diamond interjected. "From Wales."
"Isn't that the same thing? Anyway, they wrote 'an insult to the brain' on Dylan Thomas's death certificate. Seemed appropriate-a kind of irony, considering he imbibed so much alcohol. I thought the doctor must have had poetic leanings himself. I didn't know it was a medical term."
"I was talking about these other words," Diamond said, becoming impatient with the frequent digressions.
"Hold on." The librarian tapped some keys on the console and an insert appeared above the text explaining the abbreviations. "S stands for sponsor, right? The research was sponsored by Manflex. I figure that must be the pharmaceuticals giant. You've heard of Manflex?"
"Vaguely."
"If you buy something for a headache in this country, it's a fair bet it's made by Manflex."
"And what's the other thing?"
"I have no idea. Science isn't my area at all."
"Nor mine. Tell me about Manflex. Is it a Japanese company, by any chance?"
"You mean Japanese-owned? I doubt it"
"It sponsors Japanese research."
"That doesn't make it a Japanese company."
He accepted the correction. He'd been thinking aloud, trying to make connections that didn't exist, but should.
"You could be right," the librarian conceded. "They have their base in America, certainly, but, who knows who owns it? The Japanese have taken over large slices of Manhattan. Even Rockefeller Plaza. Would you like the address?"
This time it wasn't displayed on a screen. Diamond was handed the Manhattan telephone directory. In a few minutes he was phoning the Manflex Corporation on West Broadway, or trying to, because the number was busy. After ten minutes of dialing and swearing, he got through to a telephonist who, if anything, was in a more irritated state man he: "Who is this?"
"Am I through to the Manflex Corporation?"
"Uh huh."
"My name is Diamond and I'd like to speak to the managing director."
"Sorry. No chance. Are you press?"
"No I am not"
"Mr. Flexner is unavailable."
"When do you expect him to be available?"
"No comment"
"Listen, I don't know who you think I am. I'd simply like to speak to somebody in authority. Is there anyone else?"
"You people are so persistent," the voice said accusingly. "A statement will be issued in due course."
"About what? I just want to make an inquiry-"
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm just too busy to prolong this."
And she cut the call.
He could tell that the rudeness wasn't personal. She was clearly under intense pressure.
"Can anyone tell me why a pharmaceuticals firm called Manflex should be under siege by the press?" he appealed to the librarians at me desk nearby.
There was some shrugging and head-shaking before one of them piped up, "I heard something about Manflex. Their price is rocketing on the stock exchange, that's what happening. They slumped badly and now they bounced back, only more so."
If Manflex was currently reversing a fall on the New York stock market, people were making money. And if Manflex had been the sponsor of Naomi's mother's postgraduate research, then perhaps there was some reason why Naomi had been kidnapped just as the company's stock was soaring.
He tried phoning again, but the line was busy.
There was plenty to occupy him in the library. He located some reference books on medical science that were written in English he could follow, so he made a determined effort to interpret the gobbledygook he'd copied from the computer. Yuko Masuda's research papers were all concerned with the treatment of comas induced by alcohol and drugs. All comas were attributed to some kind of insult to the brain, as it was so evocatively expressed. Dr. Masuda specialized in comas induced by poisoning of the brain, rather than by injury, pressure, infection or lack of sugar.
The half hour's concentrated study may not have turned Peter Diamond into a neurological specialist, but he reckoned he was better equipped to talk to the people at Man-flex.
He pressed out the number again. No one was answering.
Instead, he left the library and went to look for a taxi.
The Manflex Building was one of the older landmarks on West Broadway, tall by most standards, yet dwarfed by the twin towers of the World Trade Center nearby. When Diamond got close, he saw that the two sets of revolving doors to the entrance hall appeared to be locked. Armed security guards were preventing anyone from using the doors at the side. Two young women with the look of secretaries quite junior in the firm came out and were routinely approached by press people with microphones. They said with equal casualness that they were making no comment. It had the look of a ritual that had been going on for some while.
He ambled across to one of the reporters, a woman in an oversize suede coat and white boots. "Excuse me, could you tell me what's going on here? Is someone famous in there?" He added in excuse for ignorance, "I'm from England."
She gave him a sympathetic look. "This is the Manflex Building."
"Should I have heard of it?"
"Pharmaceuticals."
"Ah? Is that of interest to the press?"
Now she looked at him as if he were Rip Van Winkle.
"Manflex's rating on the stock market has been rocketing on rumors of a new wonder drug. They're due to make an announcement Tuesday and there's any amount of speculation."