“Maybe he was punishing himself,” said Milo. “Thought he deserved cruel and unusual.”
“Guilt?” I said, thinking again of Nolan. “Over what?”
“Maybe he'd played a part in something really nasty. Our killings or something else. Or maybe he was just a guy with mood swings who ended up profoundly depressed in the lab and just happened to have access to poison. And even if he did make things rougher on himself than he had to, it was still relatively fast and clean. Helluva lot better than some of the stuff I've seen people do to themselves. Right, Superintendent?”
“Daniel,” said Sharavi. “Yes, that's true. Self-hatred can be an amazing thing. But… I guess I'd like to learn more about this young man.”
“I'll call his parents,” said Milo. “The professors in Princeton. Maybe some of his other coworkers at PlasmoDerm.”
“It's a biomedical company?”
“Skin research. Ponsico was working on improving the success of skin grafts. Why, you see some sort of work connection?”
“No,” said Sharavi. “Though I suppose if there was a dissatisfied customer- someone whose graft didn't take… but no, they would have poisoned the surgeon, not the researcher… no, I have no ideas.”
He drank tea and put the cup down. “I have good sources in New York. If Meta does exist, they'll be able to find out. We could also tap Zena Lambert's line-”
“Forget it. We've got no grounds for any kind of warrant, let alone a tap. On the off chance she's connected to anything, I don't want to screw up the evidentiary chain.”
“Good point.”
“Don't even think about it,” said Milo.
“Of course,” said Sharavi.
“I mean it.”
“I realize that.”
“The bookstore Zena works in,” I said. “Spasm. An offbeat name so maybe it's a meeting place for people with offbeat ideas. There could be a bulletin board, maybe with a posting by Meta.”
“No phone listing but they announce meetings at a store?” said Milo.
“An out-of-the-way store that attracts the target audience. Want me to drop in and look around?”
He rubbed his face. “Let me think about it- I want to get the most out of anything we do.”
Sharavi got up and stretched, raising both arms above his head, the bad hand dangling. “I'm getting more tea- are you sure you wouldn't like some? The mint's fresh. I found a big patch growing out in back.”
“Sure,” I said. “Thanks.”
When he was gone, Milo scowled at the computer. “Garbage in, garbage out… So what's with the Arafat look, Alex- scratch that in view of present company- the porcupine look?”
“I rushed over to the library, didn't take the time to shave.”
“That's half a day's worth?”
I nodded.
“Taking those testosterone pills, again?”
I flexed a bicep and grunted and he gave a tired smile.
Sharavi came back with the tea. Scalding, slightly sweet, the mint flavor gliding above the heat.
As I sipped, I used one of the phones to call my service.
“Hi, Doctor, there's just one. A Loren Bukovsky, from… looks like Mensa. Though it says here he asked for Al. The girl- a new one- tried to tell him different but he insisted you were Al. You do get some strange ones, Dr. Delaware, but that's your business, right?”
“Right. What did Mr. Bukovsky have to say?”
“Let's see- sorry, this new one has terrible penmanship… it looks like he was… no, he has nothing to do with Mela, or Meta… something like that… anyway, he wants nothing to do with Mela or whatever… um, but if you have the… sorry, Doctor, this isn't very polite.”
“What does it say, Joyce?”
“If you have the poor taste to want to… looks like fraternatize with… idiots… go to a place called… looks like Spastic… but he doesn't leave an address… very strange, even for you, Dr. Delaware.”
“That's all of it?”
“He also said don't call back, he's not interested in you. How rude, huh?”
“Very,” I said. “But maybe he's got his reasons.”
“Strong opinions,” said Milo, writing down Bukovsky's name.
“And now it's out that we're looking into Meta. Sorry.”
“But at least we know the bookstore's worth looking into.” He turned to Sharavi. “How about using some of that illegal DMV access on Mr. Bukovsky and Ms. Lambert?”
Sharavi put his mug down and faced the computer.
Moments later:
“Loren A. Bukovsky, an address on Corinth Avenue, Los Angeles, 90064.”
“West Los Angeles,” said Milo. “Minutes from the station. Might as well pay him a visit.”
“When should I visit Spasm?” I said.
“Let me check out Bukovsky first.”
Sharavi said, “If Bukovsky has something interesting to say, perhaps Dr. Delaware can do more than just drop in at Spasm.”
“Such as?”
“If Meta still holds meetings, he could try to attend. Who better than a Ph.D.? He could pose as someone interested in-”
“Forget it,” said Milo.
Sharavi blinked but didn't move, otherwise. “All right.”
“And don't think about going yourself, Superintendent.”
Sharavi smiled. “Me? I lack the qualifications.”
“The same goes for any of your people.”
“My people?”
“Put it out of your mind. No undercover operations that I don't know about.”
“All right.”
“All right? Just like that, huh?”
“Just like that.”
Saying it in a near-whisper but for the first time, the Israeli was showing emotion. The faintest tightening around the golden eyes, a twitch along the jawline.
“I'm doing my best to cooperate,” he said softly.
“I'm a skeptic and a pessimist,” said Milo. “When things go too smoothly it worries me.”
Sharavi's jaw relaxed and he brought up a smile- mechanically, as if evoking data from the computer.
“Shall I make your life difficult, then, Milo?”
“Why break a trend?”
Sharavi shook his head. “I'm going to eat.”
He left the room again and Milo thumbed absently through the printout in the bin. “I'll try to interview Bukovsky today. And call Ponsico's parents. I just hope this whole Ponsico thing hasn't gotten us too far afield.”
He got up and paced. The house was small and I could hear Sharavi working in the kitchen.
“If I visit the bookstore,” I said, “I could sound out the Lambert woman, see if I can get her to talk about Meta.”
“Alex-”
“In an unobtrusive way. Even if the killer's a Meta member, that doesn't make the whole group a homicidal cabal. And if I did get into a meeting and was able to look them all over-”
“Delete the thought, Alex.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think?”
“Because Sharavi suggested it?”
He whipped around, glaring. “Ten points off for a very bad guess.”
“Hey,” I said, “I'm brutally frank 'cause I care.”
He started to retort, dropped his shoulders, laughed. “Look at this. I'm trying to protect you and you're dissing me. You think it's a smart idea hobnobbing with a group of genetic snobs, one of whom could be a goddamn serial killer?”
“I don't think attending one meeting is going to put me in danger.”
He didn't answer.
“Also,” I said, “I think Sharavi's involvement still bothers you to the point where you run the risk of throwing the baby out.”
He rubbed his face hard and fast. “This is great. Him on one side and you on the other… for all I know he's got this goddamn room bugged.”
“Okay, I'll shut up. Sorry.”
He grimaced. Laughed again. Circled the room.
“What the hell am I doing here- yeah, yeah, you're right, having to deal with him does piss me off. I don't like… too many layers.” He shoved his arms in front of him, breaststroking air. “Like suffocating under a dozen blankets.”