“Is Dr. Li in?” he asked the receptionist.

“I’ll buzz her.”

Sally Li was dressed in hospital scrubs, but there was no blood or anything on them. She was Chinese, approaching forty, but she could have passed for much younger. She wore bifocals. A pack of cigarettes was stashed in her front pocket. Cigarettes with a surgeon’s gown. Like bowling shoes with a tuxedo.

They had met a couple of times in the past. Sally Li came to many Culver family functions. She had been Adam’s right-hand woman for the past decade. Myron greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

“Jessica told me you were looking into Adam’s death,” she said without preamble.

He nodded. “Can we talk for a minute?”

“Sure.” She led him to her office. Again, institutional. No personal stuff. Lots of pathology textbooks. A metal desk. Metal chair. A small tape recorder she probably used during autopsies. Her degrees on the wall. She wasn’t married, had no children, so there was no picture on the desk. Big ashtray, though. Overflowing.

She struck a match, lit up, and said, “How’s tricks?”

“An MD smoking,” Myron said. “Tsk, tsk.”

“My patients never complain.”

“Good point.”

She took a deep drag. “So what do you want to know?”

“Did you and Adam ever have an affair?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. She looked him right in the eye. “About four years ago. Lasted a week.”

“Did Adam have a lot of affairs?”

“Got me. A few, I guess. Why do you ask?”

“I’m just trying to put a few things together.”

“Vis-à-vis his murder?”

“Right.”

She took off her glasses. “What does Adam’s love life have to do with it?”

“Probably nothing,” Myron admitted. “How had Adam been acting the last couple months?”

“A bit wacko,” she said. Again no hesitation.

“In what way?”

She gave that one some thought. “Businesswise, he wasn’t letting me help him on a lot of big cases. He was keeping them all to himself.”

“And that was unusual?”

“That was unheard of. We always worked on big cases together.”

“These cases,” Myron said. “Were they the girls found in the woods upstate?”

She looked at him. “You want to tell me how you knew that?”

“Just a guess.”

“Hell of a guess, Myron.”

“You said big cases. I read the papers. Those are the big cases they keep talking about.”

Sally didn’t believe him, but she didn’t push it either.

Myron said, “So what else was there?”

She took another deep drag. “He was very distracted. You’d talk to him, he’d nod, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“Anything else?”

Sally crushed out the cigarette, though it still had plenty to go. She lit another. “A new way to quit smoking,” she said. “I smoke the same amount of cigarettes, but I take less puffs each day. Gradual slowdown until I quit entirely. At this rate it should take no more than twelve years.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

“So what else was there?”

Another puff. “Adam was ordering a lot of weird tests on the last girl they found in the woods.”

“What do you mean, weird tests?”

“Superfluous tests. In my opinion, anyway.”

Myron said, “You never got a positive ID on her, right?”

“Right.”

“So maybe he was running the tests to see if he could get a handle on her whereabouts.”

“Maybe. But he sent them out one at a time. He’d wait for one test to come back before he’d ask for the next one. Anthropological measurements, shape and size of cranium, pelvic bones, ossification of the bones, fusing of sutures on the skull—all one at a time.”

“So what do you make of that?”

She shrugged again. “I don’t make anything out of that. It’s just an example of what I meant by acting strangely. Distracted. The case was a weird one to start off. The girl’s skull had been crushed by the perp, but that wasn’t what killed her. In other words, she had been buried alive in those woods. She died trying to claw her way out.”

Silence.

“This girl,” Myron said, “what was she wearing?”

Sally stiffened a little. Then she leaned forward. “Okay, Myron, what’s going on?”

“Nothing. Why?”

“You know why.”

Myron stopped. “The girl’s clothes are missing.”

“Yes.”

He felt his heart crash into the pit of his stomach, like a skydiver with a ripped parachute. “Oh, shit.”

“What is it?”

“Sally, I need you to run a test for me.”

Chapter 44

The address of Brian Sanford, private investigator, was a go-go bar conveniently located one block from Merv Griffin’s Resorts. Atlantic City was like that. The big hotels were like beautiful flowers untouched and unbothered by the unseemly weeds of poverty and sleaze that surrounded them. The big flowers had not beautified the neighborhood as promised by the casino owners. The contrast, if anything, had made the weeds more glaringly hideous.

The go-go bar was called Eager Beaver, and it was exactly what one would expect. Blinking sign with missing letters on the outside. Lots of lowlights around the bar, lots of bright spotlights on the stage. Bored women danced in shifts, most of them unattractive. Lots of flab. Lots of implants. Lots of herpes.

Myron made the key mistake of entering what might loosely be designated a bathroom. The urinals were stuffed with ice cubes—an adequate substitute, Myron supposed, for an actual flushing mechanism. No doors were on the stalls, which did not deter the defecators at all. One man smiled and waved to Myron from a squat.

Myron decided he could wait.

He called over a bartender. “Could you tell me how to get to Brian Sanford’s office?”

“Michelob, Bud, Bud Light, Coors.”

“I just want to know—”

“Michelob, Bud, Bud Light, Coors.”

Myron took out five dollars. The bartender pocketed it.

“Door in the back. Take the stairs up a level.”

He didn’t wait for Myron to thank him. Capitalism.

A dancer on break approached him. She smiled. Each tooth was angled in a different direction, as if her mouth were the masterwork of a mad orthodontist.