She pats my arm, her indicator for yes. She next spells out: “He’s been missing for three days.”

  “I know this already,” I sign, although I’m feeling alarmed. “He told me he was leaving. He needed a break.”

  Rachel signs: “Detective Hammer wants to verify you’ve spoken with him.”

  I nod. Feeling sick, I sign: “He came by a few days ago. He said he needed a break. A break from me. He made it seem like he was moving.”

  After a pause, I feel Rachel nod as she listens to the detective before translating into my hand: “His work reported him missing. So did his girlfriend. Your brother left behind his car and his money, his computer and phone. Everything. There’s no indication of foul play or that he booked a flight, bus, train or boat anywhere.”

  I turn away, take off my sunglasses, and wipe away the sweat that is gathering along the bridge of my nose. I sense Rachel nodding some more, listening to Hammer speak. A moment later, she takes my free hand and signs: “Hammer says that other than talking to you, his disappearance matches the others.”

  I find myself nodding, getting sicker by the second—and thinking back to my conversation with my brother. I had been numb and confused and if he had indicated in some way that he was planning on literally disappearing, I had missed it.

  “Lee,” signs Rachel, “Hammer wants you to know they have him on the Greek’s video.”

  “When?”

  “Three nights ago, near midnight.”

  The night he left me. I drop my hands in my lap.

  After a moment, Rachel carefully picks up my right hand. “I’m sorry, Lee,” she signs.

  Hammer and I go over my final conversation with my brother. I do the best that I can. My brother hadn’t said much, only that he needed to get away, from me, and that he was taking his girlfriend with him.

  “That didn’t happen,” says Hammer, through Rachel. “Anything else?”

  I shake my head. I was angry at my brother, hurt by my brother, confused by my brother, still reeling from his departure, still wondering if he might come to his senses and return. It had never occurred to me that I had been the only person with whom he had discussed leaving. That he had, in fact, disappeared entirely.

  I look up suddenly. “He mentioned moving to Florida once he passes a few tests. At the time, I had thought he was talking about his driver’s license or something. Hell, I wasn’t sure. I was still in shock that he was leaving.”

  “Could be anything,” signs Rachel for Hammer.

  I nod, and sign back: “But it’s something.”

  We all sit quietly for a moment or two. Shortly, I feel the small shift in the floorboards that seems to indicate someone is standing. Hammer drops a big hand on my shoulder. He squeezes. Now I sense him talking to Rachel, and then, I feel the floorboard moving again. A small burst of displaced air later, and the detective has left and I am alone with Rachel.

  Chapter Forty-one

  We sit quietly, until Rachel leans over and kisses me softly on the lips, and the sensation is jolting—and so perfect that I never want it to end. I do not remember lips being so soft and supple, but hers are. I do not remember lips being so perfect, but hers are. When she pulls away, I feel momentarily incomplete.

  Until I remember that Hammer was just here to tell me that my brother is now officially part of the Big Case. Hell, they even had him on video entering the park.

  Like the others…

  “Once I pass the test,” he had signed. And I’m pretty sure those were his words, or close to them. I don’t have an eidetic memory, but I have a solid one. The blast took much from me, but not my memory. If anything, my memory is only stronger these days.

  “I have more information on the first of the missing,” Rachel signs a moment later.

  “The zoo employee?” I sign.

  “Not just an employee, but a veterinarian.”

  I sit back with the coffee in one hand and hold my other out for her. That I enjoy her touch so much isn’t very surprising. In a way, I feel lucky that our communication is so intimate. Other people listen and wait for opportunities to touch. We touch continuously, and it’s heady stuff indeed. At least, heady for me.

  I sense her flipping through some notes. “Dr. Nathan Diamond had been, in fact, the lead veterinarian for the L.A. Zoo.”

  I nod, impressed.

  “As you can imagine,” she continues, pressing her small fingers into my hand, “it’s quite a coveted and well-respected job. Although not as big as the San Diego Zoo, the L.A. Zoo consistently ranks as one of the top zoos in the United States.”

  I cradle my coffee cup in my lap and sign: “Are you reading this from Wikipedia?” I spell out Wikipedia letter-for-letter. If there’s a new sign gesture for Wikipedia, I don’t know it yet. And if not, someone should invent one, stat.

  “How do you know about Wikipedia?” she asks.

  “Hey, my accident wasn’t that long ago.”

  She pats my hand, and continues: “Two years ago, he was under investigation for animal cruelty.”

  I perk up when I learn of this.

  Rachel continues: “According to an article in the Times, he had been doing experimental research on some of the zoo’s animals. Experimental and unauthorized, apparently. He was let go, pending a criminal investigation. Apparently, some of the animals had to be put down. And, according to zoo officials, some of the tests were somewhat disturbing.”

  I lean forward and set my coffee down on the coffee table, which, I think, just might be what it’s there for. “We need to speak to someone at the zoo.”

  She pats my hand. “One step ahead, Detective. We have an appointment with the head of security in one hour.”

  Chapter Forty-two

  I find myself in a musty office, sitting in a plastic chair in what I presume is a small office.

  Betsie is at my feet, panting. I hold her harness in one hand. Betsie and me forever. Rachel, who had guided me into this place, continues holding my elbow loosely, occasionally rubbing me or lightly running her fingernails over my skin, both of which send nearly uncontrollable shivers through me. Yeah, my sense of touch might just be a little heightened.

  After a few short moments, I feel the whoosh of a door opening and I presume we are not alone. Next, Rachel stops rubbing and lightly scratching. I feel the small movements of her as she communicates with whoever just entered the room.

  Rachel opens my palm, signs: “Her name is Anne Gottlieb and she’s head of daytime security. She has only a few minutes.”

  These days, I tend to get to the point, especially when my poor translator has to spell out each word for me. I sign: “We are here about Nathan Diamond.”

  “She understands,” signs Rachel.

  “Are you at liberty to discuss his dismissal?”

  “She’s not.”

  I remove my wallet from my back pocket and show her that I am retired homicide with a service-related disability. I let her know that I am here at the request of the LAPD, working off the clock, so to speak. If need be, I can have homicide here in a few minutes, and she can answer their questions if she prefers.

  “She understands. She prefers to talk to you.”

  I nod. I never enjoyed coercing people into compliance, but often that was part of the job…getting a witness to talk. It is amazing how quickly the old habit of asserting my will has returned to me. I don’t enjoy it, truthfully. I don’t get off on it. I respect a person’s desire to be private. I also respect a victim’s right for justice. That last part, even more so. Especially when the said victim is my brother.

  Victim? I ask myself. There is no hard evidence yet that the missing are victims of anything. Yes, one did show up dead a year later, but for reasons unknown. For all I know, my brother is in the Cayman Islands, free of responsibility and life, and waxing surfboards for a living.

  But a part of me suspects the worst—and that’s the homicide investigator part of me. Why would Jesse DeFranco end up dead in the harbor, with a bullet in his head? Why had he been eating vermin in the forest? And how had he contracted tuberculosis?

  Strange questions indeed…perhaps some of the stranger questions I’ve asked myself on any case, ever.

  So, I begin with: “What was Dr. Nathan’s title here at the zoo?”

  “He was the chief veterinarian,” came the response through Rachel.

  “And how long did Dr. Nathan Diamond work for the zoo?” I sign, and our conversation for the next few minutes is punctuated by many seconds of drag time, as messages are interpreted and signed and relayed.

  “Nearly fifty years. In fact, he used to work at the old L.A. Zoo, one of the few remaining employees who had made the transition from one zoo to the next. He was the chief vet at the Los Angeles Zoo for the last ten or eleven years.”

  “And why was he fired?”

  “Dr. Diamond, along with many a top veterinarian, was also an accomplished researcher, noted for his contribution to finding a vaccine for leprosy, among other things. Unfortunately, it was discovered that some of his more recent experiments were inhumane and unacceptable. He was terminated immediately.”

  “When was this?”

  “Just over a year ago.”

  “Are you aware that Dr. Nathan Diamond has disappeared?”

  “Yes, we were interviewed maybe a year ago. Just after his firing.”

  “Did Dr. Nathan Diamond appear distraught over his firing?”

  “You could say that. He was quite angry.”

  “Did he threaten anyone?”

  “Not quite, but he let it be known that he would be back.”

  “Back, in what way?”

  “I can’t answer that.”

  “Did he come back?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Did the doctor appear suicidal?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “What were his experiments?”

  “I’m not a doctor or a scientist, and I can only tell you what I know. If you need more information, I can have another vet here explain in more detail. But from what I understand, he was searching for a cure for tuberculosis.”

  As Rachel finishes signing the final word, she squeezes my hand tightly and I sit up and would have gasped if I could. Instead, I suck air through the tube in my throat and hope like hell it’s clean of spittle. I absently swipe at my neck…so far, so good.

  I collect my thoughts, even as Rachel continues squeezing my hand. Finally, I work it free from hers and sign: “Where did the doctor do his experiments?”

  “He had free reign of the zoo’s facilities. As you may or may not know, the zoo is massive, over one hundred acres, with many outlier buildings and facilities. These particular experiments were done in some of the older buildings, deeper in the park. Far away from his main veterinarian facility.”

  “How, exactly, did he go about researching and experimenting with tuberculosis?”

  “Again, I’m no expert, but from what I understand, he was using possums—rare possums, too. Apparently, they are known for having a robust immune system, which makes their study appealing.”

  “You did say possums?” I sign, wanting clarification.

  “From our investigation, we learned that possums are immune to just about anything—from snake bites to ricin. Mind you, from what we gathered, it’s not illegal to perform studies and experiments with possums. Apparently, there are many researchers around the country doing the very same. But that wasn’t what Dr. Diamond’s job was here. Not to mention, the conditions for the animals were atrocious.”

  “You saw the conditions?” I ask.

  “I did. It was a nightmare scene. The man is an animal, with little regard for living things.”

  “What happened to the research facilities after the doctor was released?”

  “Gutted and locked up.”

  “How long had he been using the facility?”

  “As far as we can tell, a few years.”

  “And how had his research gone unnoticed for so long?”

  “The building in question was buried mostly in the hillside, and had been used for storage. He’d gotten special permission to transform it into a secondary office of sorts, which he tended to use after hours. It was in the back half of the building—the half far away from prying eyes—that he’d turned into his personal research laboratory. His lab of horrors. And to answer your question: he was trusted, respected, and a valued member of the staff. He was mostly left alone.”

  I think about this, then ask: “Is it possible for Dr. Nathan Diamond to enter the zoo premises even now?”

  “We do not have security checkpoints. This is a family park. But more than likely he would be recognized.” There is a short pause, and I feel Rachel pressing more letters in my palm. “Detective Jordan, are you suggesting that Dr. Diamond, who has been missing for nearly a year, is secretly using zoo facilities to continue his tuberculosis research?”

  I smile, sign: “Only a crazy person would suggest that. But since you brought it up: what’s the likelihood of Dr. Diamond secretly using zoo facilities to continue his tuberculosis research?”

  “Highly unlikely.”

  “Or that someone is giving him access to zoo facilities?”

  “Again, very unlikely.”

  Except she had said highly the first time. I would grade highly slightly above very. “What do you know of the Old Zoo?” I ask.

  I’d heard of the Old L.A. Zoo, although I’d yet to visit it myself, and doubted I ever would. Apparently, Griffith Park was home to the original Los Angeles Zoo, built over a hundred years ago, and lying abandoned a few miles from the new zoo.

  “The Old Zoo is not part of our patrol.”

  “I understand, but would Dr. Nathan Diamond have access to it?”

  “Anyone does. It’s open to the public.”

  “Can you describe the Old Zoo?”

  “It houses a number of abandoned buildings and structures and cages. It’s a popular hiking destination here in Griffith Park.”

  “Why hasn’t it been torn down?”

  “It’s a relic from the past. And it’s not hurting anyone.”

  “What are the chances any of the Old Zoo being used for research?”

  “Zero. The buildings are empty, gutted. Tourist attractions only. Home to vandals and drunks and late night parties. Not crazy scientists.” Another pause, and she adds: “If you want to know more about the research Dr. Diamond was conducting, there’s a vet here who can explain it further. I’ve made arrangements for you to speak with her.”

  I tell her that will be fine, and I sense her leaving the room. Rachel squeezes my hand and I squeeze hers back, thinking, thinking…

  Chapter Forty-three

  A few minutes later, I feel Rachel sit up a little, then reach out and shake someone’s hand.

  A moment later, Rachel signs into my hand: “Her name is Dr. Linds, and she’s been a veterinarian at the zoo for seven years.”

  “And she’s familiar with the research Dr. Diamond was conducting?”

  A pause as the information is exchanged from me to Rachel to the doctor. Then from the doctor to Rachel and finally into my palm: “She is very aware of it. He had spoken to her about it often, although she had been unaware of the conditions of his secret lab.”

  “Secret?”

  “His official research lab here at the zoo was a front, so to speak. His real research was going on in an abandoned facility deeper in the park.”

  “This keeps getting crazier,” I sign into Rachel’s hand. “But don’t tell her that.” Rachel pats my hand: she understands. For the doctor, I sign: “Can you tell me more what he hoped to accomplish? I may not know much, but I thought tuberculosis was on the decline or under control.”

  “In the United States and Europe and most advanced countries, yes. But tuberculosis, or TB, takes months, sometimes up to a year, to eradicate. Although curable, three people die of TB every minute. Many poorer countries do not possess the expensive medication to fight TB. Dr. Diamond’s goal had been entirely altruistic. His expressed aim had been to develop a cheap drug that all countries could use. A cheap drug that worked fast.”

  “And how was that going?”

  “Hard to know. He worked secretly, although he spoke of making headway. I admired him for his tireless work, his dedication to eradicate a global public health problem.”

  “Was he funded?”

  “Oh, yes. Dr. Diamond was funded by WHO—World Health Organization and the Stop TB Partnership. He was a leading researcher, in fact. Not to mention, the Los Angeles Zoo took great pride in his work and helped provide him the facilities and additional funds.”

  “How long did his research last?”

  “Officially, a number of years. Unofficially, in his back room of horrors, who knows?”

  “I understand he was working with possums?”

  “Oh, yes. Possums are of great interest to researchers fighting infectious diseases. Their immune system is legendary. Of particular interest to Dr. Diamond—and ultimately, his downfall—was his use of the bushtail possum of Southeast Asia, a critically endangered species. But a species that is known to be resistant to many strains of TB.”

  “His downfall being he used endangered species for his research?”

  “He had them shipped here illegally. It was quite the scandal once it was discovered the animals were not, in fact, being displayed, but were being used for research purposes. Worse yet, were the deplorable research conditions he subjected the animals to. It was quite a stain on the zoo’s image. They had no choice but to fire him immediately.”

  “Did you speak to Dr. Diamond again?”

  “Never again.”

  “Can you think of any reason why the doctor might fake his own death?”

  There’s a pause, and Rachel finally signs into my hand: “Dr. Nathan Diamond is all about the greater good. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, and all of that. I always suspected he would continue his research, one way or another. He had been, after all, making great strides. As to why he would fake his death, I haven’t a clue.”