The condo was a duplex centered with that staple of new American contruction, the cathedral ceiling. Plenty of light came in from the big windows, splashing down on a decor straight out of a Sunday circular. A blond-wood entertainment center took up one wall, a matching coffee table not far from it. There was also a white-and-blue-striped couch--Myron would bet his lunch money it was a Serta Sleeper--and matching love seat. The carpeting was the same neutral as the exterior, a sort of inoffensive tan, and the place was clean yet disorderly in a divorce way, newspapers and magazines and books piled here and there, nothing really put in a specific place.

He had Myron sit on the couch. "Want something to drink?"

"Sure, whatever," Myron said. The coffee table had one photograph on it. A man had his arms around two boys. All three were smiling too hard, like they'd just come in second place and didn't want to appear disappointed. They were standing in a garden of some sort. Behind them loomed a marble statue of a woman with a bow and arrow over her shoulder. Myron picked up the frame and studied it. "This you?"

Gibbs lifted his head while scooping a handful of ice into a glass. "I'm on the right," he said. "With my brother and my father."

"Who's that a statue of?"

"Diana the Huntress. You familiar with her?"

"Didn't she turn into Wonder Woman?"

Stan chuckled. "Sprite okay?"

Myron put the photograph down. "Sure."

Stan Gibbs poured the drink, brought it out to Myron, handed it to him. "What do you know about Dennis Lex?"

"Just that he exists," Myron said.

"So why mention his name to me?"

Myron shrugged. "Why did you react so strongly to hearing it?"

Gibbs took out another cigarette, lit it. "You're the one who came to me."

"True."

"Why?"

No secret. "I'm looking for a man named Davis Taylor. He's a bone marrow donor who matched a kid and then vanished. I traced him to an address in Connecticut, but he's not there. So I dug a little more and found out that Davis Taylor is a name change. His real name is Dennis Lex."

"I still don't see what this has to do with me."

"This might sound a little nutty," Myron said. "But I left a voice mail message for Davis Taylor ne Dennis Lex. When he called back, he made little sense. But he kept telling me to 'sow the seeds.'"

A small quake ran through Stan Gibbs. It passed quickly. "What else did he say?"

"That was pretty much it. I should sow the seeds. I should say good-bye to the child. Stuff like that."

"It's probably nothing," Gibbs said. "He probably just read my article and decided to have a little fun at your expense."

"Probably," Myron said. "Except that wouldn't really explain your reaction to Dennis Lex's name."

Stan shrugged, but there wasn't much behind it. "The family is famous."