After Everard left, I went back into the Hippo, but I couldn’t focus on any of the mail or messages needing my attention. Hitchcock and Roque, both with serious lung illnesses. Both exposed to dirt from Sea-2-Sea’s experimental farm. I’d been walking that land; I wondered if I had some bug multiplying in me that would suddenly make me start to gasp and choke. I took a deep breath and heard myself wheezing.

I called Lotty, who was in surgery. I called her clinic and spoke to Jewel Kim, her advanced-practice nurse.

“Oh, yes, those photographs you sent Lotty,” Jewel said. “She got them late on Saturday, you know. She sent them on to me, but I only saw them this morning. Her cover note said she couldn’t tell anything from the pictures. She doubts that anyone could make a diagnosis of anything except drowning, but she asked me to pass them on to the Beth Israel pathology team. I’ve done that, but, Vic, you can’t be impatient about it—they have a lot of work of their own, and they probably won’t get back to me before Wednesday at the earliest.”

I thanked her but explained I was calling about a different problem and told her about Hitchcock’s illnesses. “I’m wondering if it’s the same strain of flu that killed his good friend Dr. Roque.”

“I can’t possibly guess at a diagnosis over the phone for two men I’ve never laid eyes on,” Jewel said, exasperated. “I know Lotty would tell you the same.”

“When you put it like that—”

“It is like that,” Jewel said.

“Here’s the problem: A local farmer—also now dead—sent soil samples to Dr. Roque, wanting to know if they were contaminated. I’m pretty sure Dr. Roque sent them to Dr. Hitchcock. So . . . what was in the soil that made both men sick? I wondered if the soil was contaminated by someone playing around with the 1919 flu—I keep hearing about a 1983 experiment that went awry and wondering if that has something to do with the murders and the illnesses and so on.”

“I see,” Jewel said slowly. “When you put it like that . . .”

She put me on hold but came back after five minutes to say that she’d texted the surgical secretary at Beth Israel. “If Lotty has a break in the afternoon, I’ve asked her to call the Cleveland Clinic and find out what they say about Dr. Hitchcock.”

“I collected dirt from what I think is the place they got their samples. Could I be at risk of whatever is ailing him?”

“Vic, please, don’t do such stupid things!” Jewel cried. “Lotty worries about you day and night. Don’t do something that will break her heart, I’m begging you.”

“But . . . could these men have contracted flu from farm dirt?”