“That’s the Neil from the note?” Cohen asked, running his hands through his wet hair.

Kilburn nodded. “I just called SeptoMed. They put me through to the only Neil in Ellen’s lab. He’s going to meet us in half an hour at the New York Deli.”

“The New York Deli?” Cohen frowned. “Isn’t that the place she mentions in her note?”

“Yeah.” Kilburn turned away.

Cohen threw on a short-sleeved shirt and the lightest pair of pants he had brought with him. They met Lopez in the lobby. After getting directions from the concierge, they decided to face the heat and walk the half mile to the New York Deli. By the time they reached the place, Cohen’s shirt was as damp as if he hadn’t toweled off after showering. Even Lopez was perspiring, and her habit of wiping her brow with the back of her thumb was, in Cohen’s opinion, graceful and slightly sensual. When she caught him watching, her warm smile eased his shyness. He smiled back.

Stepping into the air-conditioned deli, Cohen spotted Ryland even before he stood up because he was the only person sitting by himself in the two-thirds-empty restaurant. Fair-skinned and slightly overweight, Ryland had disheveled blond hair, a patchy five o’clock shadow, and bloodshot eyes.

Kilburn reached Ryland first, extending his hand. “I’m Graham Kilburn.” He pointed to the other two. “Dr. Lina Lopez from the CDC, and Sergeant Seth Cohen with Portland Police.”

“Neil.” Ryland shook hands with each of them but his expression was set in stone.

“Thanks for meeting us,” Kilburn said.

Ryland shrugged and sat back down at the table. “Coffees?” he asked, reaching for his own cup and taking a sip. “The stuff is drinkable here.”

“I’m leaning toward iced tea today,” Lopez said. Cohen watched her again dab her brow with a thumb.

Ryland nodded to the waitress who came over and took their orders. All of them passed on food. Lopez and Cohen ordered iced teas, but Kilburn opted for water.

“I’m very sorry about Ellen,” Lopez said. “We heard you two were pretty close.”

Ryland cleared his throat. “Yeah, we were.” He looked as if he might add more, but stopped and took another sip of his coffee.

“I don’t know if she told you, Neil,” Kilburn said. “But Ellen and I were friends from med school.”

Ryland smiled fleetingly. “You cut up “The King” together.”

“That’s right.” Kilburn said, surprised. “When did you first meet Ellen?”

“I joined her lab at Temple University about six years ago,” Ryland said.

“Are you a physician?” Lopez asked.

Ryland shook his head. “No. Ph.D. in microbiology. Been working in antibiotic development forever. But the minute I met El, I knew …” He sighed. “She just had it.”

Cohen wasn’t sure if he meant professionally or personally but he decided not to ask. Neither did Kilburn or Lopez.