Richard Mathers’s voice came back to David: All kinds of crazy shit is happening in biotech these days. I watch them science shows, they got stuff going on Frankenstein never would’ve thought of.

Those words stirred from memory something that Gilbert Gurion, the attorney handling the estate of Ephraim and Renata Zabdi, had said in that mansion in Montecito on Monday: Bioprinting . . . recellularize . . . Some people think certain biotech developments, like those related to AI, are a little Frankenstein.

Was that coincidence or something more, that kind of meaningful coincidence called synchronicity?

From his wallet, he extracted the card that Gurion had given him. It provided the attorney’s phone numbers, including his cell.

Ten years earlier, on the night when Emily vanished, there had been poor cell service along this sparsely populated section of the coast. Now, service was immediate, and Gilbert Gurion took the call.

“I’m sorry to bother you after hours, Gil. I’ve been thinking about something you said that is of importance to me as I consider this project.”

“No problem at all. What was it I said?”

“You were talking about bioprinting, recellularization, about the revolutionary applications of biotech, how fast everything is moving.”

“Faster and faster.”

“You said that some of this biotech, like that related to AI, is ‘a little Frankenstein.’”

“That’s not what I think, David. It’s a concern of some people who, in my estimation, are simply ignorant.”

“Quicksilver’s work in bioprinting and all that—it’s medical research. How does that have anything to do with AI, artificial intelligence? AI is machine learning, right?”

The incessant drumming of rain on the roof of the Explorer was oppressive, as it had been in the vivid dream of Emily alone in the broken-down Buick. It was the sound of isolation, helplessness, and dark destiny.

After a long hesitation, Gurion spoke with evident caution. “I may have been rash, bringing that up. I get emotional every time I visit that house. I’m not sure I should talk about . . .”

When the attorney seemed uncertain how to continue, David said, “I understand that some Quicksilver projects are related to national security. I don’t want to put you in a difficult spot.”

Again Gurion hesitated before saying, “Quicksilver is of course a metal, bright and liquid at room temperature. Spill some, and it’s nearly impossible to contain. Ephraim said quicksilver is a lot like human intelligence and creativity. He said they’re as fluid as quicksilver. Intelligence and creativity can’t be long restrained, which is why humanity has a hope of solving all its problems. That’s what Ephraim and Renata believed.”

Phone to his ear, listening to Gurion’s breathing—an intimate sound that seemed to summarize the truth of human vulnerability—and the ferocity of the rain pounding on the SUV as though Nature meant to dissolve all works of civilization, David strove to puzzle out what he was to infer from the attorney’s words.