“Wasn’t this from the victim’s office?” Ted asked.

“It was,” Jack said. “The star was on the desk in the office, but the source for the anthrax spores was his warehouse, not the office. Apparently the spores came in a shipment of goat skins and rugs from Turkey.”

“I see,” Ted said.

“I suppose the spores could have been on his person,” Jack said. “So when he came back to his office and sat down, they dropped off.”

“Seems reasonable to me,” Ted said. “Or what about the possibility of his coughing out some of the spores. I understand it was an inhalational case.”

“That’s an idea, too,” Jack said. “But either way, why the hell were they only on the star? I cultured several spots on the desk, and they were all negative.”

“Maybe he coughed out the star,” Ted said with a laugh.

“Now that’s a helpful suggestion,” Jack said sarcastically.

“Well, I’ll leave the sleuthing to you,” Ted said. “Meanwhile I’ve got to get back to my sick piece of equipment.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jack said absently. He continued to wrestle with the puzzle of the contaminated star as he wandered out of the DNA lab and descended the stairs to the fifth floor. He had the uncomfortable feeling the star was trying to tell him something that he couldn’t understand. It was like a message in a code without a key.

Jack leaned into Laurie’s office, but she wasn’t there. Riva, Laurie’s officemate, glanced up from her desk. In her soft, charming Indian-emigre-accented voice, she told Jack that Laurie was still in the autopsy room.

Still in a daze about the star, Jack headed for his own office. It occurred to him that the star might have had a slight electrostatic charge, since its sheen suggested it was made of either metallic or plastic material. That might have explained the reason the spores had stuck to it.

He turned into his office and sat at his desk, still obsessed by the mystery of the tiny, cerulean blue star. With his head cradled in his hands, he tried to think.

“What kind of blue star are you mumbling about?” a voice questioned.

Jack glanced up. He was surprised to see Lou. The detective’s expression was as hangdog as it had been when they met at the bar the night before, but he was back to his crumpled, perpetually disheveled look. Gone were the pressed suit and the polished shoes.

“Was I talking out loud?” Jack questioned.

“No, I’m a mind reader,” Lou said. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” Jack said. He reached over and pulled one of the straight-back chairs he and Chet shared closer to his desk. He patted the seat with his hand.

Lou sat down heavily. It didn’t appear as if he’d shaved that morning.

“If you’re looking for Laurie, she’s down in the pit,” Jack said.