“And what was that?”

“Your suggestion about Connie Davydov was right on the money,” Jack said. “She died of botulinum toxin.”

“No kidding!” Laurie said. Her flushed face lit up with a smile.

“Scout’s honor,” Jack said. “Peter confirmed it this morning.”

“Good grief!” Laurie exclaimed. “So what happened? Did you call Randolph Sanders?”

Jack pushed off from the desk. “I’ll tell you all about it tonight. When and where shall it be for dinner?”

“Would eight be a good time?”

“Sounds fine,” Jack said. “Where?”

“How about Lou’s favorite restaurant in Little Italy?” Laurie said. “I haven’t been there in ages.”

“What’s the name?”

“It doesn’t have a name,” Laurie explained.

“Okay, what’s the address?”

“I can’t remember.”

“Wonderful!” Jack commented sarcastically.

“Pick me up on your way downtown,” Laurie said. “I’ll be able to find it. It’s on a little street off Mulberry. But come in a cab, not on your bike.”

After a halfhearted promise not to bicycle to her apartment that evening, Jack went back to his office. As he walked in, Chet looked up from his microscope.

“So,” Chet said. “What was that all about?”

“It’s all very complicated,” Jack replied, plopping himself down in his chair. Between the excitement with Paul and the long bike ride, he was suddenly feeling tired. “But one result is that Laurie has changed her mind about tomorrow night. So if you and Colleen still want some company, we’re available.”

“Great!” Chet said. He reached for his phone. “I’ll give Colleen a call to see if she can get any more tickets.”

“Wait a second,” Jack said. “What about the veterinarian epidemiologists? Were you able to get ahold of any of them?”

“I did,” Chet said. “I talked with a Dr. Clark Simsarian who chaired the seminar. I asked him if they’d come up with a diagnosis for the rats, but they haven’t. They’ve also not come across any more anthrax ulcers.”

“I’ve got a suggestion for them,” Jack said. “Call Dr. Simsarian back and suggest they check for botulinum toxin.”

“Botulinum toxin!” Chet said. “Is that what Connie Davydov died of?”

“Apparently,” Jack said. “At least according to Peter Letterman.”

“And you still think the rats and Connie might be related?” Chet questioned.

“It’s a long shot,” Jack agreed. “But since the vets haven’t come up with anything else, they might as well give it a try. I stopped by a veterinarian’s office out in Brighton Beach today. He said that even some local cats have been dying mysteriously.”

“I’ll pass the tip along,” Chet said. “What about Randolph Sanders? Have you let him know about the botulinum toxin?”

“I did,” Jack said. “And I’m embarrassed to say I enjoyed making him writhe.”