“Or you could use a twenty-two blank,” said Neal. “There, the hole’s drilled off to one side-twenty-two’s a rimfire.”
“Okay. Now, the bullets themselves-you two make them in bulk, right?”
“Sure,” said Tracy. “Have a nice little mail-order business going. Approved by the World Fast Draw Association and the CSS. Wax bullets are cheap and easy to make-we turn ’em out by the hundreds.”
“And they make you a whole lot less dead if you accidentally shoot yourself while trying out a fancy new draw,” said Neal. “They don’t penetrate walls, so you can even use ’em indoors.”
“Can I see where you make them?”
“Follow me, greenhorn,” said Neal.
He led Greg out of the RV and to a wooden shack in a little better shape than most of the other buildings; it had a hand-lettered sign over the door that read BLACKSMITH. Inside, cartons of cardboard boxes labeled PARAFFIN were stacked against one wall, while a pair of propane camp stoves with several large iron pots on them rested on a plain wooden table. The casts for the bullets were on another table, just two long wooden boards clamped together with a row of holes drilled along the seam so that the bullets could be removed easily when the boards were unclamped.
“We like to keep it simple,” said Neal.
“Ever had any of your wax stolen?”
Neal shook his head. “By who? Candle rustlers?”
“How about the excess? How do you get rid of it?”
“What excess? The only thing that gets lost is a few scrapings here and there, and we just s weep ’em up and put ’em back in the pot. About all that goes to waste are the shards that spray when the slug hits a target-and even that mostly sticks to the surface; we scrape off what we can and reuse it.”
Greg sighed. “Thanks for your time. Looks like all I’m doing today is shooting blanks…”
“Greg,” said Catherine. “How’d your field trip go?”
Greg groaned and sank into a chair next to the layout table. “I’ll never be able to watch The Karate Kid again. Wax on, wax off, wax up and down and inside out. I now know far more about the furniture polish, artificial fruit, and turbine-blade industries than I ever wanted to.”
“And?”
“No leads. My best guess is that our lava cook was scavenging leftovers from industrial Dump-sters-wax isn’t terribly toxic stuff, so regulations concerning its disposal are pretty lax. Lax on wax, those are the facts.”
“Well, I just got back from Kanamu’s residence -and it wasn’t what I expected.” She told him about the suite.
”So,” Greg said, “Kanamu obviously moved up in the world in the last six months. Any idea how?”
“Nothing obvious. I did find these, though.”
She looked down at the objects on the layout table: a small butane torch, a pill bottle, and a glass pipe, the bubble at one end charred from use.
Greg straightened up in his chair. “A meth pipe. Well, we already knew he was a user.”
Catherine picked up the pill bottle. “Triazolam.”
“A benzodiazepine? Lot of meth heads use it to ease their comedown.”
“True-but not many have a prescription for it, at least not in their own name.” She tapped the bottle with a finger. “I recognized the prescribing doctor, Henry Oki. He was involved in a case last year, hooker who overdosed on sleeping pills. Seems like Dr. Oki isn’t too choosy about who he hands scrips out to.”
“Guess we should have a talk with him. Think his high level of professional ethics extends to patient confidentiality?”
“He’s not going to want to implicate himself, obviously. But I’m betting he’ll be pretty quick to point us in another direction if we ask nicely-especially if it’ll take the spotlight off him.”
Greg grinned. “A little sweet talk, a few implied threats? Works for me. You bring the carrot, I’ll get the stick.”
Catherine smiled. “Try again.”
Greg’s smile turned rueful. “Okay, you bring the stick. Hey, if I have the carrot, does that mean I can say ‘What’s up-’ ”
“No.”
“I really want to thank you once again,” said Brass. He smiled at Nathan Vanderhoff, who was seated on the other side of Brass’s desk. “I mean, it’s kind of phenomenal, having these kinds of resources to draw on. We’re very lucky.”
Vanderhoff nodded and leaned back, crossing his legs. “Again, we’re happy to offer our assistance. Is Mr. Grissom going to be joining us?”
“He’ll be here in a few minutes-had something to do in the lab. I thought I’d take the opportunity to talk to you first, before everyone else shows up.”
Vanderhoff’s smile was friendly but puzzled. “Oh?”
“Yeah. See-and don’t tell Grissom I said this-I sometimes feel as if, well, as if I don’t know whether or not Grissom’s as good as he seems.”
“I don’t follow.”
Brass leaned forward, put his elbows on the desk. “It’s not like there are a lot of bug experts available, you know? So we use what we’ve got. I’m not saying Grissom isn’t good, but-well, you guys are world-class. I’ve looked at your credentials, and they’re impressive.”
Vanderhoff chuckled. “Thank you for the compliment, but I assure you that Mr. Grissom is a highly respected member of our community. He’s certainly ‘world-class’ himself.”
“I guess. Still, a fresh perspective can be invaluable. You’ve been given the rundown on the case-what’s your take?”
Vanderhoff nodded. “Most intriguing. There are many poisonous insects the perpetrator could have chosen, yet he picked millipedes. He clearly has some knowledge of entomology, but he-or she, I su ppose-is not necessarily an expert. Harpaphe haydeniana may seem exotic to the layman, but they’re quite common. The fact that they were used at all seems significant to me-after all, the plastic bag itself would have been lethal, would it not?”
Brass nodded. “We noticed that, too. Obviously, the bug thing has some symbolic value.”
Vanderhoff shrugged and spread his hands wide. “Perhaps. Unfortunately, I’m an entomologist, not a psychiatrist…”
“Dr. Charong,” said Brass, “I understand you’re interested in helping out the Las Vegas Police Department.”
Khem Charong nodded. His posture was stiff and formal, his hands folded demurely in his lap. “How could I resist? My colleagues will talk of nothing else.”
“I see. Well, thank you for coming in. I just have a few quick questions, if you don’t mind.”
Charong cleared his throat. “Of course not. Go ahead.”
“You’re a researcher in Thailand?”
“That’s correct.”
“Must be a lot of bugs in the jungle out there.”
“Yes, Thailand has some of the richest biodiversity on the planet. It is a fascinating place in which to work.”
“You must go to some pretty remote locations, am I right?”
“I suppose that I do. It is very rewarding, though.”
“I’m a city boy myself. Don’t think I could give up the bright lights for a tent and a campfire. Still, I guess you’ve got a good excuse to cut loose when you get back to civilization.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You know, make up for lost time. Party like a wild man.”
“That is… not really my style.”
Brass frowned. “No? Sorry, my mistake-in Vegas, we learn it’s always the quiet ones who tend to wind up making the biggest noise. You didn’t have any problems entering the country, did you?”
Charong blinked. “What?”
“You know-scientist, bioterrorism, twenty-first-century paranoia? You wouldn’t believe some of the horror stories I’ve heard, people being denied entry for the most ridiculous reasons.”
“I-no, I had no trouble.”
“Well, that’s good.” Brass favored him with a big, friendly smile. “I mean, if you had, you wouldn’t be here, would you?”