Chapter Thirteen

In the hospital room, an orange chair covered with something not quite as comfortable as vinyl was the only place to sit except the bed. Brin was off the respirator but still in a coma. Jarvis sat next to him, feet on the lower railing. He listened to the steady breathing and equally regular beat of the monitor. It was past visiting hours but the third nurse who’d tried to push him out had left them alone half an hour earlier. Jarvis looked at his friend and tried to picture what had happened in the restaurant. The waitress said Brin was eating alone. She didn’t remember seeing a young Persian man there, but she’d made the point that was like trying to recall one ant from thousands scurrying around the ground. She’d worked at the Jewish deli for 35 years; it sounded more racist than it probably was. She only remembered Brin because he’d collapsed in his pastrami.

 

The kid recognized Jarvis but not vice versa. Maybe Brin had been more on the ball and put a place and a time to seeing him. Jarvis would work backwards and start with the most recent intersection of their lives. He needed to understand why Brin was following the kid who was now mostly bits and pieces mixed with smoking wood and ash. Rayford, despite his fury, would get the lab report to Jarvis if only to guilt him into sharing anything he knew. For now, Jarvis stared at Brin on the bed. Helpless; not how he’d ever seen him. Jarvis wasn’t entirely certain that if someone ran in and tried to plunge a knife into Brin, the comatose Ranger wouldn’t catch the killer’s wrist an inch above his chest and then quickly break it and reverse the path of the knife back upward without opening his eyes. The daydream made Jarvis smile.

 

He’d brought his iPad with him and he used it to access Brin’s journals. He re-read everything from earlier that day, pulling out the notes he’d made and smoothing the papers on the bed next to Brin’s leg. The logs weren’t comprehensive, weren’t meant to be a diary. They read more like reminders for Brin. Triggers for things in his mind, so someone reading it wouldn’t know too much, just get hints. The first mention of the young man was ten days ago but it wasn’t clear who saw whom first. Jarvis wracked his memory to connect the kid’s face with all the other faces he’d ever seen. The was no match, no flashing green light. Nothing.

 

The vibrating cell phone broke his reverie and disappointment. The number was Rayford’s.

 

“Hey.”

 

“They found a few interesting things in the mess, aside from an intact limb.” He didn’t sound as irritated as Jarvis expected.

 

“How interesting?”

 

There was a pause. “Twisted metal case, almost melted in the explosion. “ Jarvis waited. “Not the kind you carry important papers in. More like the kind you use to protect a volatile or dangerous substance.”

 

Jarvis looked at his sleeping friend. “Like poison, maybe?”

 

“There’s not much to examine, but the lab will do what they can. I’ll ring you when I have something.”

 

“Yeah, thanks. I’ve got a couple things to run down. I’ll get in touch.” Rayford heard the truthfulness and hung up.

 

The iPad quickly pulled up Azad Hekmatier’s Facebook page and LinkedIn account. Jarvis had the name of his workplace. He headed out.