“You saw him?”
“I saw his car.”
“Tell Broussard to do his thing.”
Marv climbed out again and walked back to the car behind theirs.
“Go for it,” he said.
Craig and Stephanie finished their computer search and came up with several more articles about the clinic but nothing that would tell them what Dr. Solomon had been doing.”
“I’m wondering if he was operating with government funding,” Craig said.
“What about it?”
“That might be a way to get a line on whoever’s after us.”
“We also have the names of several women who worked there,” Stephanie said. “Nurses.”
“Yeah.” Craig thought about that.” What if I talk to some of them? There’s one who’s living in a nursing home in Houma, for example.”
“What do you mean—you? If you’re going, so am I.”
“You’re the one who pointed out that it was dangerous to go into Houma.”
“Yes, but.”
“You stay here, and I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“Don’t go unless you know she’s really there.”
“Okay. He looked up the number, and dialed the nursing home, asking if he could speak to Mrs. Bolton.
“She’s not feeling well this evening,” the woman who answered the phone said.
He felt Stephanie’s sigh of relief.
“So you don’t have to go see her.”
Almost as soon as Craig clicked off, his cell phone rang, and they both went rigid.
“Who could that be?”
He looked at the unfamiliar number.
“Don’t answer.”
“I’d better do it.”
When he swiped the phone, the man on the other end of the line turned out to be Ike Broussard, the police detective who was responsible for his trip to New Orleans.
“Branson?” he said.
“Yes.”
“I’ve got some information for you.”
“What?”
