39
The door to the small Cherry Creek bungalow opened and Nick Wu, Bart Romanski’s husband, stood in it.
“Oh no,” he said, staring at Cash.
“That’s a nice greeting,” she said.
“Sorry,” said Wu, flustered. “It’s just… well, it’s nine o’clock at night.”
Cash waited on the threshold. She could hear Romanski’s voice from inside. “Who the hell is at the door?”
Wu stepped aside. “It’s your boss.”
Cash heard a groan and took the opportunity to step into the house. Romanski came around the corner into the entryway, dressed in a rich satin robe, carrying a martini. He halted in consternation.
“Oh no,” Romanski said. “Not another stiff, is it?”
“No, nothing like that. There’s something we need to discuss. Confidentially.”
“All right.”
Cash followed as Romanski shuffled into a small sitting room. Wu followed. Romanski seated himself and invited her to sit. He said, somewhat reluctantly, “Can I offer you something? Water? Coffee? A drink?”
“I want one of those,” said Cash, eyeing the martini.
Romanski stared. “I see.” He turned to Wu. “Babe, will you make her one and another for me?”
“Dirty. Three olives,” said Cash.
At this, Romanski’s eyebrows rose farther. “You heard the boss.”
Wu got up and disappeared into the kitchen.
“I’m getting the feeling this is not a typical work meeting,” said Romanski.
“It isn’t. I’ve a favor to ask you. A big one. And it’s to be kept secret.”
“I’m intrigued.”
Cash could hear Wu shaking the drinks in the kitchen. She would need a stiff one to get through this. “You know that we recovered the relic of Saint John the Baptist at Castillo’s apartment in San Francisco.”
“Of course. Holmes has it stored in my trusty evidence freezer in the lab.”
“I want to do a DNA analysis of it.”
A silence. “And you’ve come to me at this hour to ask me to do this, instead of submitting the request through channels?”
“I tried regular channels. Holmes turned me down flat. Her priority is getting the relic back to the Catholic Church—intact.”
“I see.”
Wu came back with a tray carrying three dirty green martinis, with three huge olives speared on a toothpick, chips of ice floating on the surface. He passed another to his husband and sat down, lifting his own
new martini.
“Um, would it be okay to have some privacy?” Cash asked.
“No,” said Romanski. “He’s my life partner—Nick and I share everything. I rely on his sound judgment.”
