Free Cold Frame by P. T. Deutermann Page B

pulp—that had the most sophisticated behaviors when threatened by predation, as viewed from the plant’s perspective. At the same time, the discovery excited him, because it reinforced the notion that, at some level within the plant’s physiology, it was reacting to external stimuli, just as if—it had a brain.
    They took a vote, and all agreed to bury Giancomo’s findings in their book of experimental data for now. Interesting stuff, but not for publication until one of them could find a way to render the process harmless, or, at least, controllable. And, he hoped to God that no one else had discovered the same thing. Not for the first time, he’d been having second and even third thoughts about what he’d given to the National Security Council.
    Thomas, who’d been watching the conference, remarked that the society’s fixation with the world’s most dangerous plants might backfire one day.
    Hiram acknowledged the point. “I know,” he said. “We could be viewed as master poisoners in some circles, I suppose, but then, some of our medical contributions would balance that out. Look at what we did with atropine, for instance.”
    â€œYes, sir,” Thomas said. “Didn’t mean to criticize, of course. Shall we proceed with the vine-pool experiment this morning?”
    â€œI still think it should be called the snake pool,” Hiram said.
    Thomas gave him a there-you-go-again look, but Hiram just grinned back at him.

 
    SIX
    Two days later, not one, Av was able to get the court order and have it sent to OCME by messenger. He called them later that morning and was told by the Forensic Toxicology Lab that it might be sometime next week before the actual autopsy would take place. Av asked why so long. The secretary asked if Av’s case was an active and urgent homicide investigation. Av said not yet, but that of course would depend on the results of the autopsy, wouldn’t it? She told him to go get a book called Catch-22 and then invited him to get in line.
    Av went to Precious to bitch and moan. She promptly showed him the door. This is the Briar Patch. Move the tarbaby, Detective.
    He went to complain to Howie Wallace, who offered slightly more sympathy and said, since he didn’t have anything special to do, why didn’t they go out to that French restaurant and do some interviews. Av couldn’t really see the point of that, the EMS reports being fairly complete. Howie said he wanted something different for lunch. Av hadn’t told Howie about the four runners or the little memento he’d found on his front-yard fence. He still thought he might be imagining the whole episode, or at least the notion that someone was trying to threaten or scare him. But if so, over what?
    They checked out an unmarked and went up Connecticut Avenue through the usual lunchtime traffic. Av wondered aloud about the wisdom of eating at a restaurant after they’d questioned the staff about an unexplained death.
    When they arrived at the bistro, however, they got a surprise.
    â€œClosed?” Howie said. Av double-parked, got out, and went up to read the sign.
    â€œThis is a health department sign,” Av pointed out. “Food Safety. City shut ’em down.”
    â€œJust because some guy croaked? Way I read it, he hadn’t eaten anything.”
    A taxi, pinned behind their slick-back by traffic, started laying on the horn. Av badged him and told him to shut up. The Lebanese driver threw up his hands in disgust and darted back into traffic, provoking even more horn blowing. Av got back into their Crown Vic.
    â€œLet’s go around back,” he said. “I thought I saw a light on in there.”
    â€œWe can do that,” Howie said. “But it ain’t gonna get me any snails.”
    â€œTragedy,” Av muttered. As far as he was concerned, snails were something he dug out of his running-shoe treads after a run on the