Page 90 of The Bone Code
“Run France? See what pops?”
“Roger that, when I get a break. The town’s going apeshit with some kinda outbreak involving dogs.”
“Capnocytophaga?” I recalled Herrin’s frazzled comments.
“Sounds right. Got the public arming themselves to the teeth.”
“Why?”
“Half want to shoot every hound they see. Half swear they’ll defend Old Yeller to the death.”
“It’s that bad?”
“People are dying.”
“And nerves are still raw since COVID-19.”
“Nothing an AK-47 can’t fix.” Dripping with sarcasm.
And she was gone.
It took an eon for Vislosky’s next call.
“France has a sheet but nothing major. Drunk and disorderly, pissing in public, typical macho shit.”
“Anything recent?”
“His last bump was in ’ninety-seven.”
“Think he’s still alive?”
“I found a car registration in the name of Digby Nelson France listing a Nashville address.”
“Did you find a phone number?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a very gifted detective.”
“I used the Nashville white pages. The listing was dropped five years ago.”
“Time to give Mr. France a ring?”
“I did. The number is disconnected.”
“That’s not good.”
“No.”
Late that afternoon, despite my disapproval, Ryan insisted on walking to his favorite grocery, Fou d’Ici, roughly a mile to the east on boulevard de Maisonneuve. The store’s inventory is eclectic, and its takeout menu changes daily, so I couldn’t imagine what he’d bring home.
Ryan had barely left when Claudel called from the lobby.
“Ryan’s gone, but he should be back in an hour.”
“I prefer to speak with you.”
“It might be better—”
