Linda Vargas said to the manager of Daniel Lelo’s fish company. “A while back you had an accident where one of these big metal hooks went into the back of your hand. And now you’re saying that the same thing happened again, another accident in the exact same spot, and this time the hook just happened to dig around in there a bit?” The homicide task force detective stood next to the man’s hospital bed, arms crossed, frowning, and Jack was glad that he was not the subject of her interrogation. Andrei Goguniv lay back, hooked up to I.V.s, and he nodded miserably. The man’s bald head gleamed under the fluorescent lights like a sickly white cue ball. Jack sat in a plastic chair on the other side of the bed. He was keeping silent for the moment. “That’s incredible!” Vargas said dryly. “What are the odds?” She looked up at Jack, as if sharing amazement at the coincidence. “Not only that,” his colleague continued, “but this ‘accident’ just happened to take place in your office.
