Project Moses - A Mystery Thriller (Enzo Lee Mystery-Thriller Series) Read Online Free PDF

stroke.”
    “That sounds simple enough,” said Lee. “So, what’s the mystery?”
    “All the other clots,” said Santos. “The hundreds…no, make that thousands of tiny clots that filled every artery, vein and blood vessel of any size.”
    “What?” said Lee.
    “I’m describing something that I’ve never witnessed in my 26 years of practicing medicine,” said Santos. “Someone’s body filled with tiny blood clots and no apparent reason for it.”
    Lee said nothing while Santos continued staring at him, manipulating the brain parts. The clicking was nerve wracking in the otherwise silent office.
    “Okay, I give up,” said Lee. “What is the significance of all this? I’m just a layman.”
    “Something caused this to happen and I have no idea what it is,” said Santos. “It could have been a chemical, something environmental, or maybe even some infectious agent like a virus or bacteria that I’ve never heard of.”
    “Infectious?” said Lee. “You mean other people could get it?”
    Santos shrugged as he turned a chunk of the left hemisphere of the brain in his fingers. “Anything is possible,” he said. “I’ve ordered all the tests and we’ll just have to see what comes back.”
    “But, what if it is infectious?” said Lee.
    Santos shrugged again. “I’ve double bagged the body and washed down everything with antiseptic. There’s nothing I can do except take antibiotics.” He nodded at the cluster of pill bottles near his right elbow.
    Lee thanked the coroner and found out what time the next day the first set of test results would come back. As he walked out the door, Santos finished the brain puzzle and moved it to the side of the desk with a small, satisfied smile.
    On his way back to the newspaper, Lee knew he would have to write another news story based upon what Santos had told him. He wondered how he could do it without causing a panic in the city.
    •   •   •
    IT WAS DARK when Lee jumped off the Powell Street cable car. He walked down to Stockton Street and then continued north through the several blocks that hold Chinatown’s bustling fish and vegetable markets.
    Lee lingered for a minute outside the picture window of a small restaurant. Behind the glass, four roasted ducks dangled from metal brackets that clasped their necks. Their flat bills pointed stiffly downward toward the metal trays placed to catch their drippings. Inside, a sweaty cook wearing a soiled apron looked up, grinned brokenly, and turned back to his cleaver which became a blur as a fifth bird was quickly transformed into bite-sized pieces.
    Lee continued along Stockton, wallowing in the odors of black bean sauce, raw fish, ginger and other heavy smells that he couldn’t name but still identified with Chinatown as much as the ubiquitous curio shops with their Buddhas, cheap china and T-shirts.
    He stopped at Wayne Chan’s market. He waved at Wayne Jr., a young man in his early 20s with a ring in his right ear. Wayne Jr. wore his hair Elvis Presley style with long sideburns and a short pompadour in front. He was picking through a pile of rock cod on a bed of ice as a picky shopper described in loud Cantonese what she wanted.
    “ Sansin. Sansin. Fresh. Fresh. Get me one that’s fresh. Siu. Siu. Small. Small. When was that one caught?”
    Lee walked through the cod, the large flounder and the small pink snapper sitting in the crates filled with crushed ice, and past the big tank where live dungeness crab sat stacked atop each other. He went to the vegetable side of the store and picked out a bunch of choi sum, a bright green cabbage with yellow flowers. He paid another young member of the Chan extended family, a sunny-faced girl with laughing eyes and a beguiling smile who made him wish he was 15 years younger.
    He continued up Stockton, past busy Columbus Avenue, and crossed from Chinatown into the North Beach Italian district. In two more blocks, Lee came to a three-story house with front windows