"Excuse me-have you seen Mr. Zeldin?"

The man didn't speak but pointed behind him, in the direction of a sign that announced the entrance to a tropical lowland rain forest.

Scotty started walking and Ellen and I fell in behind him. "Outside, I'm freezing my ass off," he said. "In here, it's like hangin' out at my mother-in-law's trailer park in Lauderdale. I think I'm gettin' a hot flash."

He unbuttoned his overcoat and loosened the tie around his neck.

The newly refurbished cement path wound through thousands of densely planted trees and shrubs. I would have thought we had entered the heart of a Brazilian jungle had the ground beneath us not been paved. Large leaves and fronds hung over our heads, brushing against my hair as I ducked to avoid them. The only sound was the whisper of the misting device that sprayed water from behind the trees.

Scotty was impatient. "Zeldin? Anybody home?"

His voice echoed and I heard a shuffling noise in a small thatched hut that bordered the path ahead of us. "What's that?" I asked.

Ellen read from the large illustrated signage that showed a photograph of a dark-skinned woman crushing leaves between her hands. "It's a healer's house."

"I'll give the bastard something to heal. This place is too hot for me," Scotty said, wiping the sweat that was rolling down his forehead with the back of his hand. "They got monkeys in here, too?"

There was noise above us, now, and we each looked up to find its source. A mesh metal staircase, painted dark green to camouflage it against the foliage, wound up more than fifty steps around a huge empty tree trunk, leading to a skywalk that trailed along the length of the rain forest. A worker in khaki overalls got up from his knees and leaned over the railing, picking brown tips off the ends of thick growth.

"Yo, pal. You seen Zeldin?" Scotty asked.

The man cocked his head and squinted. "No comprende, señor. No lo sé."

"I'm telling you, I feel like we're in frigging Santo Domingo. You think that guy's an exhibit or he's really working here?"

A sharp right turn led us out of the rain forest and into a room that looked like it was built for a Victorian estate. The humidity level lowered immediately, while hanging vines hovered over a long rectangular pool, full of aquatic ferns and plants that surrounded a statue of naked goddesses spouting jets of water over tiered fountains.

Scotty bent over and dipped his handkerchief in the murky green liquid, mopping his brow before I could urge him not to put the slimy stuff against his skin.

The room ended at a ramp that curved down between a wall of lichen-covered boulders. At the foot of it, we seemed to have left the natural habitat for the intrusion of a twenty-first-century convenience-a dark, narrow tunnel several hundred feet long, connecting the arms of the conservatory to each other via an underground passage that was made out of an ugly form of corrugated siding. I wondered if it was just my own recent brush with a dank enclosed space that made this space seem uncomfortably creepy, or whether my companions were bothered as well.

When we emerged at the far end, we not only found Zeldin, but had transported ourselves into the middle of a simulated African desert as arid as the rain forest had been damp.

Scotty had to pause to catch his breath after mastering the uphill section of the ramp. Ellen and I approached Zeldin, who was seated in his wheelchair but turned his head at the sound of our footsteps.

"I hope you didn't have any difficulty finding me."

Ellen and I answered politely before Scotty could complain, and I introduced them to each other.

"The detective told me you've got more questions for me," Zeldin said with his distinctive drawl. "Why not fire away?"

There was the sound of laughter coming from the next corridor, and I looked up to see its source. Two teenagers, each dressed in baggy jeans and hooded sweatshirts, were being chased by a third who wielded a watering can in his hand.

"I assumed we could do this in your office," Ellen said.

"There's no one here to bother you, young lady."

"Those kids-is it a school tour or something?"

"Heavens, no. Just a few of the local boys who do chores around here. I was showing them the carnivorous plants in the next room-they were fascinated," Zeldin said, smiling.

"Who's carnivorous?" Scotty asked, catching up with us and shaking Zeldin's hands.

"The Venus flytrap, the pitcher plant," Zeldin said, starting to wheel in the direction of the rowdy teens. "They're not dangerous to humans, Detective. They don't really eat flesh. The leaves respond to the pressure of insects that land on them and they spring closed. It's the secretions that kill the bugs, who rot inside or starve in a pool of fluid until they dissolve. Not a pretty death."

"I haven't seen many that are."

"If you don't mind, sir," Ellen said, "I'm not here for the plant tour. We have some questions that will probably require you to consult your records."

I couldn't read Ellen as well as I could my usual partners-Mike and Mercer-but what had seemed from the outside like such a benign setting now enveloped us in an oppressive atmosphere that was stifling and unpleasant.

"Records? From the Raven Society? I've already shown them to Ms. Cooper."

"Not those," she went on. "We'd like to talk about Gino Guidi and his involvement here, at the Botanical Gardens. Perhaps his financial contributions."

"Ah, he told you, then, about the Bronx River cleanup?"

I listened to Ellen while she led the questioning. I was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and distracted while I waited for a call about results on Maswana's DNA from the chief serologist.

Ellen had been drawn into today's outing because of Guidi's self-proclaimed marksmanship and its possible connection to the Tormey shooting. Now Guidi's name was dragging her in the direction of Dr. Ichiko's death site.

I let her run this, in part because of my fatigue, and in part because I thought it would lead nowhere. Guidi's admission about his shooting ability probably had little significance.

"No, sir, he didn't," Ellen answered.

"I'm sure you've seen signs alongside the highways from time to time, where individuals or businesses have paid for the maintenance of a particular area."

We all nodded.

"Mr. Guidi likes his name on things. I hadn't paid any attention to it the day I heard how Dr. Ichiko died, but I was reminded of it more recently, after your visit to Poe Cottage. Con Edison does the environmental upkeep farther downstream of the gardens, and several local corporations have adopted parts of the river that flow through their neighborhoods. But Gino Guidi chose that strip of rapids himself-the part with the waterfall-because he used to play there when he was a child. Knows the area quite well, Ms. Gunsher. I'd forgotten about that, because the sign bears the name of his company rather than himself."

"Providence Partners," I said.

"Yes, yes. I'd forgotten that connection when I first heard of Ichiko's death," Zeldin said, wheeling his chair around.

"That's why I'd like to conduct this meeting in your office." Ellen was attempting to be more aggressive now.

Scotty Taren's face was drained of all color. Again he was sweating profusely and I thought he was beginning to look ill.

He coughed a few times and then spoke to Zeldin. "Why don't you get up out of that buggy and walk over with us?"

Zeldin's answer was sharp and loud. "Don't be absurd, Detective. I can't do that."

The three boys stopped horsing around when they heard the tone of Zeldin's voice. The tallest one started to walk toward us.

I was sweating, too. Maybe it was the intense heat inside the conservatory, or maybe it was the proximity of rough-looking teens coming toward me.