to work, scanning files, signing papers. Rodriguez continued playing with his guns, pretending to shoot Fox's plaques off the wall, sixteen times without reloading.
'If you don't have time now, Mr. State Attorney, I'll issue a subpoena for you. If you refuse to waive immunity, the papers will love it.'
He stopped signing, dropped his pen in disgust, and looked up. 'Fire when ready, Jake. Take your best shot.'
'You're missing the point, Nick. I'm just gathering data, trying to figure out who Marsha Diamond was.'
'Then let me save you some time. She was a ballsy broad who wanted to get ahead in TV land. She wanted to meet the politicos. She wanted tips about corruption probes. She wanted her bottom rubbed by the state attorney. Hey, I knew she was blowing smoke up my ass, but it didn't feel half bad.'
'Anything else about the two of you?'
'Nothing much. She said she wanted to spend a weekend with me 'cause we'd never done that, learn all about me.'
'You ever do it?'
'It would have been this weekend,' he said, lowering his eyes. I watched him a moment and tried to see beyond the press stories, the macho shield he had erected. There was a part of him, I thought, that was touched and angered by her death. Homicide detectives say they can feel it, that there's a difference between a witness who bears guilt and one who feels loss at a death. Though he tried to hide his emotions, Nick Fox, it seemed to me, felt loss all the way.
I sat there a while longer and thumbed through Rodriguez's report. The building manager said Marsha was a quiet tenant. Few visitors. A husky man fitting Fox's description would come over late, leave early the next morning, his Chrysler illegally parked on Ocean Drive. None of her friends reported anything strange in her behavior. She had not complained of threats. Nothing out of the ordinary her last days on earth.
I told Rodriguez I wanted to talk to him alone. Fox suggested his conference room, a place with more bugs than a Fourth of July picnic. Instead, we took the elevator down to the courtroom level of the Justice Building. A bailiff unlocked a door and we sat in a holding cell, our words drowned out by the cacophony of inmates yelling for their lawyers, mothers, girlfriends, all protesting their innocence at majestic decibel levels.
'Got Whitson's autopsy and lab reports yesterday,' Rodriguez said. 'Death by manual strangulation, just like Doc Riggs said. No evidence of sperm or seminal fluid in the vagina, plus her diaphragm was found in the bathroom drawer, dry as toast.'
'So, no rape and no consensual intercourse, either.'
'Right, only thing out of sync is that substantial vaginal secretions indicate sexual activity in close proximity to death.'
'Find a vibrator, that sort of thing?'
He shrugged. 'No. Maybe just thinking of Nick's dick was enough to wet her panties.'
'What else you have?'
'Still working on the computer stuff,' Rodriguez said, leaning close to block out the noise. He handed me a printout of the directories from the computer's hard memory.
COMPU-MATE 06/26/90 00:03
RECIPES 02/12/90 10:35
X-MAS LIST 12/17/89 23:18
TO-DO LIST 06/22/90 06:24
LETTERS 05/02/90 21:35
INVST-1 06/25/90 23:56
CUES 08/29/89 20:12
MAKEUP 11/02/89 08:20
VOICE 10/20/89 21:45
GOALS 05/03/90 22:49
'Not much there,' he said. 'The first five categories are all personal stuff. We read the letters. Family mostly. The last four are all work-related. Tips on getting ahead, that kind of thing.'
A huge, bald black man in the next cell banged his hand on the bars. Our cell shook. 'Ain't no mugger. Been framed by the Man, ' he yelled, looking at Rodriguez.
'Get yourself a good lawyer,' I suggested.
'They never seen me do it, got no ID,' the man wailed.
'That's a good defense,' I said, hoping to quiet him down.
'It was way too dark in that alley,' he proclaimed.
'Clients always say too much,' I told Rodriguez.
I looked at the document again. 'Have you printed out the files in each directory?'
'You want 'em all? They're mostly crap.'
'I want Compu-Mate as soon as you can get it. What's INVST-1?
'Don't know exactly. Thought maybe it was some investment software, you know, keep track of your stocks. But the only file in the directory is a list of questions, like some quiz or something.' He handed me another printout.
1. WHO GAVE THE ORDERS TO WALK ALONG THE DIKE PRIOR TO ENTERING THE VILLAGE OF DAK SUT?
2. AFTER THE MEDIC AND RADIOMAN WERE KILLED, WHAT WAS THE STATE OF DISCIPLINE OF YOUR MEN?
3. WHEN YOUR PLATOON ENTERED THE VILLAGE OF DAK SUT ON JANUARY 9, 1968, WHAT ORDERS DID YOU GIVE?
4. WAS THERE EVIDENCE OF NVA OR VC IN THE VILLAGE?
5. WERE THE VILLAGERS ARMED, AND IF SO, DID THEY THREATEN YOUR PLATOON?
6. WERE ANY VILLAGERS WOUNDED OR KILLED BY YOUR MEN?
7. WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR TRANSLATOR?
8. THE LAST TIME YOU SAW LIEUTENANT FERGUSON ALIVE, WAS HE
'She didn't finish the last question,' Rodriguez said.
I looked back at the printout of directories. 'What time did the ME say she was killed?'
'Around midnight on the twenty-fifth. Give or take two hours either way.'
'Had to be after midnight,' I said, examining the first document. 'She finished working on the INVST-1 file at four minutes till midnight and logged out of COMPU-MATE at three minutes past. Her last conscious thoughts might have been about Lieutenant Ferguson, whoever he is, or some playmate on the computer.'
'How you gonna find the lieutenant?'
'By figuring out what she was investigating.'
'Huh?'
'It's not an investment file. INVST-1. Her first investigation. Something about Vietnam.'
A jailer came in and emptied the cell next to ours. Twelve men, chained together at the ankles in twos, filed into a courtroom for arraignment.
'Why would a bimbo on local TV give a shit about Vietnam?' Rodriguez asked.
'Fox served in 'Nam, right?'
'Sure. A first looey with a chestful of medals. Uses it in all his campaigns.'
I chewed that over a moment.
'Hey,' Rodriguez said, watching me. 'A million guys did their time there.'
'Sure they did,' I said. 'But best I can tell, she was only screwing one of them.'
CHAPTER 8
