at the moment, it’s all we have.”
“Just before I came here, Matt,” D’Amata said, “I checked the results of the door-to-door interviews. Zero. Nobody saw or heard a thing. So Harry and I are going to try that again in the morning.”
There was the sound of tortured metal, as if a bumper had scraped the curbstone.
Wohl looked at Matt. They smiled.
“She must have missed the fire hydrant,” Matt said.
“One of her good days,” Wohl said.
Amy came through the door a moment later, holding a lined pad. A stethoscope stuck out of the side pocket of her suit jacket.
“Everybody’s here,” she said.
She bent over Coughlin to kiss his cheek, slid into a chair beside Wohl, and smiled at the people around the table.
“What did you just hit?” Wohl asked.
She looked at him in genuine surprise.
“Nothing,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
They’re all smiling. She really must be a lousy driver, Olivia thought.
And she really doesn’t look old enough to be a doctor.
And she doesn’t look at all like Matt.
“I appreciate your help, sweetheart,” Coughlin said. “It’s important to us.”
“Sweetheart”? What’s that all about?
“What have you got for us, honey?” Wohl asked.
“I’m not your honey, Peter,” she said. “I’m doing this as a concerned citizen.”
Good for you!
“Okay, Concerned Citizen,” Wohl replied, smiling, “what have you got for us?”
“Can we get you a drink, sweetheart?” Coughlin asked.
“God knows I earned one,” she said. “Yes, thank you, Uncle Denny.”
“Uncle Denny”? What’s that all about? Are they related?
“What?” Coughlin asked.
Amy looked at Olivia.
“What are you having?”
“Diet Coke.”
“That’s not going to do it,” Amy said. “I’ll have a Bushmills martini.”
What the hell is a Bushmills martini?
“Jerry,” Coughlin called to the bartender. “One of the Doctor’s Irish Specials, please.”
“Coming right up.”
He knows what she means. Which means she comes in here often.
As Wohl’s… what? Girlfriend? More than that?… But with him. Not alone. Not like that poor Williamson girl, who went to Halligan’s Pub alone looking for Mr. Right to ride in on a white horse and make eyes at her.
Poor Williamson girl? Who am I kidding?
When Charley the bartender told us that Cheryl wasn’t looking for a one-night stand, that he never saw her leave the place with any of the guys who hit on her, I thought, I understand. That description fits me.
That’s how I spend my spare evenings, going to Manny’s, where I don’t think they know I’m a cop, which is important because if Mr. Right ever rides into Manny’s on his white horse and makes eyes at me, I know he will gallop right out again the moment he hears the whispered words “she’s a cop” from the bartender.
But what if Mr. Right has just ridden into my life in a silver Porsche? At least…
“You take Irish whiskey…” Commissioner Coughlin said.
He’s talking to me!
“… and you put it in a cocktail shaker with ice, and shake it well, and then you pour it into a martini glass. That way, you don’t dilute the whiskey as the ice melts.”
“Very interesting,” Olivia said. “I’ve never heard of that.”
“They’re really pretty good,” Amy Payne said.
“You want to try one?” Coughlin asked. “You really earned a drink today with the Williamsons.”
“Why not?” Olivia said.
“Jerry!” Coughlin called. “Two Doctor’s Irish Specials.”
“Two Doctor’s Specials coming up,” Jerry called back.
Olivia looked at Matt.
He was rolling his eyes and shaking his head.
Yeah, I know. “Lay off the booze.”
Fuck you!
You’re not my father. You don’t tell me when not to drink.
How dare you be exasperated, disgusted, whatever with me?
“Did you get a chance to talk to Dr. Mitchell, Amy?” Washington asked.
“Cause of death was a broken neck,” Amy said, matter-of-factly. “There are contusions on the right side of the face, suggesting that she was thrown, or forced, against the bedside table with such force as to break the neck.”
She jerked her head violently to one side in demonstration. “Big guy, huh, Doc?” Slayberg asked.
Amy nodded.
“We’re sure it’s a male?” Olivia asked.
Detective Lassiter saw that Sergeant Payne was rolling his eyes again.
Why now? Why was that a stupid question?
Oh, God, the sperm on her breast!
That was a stupid question.
Keep your mouth shut!
“There was sperm on the body,” Amy said.
Sergeant Payne was now shaking his head.
“On the body,” Amy went on. “On her breast and face. None in the vagina, anus, or mouth…”
The bartender set a martini glass before each of the women. Amy took a sip.
Olivia reached for the glass and picked it up.
She glanced at Sergeant Payne. He was holding both his hands palms outward. The gesture was clear: I wash my hands of you.
Fuck you again.
I will drink this drink and I will keep my mouth shut.
The drink had a strange, heavy, but not unpleasant taste. Something like a martini.
“What do you think, Lassiter?” Coughlin asked.
“Interesting,” Olivia said.
“Don’t take more than two at one sitting,” Wohl said.
“I won’t.”
“I presume there were sufficient quantities of that bodily fluid for DNA?” Washington said.
“Plenty,” Sergeant Payne and Detective D’Amata said at the same time.
“I asked Dr. Mitchell to see if there was any saliva,” Amy said.
“You think he licked her, Doc?” Slayberg asked.
Was that a bona fide question, or homicide humor?
“I think he may have spat on her,” Amy said. “If so, that would confirm my first guess about this man.”
“Which is?” Washington asked, softly.
“That he gets his satisfaction from the humiliation of his victims.”
“Victims, plural?” Wohl asked. “You think he’s done this before?”
“I think he has. For one thing, with the exception of killing the victim, which may have been-probably was- accidental, I think things went as he wanted them to go, as he planned them to go.”
“Why do you say that?” Wohl asked.
