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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.
