A Body to die for

the man naked, after all. I didn’t mention that Jack’s wife was screwing the mook.
    Meanwhile, Janey freaked. “Barney’s dead?” she shrieked before sobbing on Jack’s already-soggy shoulder.
    Detective Falcone took notes by punching letters on a little Newton keyboard. She had lightning-fast typing fingers. If I could type that fast, I wouldn’t have to do this for a living. Mid-key punch, Falcone stopped and stabbed at her own eye with her thumb. She fiddled adroitly for a moment. “Contacts—pain in the ass,” she said, like we could relate.
    “Wear glasses,” I suggested helpfully.
    “And distract attention from my stunning figure?” she asked. I laughed. She didn’t, but I was reasonably sure she had meant for me to do so.
    Janey, from Jack’s side, wiped a tear as she said, “We have a discount at the club for city employees, Detective Falcone.” She managed to pry herself away from Jack and fix herself a drink from the fridge.
    “I’ll keep that in mind, Ms. Johnson,” Falcone said I pleasantly enough. I was desperate for Falcone’s first name. She looked like a Martha or a Mildred. She fished around in a giant pocketbook and came up with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She fired one up, inhaling the smoke like fresh mountain air.
    “There’s no smoking in the club, Detective.” That was Janey, sipping an orange concoction with a straw.
    Falcone smile politely and took another drag. What was Janey going to do—make a citizen’s arrest for smoking?
    “Mallory,” Falcone graveled. “Take a walk with s me.” She pointed toward the Jacuzzi door. I followed her inside. “I’ve heard of you. Do It Right Detectives, right? You solved that TV game show case last fall.”
    “It’s a glamorous job, but somebody had to do it,” I said, immediately regretting it.
    “How unfortunate for you,” she retorted. If I didn’t f hate her on principle, I’d probably like her. Still, it I was my job as a private dick to despise all public units. Falcone and I walked into the steamy room. Barney had been fished out of the Jacuzzi. He lay on his back on the wood-plank floor, his body magenta and pruned. The knife had been removed. His chest, especially around the wound, was blue from bruising. I knew squat about this kind of thing, but I’d guess whoever stabbed Barney had killer upper body strength. This narrowed the field not at all.
    Falcone tapped a long unpolished fingernail on her tiny Newton screen. She stared moonily at Barney’s head as if she were having a telepathic gabfest from the dead zone. A chill spread across my shoulders like an oil spill. Falcone shook her head, and then seemed to break her contact with the world beyond. She smiled politely at me. I faked it back. A couple cops milled around the body, pointing here and there at whatever they found notable. Barney’s penis, in case you’re interested, wasn’t visible from where I stood. A cop in a uniform took samples of the Jacuzzi water.
    Detective Falcone said, “What’s the story you’re not telling me, Mallory?”
    “You know everything.” Like I’d give away information to a cop. I said, “Just my dumb luck tripping into this.”
    “Something tells me the word dumb doesn’t have anything to do with you, Mallory,” she observed correctly.
    “You’re a remarkable judge of character,” I responded.
    “And your client’s character?” She tapped her Newton. “Seems to me he’s innocent,” she said matter-of-factly. “Until proven guilty, that is.” Was she taunting me?
    “In Turkey,” I noted, “it’s the other way around. God bless America.”
    “If you’re working for him, I assume you’d lie for him.” Falcone glared at me. Through the puffs and folds around her eyes, the light of conviction beamed from behind her contacts. A female dick with a badge and a hard-on for justice. Just what I needed. The cops turned Barney over onto his stomach. No visible marks. The knife hadn’t cut clear through.
    “What’s your first name?” I asked.
    “Detective,” she answered.
    I said, “I’d really like to stay and dance around the issues, Detective, but somewhere out there, I have a life. So, if you’re done with me, I’ll split.”
    “Why don’t you hang around for a while?” she said.
    “What’s in it for me?”
    “Not casting suspicion on yourself for leaving the scene of the crime for starters.” She had a slight Southern accent—maybe Maryland or Washington. It added just