‘They have enough. I won’t be driving, and if you’re that tired, perhaps we should stay here.’
He got up to get another beer. I followed him with my eyes. Marino was going to be difficult tonight. I could sense his storm fronts better than any meteorologist.
‘We got a lab report back from New York that you might find interesting,’ he said as he sat back down. ‘It’s got to do with Gault’s hair.’
‘The hair found in the fountain?’ I asked with interest.
‘Yeah. And I don’t got the sort of scientific detail I know you want, okay? So you’ll have to call up there yourself for that. But the bottom line is they found drugs in his hair. They said he had to be drinking and doing coke for this stuff to have shown up in his hair.’
‘They found cocaethylene,’ I said.
‘I think that’s the name. It was all through his hair, from the roots to the ends, meaning he’s been drinking and drugging for a while.’
‘Actually, we can’t be certain how long he’s been doing it,’ I said.
‘The guy I talked to said we’re looking at five months of growth,’ Marino said.
‘Testing hair for drugs is controversial,’1 explained. ‘It’s not certain that some positive results for cocaine in hair aren’t due to external contamination. Say, smoke in crack houses that gets absorbed by the hair just like cigarette smoke does. It’s not always easy to distinguish between what has been absorbed and what has been ingested.’
‘You mean he could be contaminated.’ Marino pondered this.
‘Yes, he could be. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t drinking and drugging, too. In fact, he has to be. Cocaethylene is produced in the liver.’
Marino thoughtfully lit another cigarette. ‘What about him dyeing his hair all the time?’
‘That can affect test results, too,’ I said. ‘Some oxidizing agents might destroy some of the drug.’
‘Oxidizing?’
‘As in peroxides, for example.’
‘Then it’s possible some of this cocaethylene’s been destroyed,’ Marino reasoned. ‘Meaning it’s also possible his drug level was really higher than it looks.’
‘It could be.’
‘He has to be getting drugs somewhere.’ Marino stared off.
‘In New York that certainly wouldn’t be hard,’ I said.
‘Hell, it’s not hard anywhere.’ The expression on his face was getting more tense.
‘What are you thinking?’ I asked.
‘I’ll tell you what I’m thinking,’ he started in. ‘This drug connection ain’t working out so hot for Jimmy Davila.’
‘Why? Do we know his toxicology results?’ I asked.
‘They’re negative.’ He paused. ‘Benny’s started singing. He’s saying Davila dealt.’
‘I should think people might consider the source on that one,’ I said. ‘Benny doesn’t exactly strike me as a reliable narrator.’
‘I agree with you,’ Marino said. ‘But some people are trying to paint Davila as a bad cop. There’s a rumor they want to pin Jane’s murder on him.’
‘That’s crazy,’ I said, surprised. That makes absolutely no sense.’
‘You remember the stuff on Jane’s hand that glowed in the Luma-Lite?’
‘Yes.’
‘Cocaine,’ he said.
‘And her toxicology?’
‘Negative. And that’s weird.’ Marino looked frustrated. ‘But the other thing Benny’s saying now is that it was Davila who gave the knapsack to him.’
‘Oh come on,’ I said with irritation.
‘I’m just telling you.’
‘It wasn’t Davila’s hair found in the fountain.’
‘We can’t prove how long that had been there. And we don’t know it’s Gault’s,’ he said.
‘DNA will verify it’s Gault’s,’ I said with conviction. ‘And Davila carried a .380 and a .38. Jane was shot with a Clock.’
‘Look’ – Marino leaned forward, resting his arms on the table – ‘I’m not here to argue with you, Doc. I’m just telling you that things aren’t looking good. New York politicians want this case cleared, and a good way to do that is to pin the crime on a dead man. So what do you do? You turn Davila into a dirtbag and nobody feels sorry for him. Nobody cares.’
‘And what about what happened to Davila?’
‘That dumbshit medical examiner who went to the scene still thinks it’s possible he committed suicide.’
I looked at Marino as if he’d lost his mind. ‘He kicked himself in the head?’ I said. ‘Then shot himself between the eyes?’