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it.
    Bernard called to her from the bedroom. She joined him and they both stared at the open drawer in the dresser.
    “So he liked to party,” Hannah said.
    “Yup.”
    The drawer was full of dildos, vibrators, various sexy outfits for men and women, several pairs of handcuffs, some jars of what Hannah assumed were different types of lubricants, some Fleshlights and various other things. Without touching anything, she could count at least eight packs of condoms. Either Frank Gulliepe had been a very optimistic man, or he had been getting plenty of action.
    Matt walked in. “Will you two stop opening drawers and cabinets?” he asked, irritated. “I’ll let you know when you can start poking around.”
    “Okay,” Bernard said in a humble voice. He gestured to the brown wallet lying on the dresser. “Can we touch the wallet?”
    “Yeah, I’m done with it,” Matt answered.
    Bernard opened the wallet. It had two hundred and fifty dollars in it. The credit card, driver’s license and a multitude of membership cards were all still inside; nothing seemed to be missing.
    “Let’s talk to his friend.” Hannah suggested.
     
     
    Hannah knocked on the door of apartment fourteen. It was opened quickly by a pale, black-haired young woman wearing a long blue shirt that reached the middle of her thighs. Pants did not make an appearance. Though it was the middle of the night, she looked wide awake—in fact, she had obviously put on some make up and done her hair.
    “Hello,” Hannah said. “I’m Detective Shor, and this is my partner, Detective Gladwin.” Bernard, struck by the long bare legs in front of him, had temporarily forgotten the existence of words, so Hannah pushed on. “I understand that Jerome Piet is here?”
    “Oh, yes. Poor man. He’s in absolute shock.” She moved aside and motioned for both detectives to come in. “My name is Petal,” she said as she led them inside.
    “I’m sorry?” Hannah said.
    “Petal. That’s P-E-T—”
    “Petal? Like the petal of a flower?”
    “That’s right!” Petal smiled happily at her. Hannah fought the urge to roll her eyes.
    They all walked into Petal’s kitchen, where Jerome Piet sat at a small table, nursing a large steaming mug. He was a bit short, with a small orange brush-like mustache adorning his smooth, pink face. His hair, like his mustache, was orange—but it was a sickly orange, like the color of an old, wrinkly carrot. He was, in Hannah’s opinion, an incredibly unattractive man.
    “These are detectives,” Petal said. “From the police.” She seemed to feel the need to clarify.
    “Detective Gladwin,” Bernard said. “This is Detective Shor.”
    “Detectives, do you want some coffee?” Petal asked.
    Hannah decided she liked Petal. It wasn’t the woman’s fault her name was ridiculous; that was her parents’ doing. “Yes please.” Hannah smiled at her.
    “Thanks,” Bernard said, and sat down next to Jerome, turning the chair a bit so his back faced the kitchen counter.
    Hannah figured he was probably trying to stay focused, as Petal bustled around—preparing cups, bending to get the coffee jar from a low drawer, the hem of her shirt rising up.
    “Can you please tell us exactly what happened?” Bernard asked.
    Hannah pulled out a notebook and a pen. Bernard didn’t bother.
    “Well,” Jerome said in a wavering voice, “Frank and I just came back from a night out. We went drinking. I just broke up with my girlfriend, and Frank was trying to cheer me up. He was a very good friend…” Jerome’s voice choked, and he took a sip from his mug. “Anyway, we came back, drank another shot of tequila, and Frank called a taxi for me. I wasn’t in any shape to drive home. After a few minutes, the taxi called to say that he was downstairs, so I said goodbye and left.”
    Hannah jotted down some notes. “Do you know which taxi service Frank called?” she asked.
    “No.”
    “Okay.”
    “Anyway, I was three floors down when I heard