the Prostitutes' Ball (2010) Read Online Free PDF Page A

decision.
    "Let's get started. If we need to, we can go back and get a paper for the house tomorrow."
    With the warrant in hand, about twenty CSIs and coroner's assistants carrying their crime scene kits full of investigatory tools started up the path Alexa and I had marked in the grass by the side of the drive.
    Except for pointing out areas of examination, the primary homicide detective is a third wheel during this stage of an investigation. The tech squad and coroner had full control of the scene.
    The CSIs began by setting up an inward spiral search, walking the outside circle of the yard, moving slowly in toward the pool, where the bodies were. Ten investigators walked in a line, looking down, marking anything that looked like evidence with cards that were folded into a teepee shape with numbers that corresponded to a master sheet.
    Slowly, they began finding 9 mm brass shell casings and meticulously gathering and cataloging potential evidence, photographing footprints and blood spatter.
    I walked around the edge of the backyard, looking for my new partner. He was off talking to Tom Rosselli, the crime scene photographer.
    I thought, Well, okay. This is good. At least hes working, helping the guy set up his photo log. But as I got closer, I realized they weren't talking about the case at all.
    "You gotta pound the sucker with a hammer," Hitch was saying.
    "You always wanta go to town with the hammer," Rosselli answered. "Is that like an African-American thing or something?"
    What the hell is this? I thought and slipped behind the pool house so I could eavesdrop.
    "Don't be starting in with me on how to prepare the meat," Hitch was saying. "You gotta hammer it first to make it tender."
    "We're talking about a Sicilian meat roll, asshole. It's supposed to be a little chewy. I'm Sicilian. You're from fucking Sixty-sixth Street in South Central. Whatta you know about Sicilian cooking?"
    "I'm the king of Sicilian cooking," Hitch shot back. "Check it out. You arrange your meat on your wax paper, you arrange the ham slices on top of the meat "
    "Ham goes on the outside, not on top, dipshit."
    "This is so pathetic," Hitch said. "You make your living photographing dead people. What am I wasting my time on you for? It's like talking to a garbageman about the ballet."
    Not as bad as I first thought but still pretty awful. Here we were at one of the hottest murder scenes of the year and Sumner Hitchens was distracting the videographer with an argument over Sicilian cooking when Rosselli should have been doing his initial walk-through to memorialize the scene before the swarm of techies moved anything. I stepped around the side of the building and faced him.
    "Lets go," I said. "Let Rosselli do his job. You're with me."
    I left abruptly and Hitch followed me across the pool deck.
    "Try the recipe my way," Rosselli called after him.
    "I gave up vomiting after meals when I found out Lindsay Lohan was doing it," Hitch called back.
    I led him to a place near where Alexa was standing.
    "After the bodies are processed I want you to go to the ME's office with Alexa. Witness the autopsies with her." Thinking it would at least get him out of my sight for a while.
    "I'm not gonna be that easy to ditch," he said. "I already had this out with Jeb. I'm not the kind of partner you can bullshit. I know I'm junior man, but that's only in hours. When it comes to working this case, I'm your tight. It's you and me, cheek to cheek, brother."
    He pulled out a red notebook. It was covered in expensive leather and had gold-embossed edges. Across the center, engraved in gold script, it said: MY JOURNAL. The thing must have cost him three hundred dollars.
    "This isn't going to be a movie," I informed him. "So you can put away your little writer's journal."
    "I know you're upset, but I'm gonna grow on you, man. I got thi s f eeling."
    He smiled at me. He was handsome. He was charming. He was hard not to like. But he was also a hopeless bullshitter and