I just caught a slip of fabric and a flash of blonde hair going through the French doors as I lay there swinging, back and forth, with the force of her leaving.It was still dark but there was a hint of dawn in the east. I could hear her voice, low and curt. Paged, I thought. A cop who is always on.A light went on somewhere inside and a couple of minutes later she came out on the deck in a robe. Her hair was brushed and her eyelashes were wet from splashing water onto her face.“They’re calling detectives in on an overnight homicide,” she said. “Some shrink who works in the jail was found with his throat cut.”Behind my eyes the dry sponge of a wine hangover was dulling both my eyesight and my brain synapses.“He worked for you guys?”“Not officially. We run the jail but the medical staff is contracted through a private company. But it doesn’t look good having even a subcontractor get hit in your own jurisdiction.”I could see her head spinning the scene already. Motive and opportunity.“Shit.
