“Carol, you left the party two nights ago around nine o’clock and came back four minutes later with coke around your nose. Did you also steal the necklace at that same time?” I asked. I studied her eyes and her body language waiting for her to answer even though we’d determined that the necklace was stolen after the party broke up.
“No, I just did a few lines of coke.”
“All you did was coke, nothing else?”
“Yes, I needed something to keep going.” She told the truth.
“What do you mean?”
“Allan, the guy I was with was a pig. He’s this big hotshot D.C. court judge but he’s still a pig. His breath was bad, his body stank his gut hung over his belt and everything else he almost had. I just didn’t want to get naked with him, didn’t want to be naked with him, have him pressing his sweating, stinking body on mine. I just couldn’t do it; I just couldn’t do it straight. I couldn’t let him fuck me without an edge,” Carol said.
“And coke is your edge?” Boyle asked.
“Yes. The coke made everything blurry. He’s an old pig and I’m an old whore. What a combination,” she said as she started to cry. I hate to see women cry but I let her cry herself out.
“When she finished crying, she said, “I’m an old whore and a part time coke head, but I’m not a thief,” Carol said.
“Thirty’s not old,” I said.
“It is when you’re a thirty year old whore. The only place for me now is to own my own house and I can’t afford that. The alternative is…” She looked at me with sadness in her eyes and ran from Crystal’s office quietly from Crystal’s office and Crystal’s house.
“What about her. Did she steal it?” Boyle asked.