Everything but the Squeal by Timothy Hallinan

said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “What else? The way it happened, it looks like he had his hand behind her head, gripping the base of her neck, like he was forcing her to go down on him. Jesus, she was a baby . Anyway, the break is simple and clean, like she jerked backward with so much force—that would have been the Demerol, numbing her, hiding the pain from her—and when he shoved down, the bones went and it was all over. The Demerol says it was probably accidental. If he'd planned to kill her, he wouldn't have given her the Demerol. It was to make the whole thing tougher to remember.”
    “Maybe the Demerol was supposed to dull the pain.”
    “Oh, no,” Yoshino said in an entirely new tone of voice. “He wanted her to feel the pain. You haven't seen this.” She pulled the sheet down to the girl's hips. There was a raw circular discoloration in the center of her abdomen.
    “Look,” she said tightly. “Before the Demerol, he put his cigar out in her navel.”
    Nobody looked. Hammond stared at the opposite wall, and Yoshino gazed at the two of us. I looked at a mental image of Aimee Sorrell, captured in a Polaroid with an angry burn where her belly button should have been.
    “She's not the one,” I said again.
    “Well,” Yoshino said, “whoever she was, I hope someone shoots him between the eyes before he gets to those fizzwits on the California Supreme Court.”
    She covered the girl again and slid the drawer closed before she led us to the sliding door and let us out.
    “Where you going tonight, Yoshino?” I asked before the door could close.
    “Out with my husband,” she said. “It's our fifteenth anniversary.” She looked from Hammond to me. “How’d you know I was going out?”
    “Your hair,” I said. “It looks terrific.”
    “No kidding?” Yoshino said, raising her hand to give it a proprietary pat. “I hope so. It took decades.”
    “It was worth it,” I said. Hammond gave a snort and headed down the hallway.
    I put my hand on the sliding door, and she looked up at me inquiringly.
    “Call me if there's another one who's been burned that way,” I said, slipping a card into her hand. “Anyone with a burned belly button.”
    “I only do official work,” she said, sliding the door sharply closed. I barely got my fingers out in time.
    Hammond was waiting for me halfway down the hall.
    “What about my hair?” he asked, all tough guy again.
    “The Red Dog tonight,” I said. “Nine o'clock. Your hair will look perfect. You want me to talk to the cops? Bring me the right cop to talk to.”
    His mouth twisted. “That one's not so easy,” he said.
    “Do it, Al,” I said. “Otherwise, I'm on my own.”

5 - Aurora
    I  t was still only ten-forty-five, but I felt like I'd been awake for weeks. The world, as seen through the gritty glass of a downtown phone booth, was briefly bright. Even down here, directly across the street from police headquarters in Parker Center, traffic was light. The Saturday before Easter Sunday is usually a nice, peaceful day. I dialed my own number and listened to my answering machine go through its usual rigmarole.
    “Hey, Simeon,” Roxanne said, ever effervescent. I dated Roxanne occasionally, and now that Eleanor was in China I was seeing more of her than usual. “I have hidden eggs everywhere , and not even the big detective is going to find one of them. At least, not without a body search, which is a clue, I guess. What I mean is that I hope you haven't forgotten that you're supposed to be here tonight and that we're going to do eggs tomorrow morning. I'm tending bar at McGinty's until eleven, and I expect to see you there just before we close. If you're not, I've saved a dozen raw eggs and you'll find them in your bed when you get home. They'll be broken, like my heart. Be there, buster, and no excuses.” She hung up.
    I'd forgotten all about it. For the tenth time I resolved to get an appointment book and write things down