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ot of the bed。
Sanchez picked up one of the long…legged dolls。 Hoke sniffed the anima of the owner…Patou's Joy； perspiration； cold cream； bath powder； soap； and stale cigarette smoke。
〃You ever notice；〃 he said； 〃how a woman's room always smells like the inside of her purse？〃
〃Nope。〃 Sanchez dropped the doll on the bed。 〃But I've noticed that a man's bedroom smells like a YMCA locker room。〃
〃When were you〃…Hoke started to say 〃inside a man's bedroom〃 but caught himself…〃inside the Y locker room？〃
〃When I was on patrol； a long time ago。 Some kid claimed he'd been raped in the shower。〃 She shrugged。 〃But nothing ever came of the investigation。 No doubt someone cornholed him； but we figured he claimed rape because the other kid wouldn't pay him。 It became a juvenile matter； and I was never called to court。〃
〃How long were you on the street？〃
〃Just a little over three months。 Then I spent a year guarding manholes all day so Southern Bell could hook up wires under the street。 Then； because I was bilingual； they made me a dispatcher。 Seven years listening to problems and doing nothing about them。〃
〃Okay 。 。 。 let's take a look at the body。 You can tell me what to do about it。〃 Hoke closed the door to the master bedroom and they crossed the hallway。
Jerry Hickey； with his teeth bared in a frozen grin； was supine on a narrow cot。 Except for his urine…stained blueand…white shorts； he was naked。 His arms hugged his sides； with the fingers extended； like the hands of a skinny soldier lying at attention。 His feet were dirty； and his toenails hadn't been clipped in months。 His eyes were closed。 Hoke rolled back the left eyelid with a thumb。 The iris was blue。
On a round Samsonite bridge table next to the bed there were three sealed plasticene bags of white powder and shooting paraphernalia…a Bic lighter； a silver spoon； and an empty hypodermic needle with the plunger closed。 There was the butt of a hand…rolled cigarette in an ashtray； and three tightly rolled balls of blue tinfoil。 Hoke put the butt； the tinfoil balls； and the square packets of powder into a Baggie； which he stuffed into the left…hand pocket of his poplin leisure…suit jacket。 The right…hand pocket was lined with glove leather and already held several loose rounds of 。38 tracer ammunition； his pack of short Kools； three packages of book matches； and two hard…boiled eggs in Reynolds wrap。
Hoke stepped back a pace and nodded to Ellita Sanchez。 There was a knotted bandana tied around the dead man's upper left arm。 She examined the arm without loosening the crude tourniquet and looked at the scabs on his arm。 〃Here's a large hole；〃 she said； 〃but the other track marks look older。〃
〃Sometimes they shoot up in the balls。〃
〃You mean the scrotum； not in the balls。〃 Sanchez； with some difficulty； pulled down the stained boxer shorts and lifted the man's testicles。 There were a half…dozen scabs on the scrotum。
〃This malnourished male；〃 she said； 〃about eighteen or nineteen； is definitely a habitual user。〃 She pointed to a row of splotchy red marks on the dead man's neck。 〃I don't know what these are。 They could be thumb marks or love bites。〃
〃When I was in school；〃 Hoke said； smiling； 〃we called 'em hickeys。 That's what we used to do in junior high in Riviera Beach。 Two of us guys would grab a girl in the hall between classes； usually some stuck…up girl。 While one guy held her； the other guy would suck a couple of splotches onto her neck。 Then〃…Hoke laughed…〃when the girl went home； it was her problem to explain to her parents how she got 'em。〃
〃I don't get it。〃 Sanchez appeared to be genuinely puzzled。 〃Why would you do something like that？〃
〃For fun。〃 Hoke shrugged。 〃We were young； and it seemed like a fun thing to do to some stuck…up girl。〃
〃Nothing like that ever happened at Shenandoah Junior High here in Miami。 Not that I know of； anyway。 I saw girls with hickeys at Southwest High； but I don't think any of them were put there by force。〃
〃You Latin girls lead a sheltered life。 But the point I'm trying to make is； these marks look like hickeys to me。〃
〃Maybe so。 From the smile on his face； he died happy。〃
〃That's not a smile； that's a rictus。 A lot of people who aren't happy to die grin like that。〃
〃I know； Sergeant； I know。 Sorry； I guess I shouldn't joke about it。〃
〃Don't apologize； for Christ's sake。 I don't know how to talk to you sometimes。〃
〃Why not try talking to me like I'm your partner；〃 Ellita said； pressing her lips。 〃And I didn't like that crack about my sheltered life； either。 Growing up in Miami and eight years in the department； I don't even know what sheltered means。 I realize I'm still inexperienced in homicide work but I've been a cop for a long time。〃
〃Okay； partner。〃 Hoke grinned。 〃What's this look like to you？〃
〃This is just an overdose； isn't it？〃
〃It looks that way。〃 Hoke closed his fingers and made tight fists； reaching for something that wasn't there。 He crossed to the closet。 A pair of faded jeans and a white； not very clean； short…sleeved guayabera were draped over the closet door。 Hoke went through the pockets of the shirt and pants and found three pennies； a wallet； and a folder of Holiday Inn matches。 He added these items to the Baggie and then looked at the top of the dresser against the wall。 There was no suicide note in the room； either on the card table or on the dresser； but there were two twenties and a ten on the dresser top。
Hoke pointed at the money without touching it。 〃See this？ Amateurs。 Our two fellow police officers left fifty bucks。 A professional thief would've taken all of it。 But an amateur； for some reason； hardly ever takes it all。 It's like the last cookie in the jar。 If there'd been twenty…two bucks on the dresser； they'd have left two。〃
Hoke added the bills to the stack of hundreds and handed the money to Sanchez。 〃Later on； when you write the report； lock all this dough in my desk。 I'll get it back to Mrs。 Hickey later。〃
The top dresser drawer contained some clean shorts and T…shirts； and a half…dozen pairs of socks。 The other drawers were empty except for dust。 The narrow closet held a dark blue polyester suit； still in its plastic bag from the cleaners； two blue work shirts； and one white button…down shirt on hangers。 There were no neckties。 There were no letters or other personal possessions。 The only clue to the dead man's activities was the book of matches from the Holiday Inn…but there were two dozen Holiday Inns in the Greater Miami area； with two more under construction。
Hoke was puzzled。 If there had been a suicide note； Mrs。 Hickey could have found it and flushed it down the john。 That happened frequently。 A family almost always thought there was a stigma of some kind to a suicide； as if they； in some way； would be blamed。 But this didn't look like a suicide。 This kid； with a thousand bucks and more heroin to shoot up with when he awoke； should have been a very happy junkie。 It was； in all probability； an accidental overdose； perhaps from stronger heroin than Jerry was used to taking。 One less junkie； that was all。
But Hoke still wasn't satisfied。
〃Take a look in the bathroom；〃 Hoke said to Sanchez。 〃I'll call the forensic