“Biting?”

“Oh yeah. That always turned her on. And not just some wimpy pecking, either-she wanted a good hard bite. The kind that mattered. I mean, when I pressed my teeth into her neck, she squealed like a pig.”

Out the corner of his eye, Ben saw the jury scrutinizing the man, trying to decide if they thought it was remotely credible that the beautiful young intern Padolino had painted as a virtual nun could have sex with this walking waste dump. Verdict: no.

“Mr. Bartmann, when was the last time you had sexual relations with Miss Cooper?”

“The night before she was killed.”

Almost as one, the jury members’ chins lowered.

“Within twenty-four hours of the time of death?”

“Less than ten, from what I hear. She was killed like around ten in the morning, right?”

“Something like that.”

He folded his arms across his chest, obviously proud of himself. “And I had her around midnight. So I’m saying it was ten hours.”

“The coroner found evidence of sexual activity…”

Bartmann jabbed a thumb to his chest. “I’m your man.”

Ben heard the rustling in the gallery, saw the jury shifting in their seats. He knew everyone was uncomfortable with this testimony, with the ugly and bizarre possibility that these allegations could be true. But there was something about the man-his brashness, his lack of shame, the impression that he lacked the smarts to exercise guile-that made his testimony strangely believable.

“And on the occasion of your last encounter, did you bite Ms. Cooper?”

He shrugged. “I don’t really remember, but it seems likely. I mean, she loved that move. Once I sunk some teeth into her, she just got all-”

“Thank you, sir,” Ben said, holding up his hands. “I think we get the idea.” But he still had to convince the jury that this walking talking pond scum had been with Veronica Cooper. He reached into his notebook and produced two documents. “Mr. Bartmann, my apologies, but I’m going to ask you to look at some photographs that were taken of Ms. Cooper postmortem.” He paused. “That means after she was dead.”

“Do I have to?”

“I’m afraid so. Here’s a photo of her right shoulder, the wound that killed her.” As he held it up, the jury winced. “She was cut with a large knife, but there was also evidence of a smaller, more subtle incision to her jugular vein made by some other instrument. Like maybe a tooth.”

“Objection,” Padolino said. “He’s just telling the man what he wants to hear. Leading.”

“I only offered that by way of example,” Ben said innocently.

“It’s not like we don’t all know where this is going,” Judge Herndon said. “Overruled.”

“I didn’t do it,” Bartmann said, cutting in before Ben could ask a question. “I would never hurt Veronica like that.”

“I believe you.” Ben held up the other photo. “This is an enlargement of a much less severe bite wound that was found on the victim’s left shoulder. The bite mark was barely visible when the coroner examined the body; this photo was taken under ultraviolet light.”

“Okay. So?”

“Mr. Bartmann…” Ben paused, trying to think how best to put this. “Say cheese.”

“Huh?”

“I want you to smile. Smile for the jury.”

Bartmann looked understandably confused, but after a moment’s hesitation, he shrugged and replied, “Whatever you say, counselor.” He turned to the jury and grinned.

All his center teeth were missing. Tops and bottoms. From the canines inward. Gone.

“Mr. Bartmann, how did you lose your teeth? Was there an accident?”

“No.” He looked down at his hands. “Least not the way you mean. Happened the last time I was in the joint. Cedars. Rough as hell. On my first day. The cell-block boss had two of his goons hold me down while another one knocked out my teeth. With a hammer.”

Ben heard a satisfying gasp from the gallery. “Were there no guards present?”

“Not present in the room. They were around. They knew what was happening.”

“Then-”

“They had what you might call a special relationship with the cell-block boss. They stayed out of his way, within reason, and he took care of them. Arranged for gifts to be delivered to their homes, their families. Very nice gifts.”

“But why would he want to knock out your front teeth?”

Bartmann looked back at Ben stonily. “That way, if someone shoves something in your mouth, you can’t bite down on it.”

Ben laid a hand on the podium, steadying himself. “Permission to publish the photo to the jury.”

“It’s already been entered into evidence,” Judge Herndon said. “You may proceed.”

Ben walked to the jury box and held it up so they could see the enlarged view of the deceased’s left shoulder. Two things were immediately clear. The first was that it bore a bite mark. And the second was that this most unusual bite mark was missing its center teeth.

“Why’s it always women gettin’ the rough stuff in here?” Loving asked Mina.

“It isn’t,” their indifferently gendered guide explained. “Although that is more common. I’ve got a man tied up in the next room if you’d like to see-”

“No thanks,” Loving said. “I get the picture. All your rooms have people beatin’ on one another.”

“Not necessarily. There are other forms of pleasure. We cater to all types here. We’re a nonjudgmental, equal opportunity pleasure service. You can find people into suffocation, mutilation-”

“Wait a minute. Suffocation?”

“It’s a well-known fact that near-death experiences heighten orgasm. Have you never heard of autoerotic asphyxiation? Not that it’s the only way to get there. Some of our clients apply jumper cables to their nipples, so they can give themselves an added charge at just the right moment. Some wrap up their testicles with leather cords. Some-”

“I think I got the general idea,” Loving said, cutting Mina off. “What about bloodsuckin’?”

“Ah. Some of my clients live for it. But there can be complications. Too much will make you sick. And even a little can-” Mina’s voice dropped to a whisper. “-give you diarrhea. Like, all day long. I hear it’s very erotic when taken to the extreme, or combined with sexual orgasm. But I guess you already know that.”

“What?”

Mina brushed a finger against the left side of Loving’s neck. “Looks like someone took a little nibble on you recently.”

Loving moved his hand to his neck, covering the impression. “Blast. I meant to cover that up.”

“Did you? You know what Freud said. There are no accidents.” Mina smiled-leered, actually. “You liked it, didn’t you?”

“No!” Loving glanced at Shalimar, whom he noticed was inching away. “I did not like it. Not a bit!”

“Right. That’s why you’re here tonight.” Mina leaned close to Shalimar and whispered, “Deep denial.”

Shalimar gave Loving a look he couldn’t read.

“So.” Mina fluttered obviously false eyelashes and eyed Loving mischievously. “See anything that interests you?”

“Uh, maybe. But I… I don’t have my partner.”

“This young lady seems perfectly suitable,” Mina said, motioning toward Shalimar. “Or if you’d prefer something more exotic-”

“No, it has to be the right girl. Otherwise it just doesn’t work for me. I need Beatrice.”

“And who would that lucky lady be?”

“You don’t know Beatrice?” Loving paused. “I thought everyone knew Beatrice.”

“Haven’t heard the name, but we don’t use names much around here. For obvious reasons.”

Loving showed Mina the picture Shalimar had given him, but it was no help.

“Is there anyone else I could talk to? Any membership lists I could review?”

“In our community?” Mina seemed appalled by the very suggestion. “I don’t know of anyone who would-or would want to-keep those kinds of records. It isn’t as if we take attendance. No one keeps track of who comes and who doesn’t. Except maybe the Church.”

Church? These people? “And that would be…?”