"So, who's this?" he asked me.

"Yes, I guess the two of you haven't met," I said. "Detective Roche of Chesapeake, this is Captain Marino with Richmond."

Roche was looking closely at the hookah, and the sound of Danny cutting through ribs with shears on the next table was getting to him. His complexion was the shade of milk glass again, his mouth bowed down.

Marino lit a cigarette and I could tell by the expression on his face that he had made his decision about Roche, and Roche was about to know it.

"I don't know about you," he said to the detective, "but one thing I discovered early on, is once you come to this joint, you never feel the same about liver. You watch." He tucked the lighter back inside his shirt pocket. "Me, I used to love it smothered in onions." He blew out smoke.

"Now, on the pain of death you couldn't make me touch it."

Roche leaned closer to the hookah, almost burying his face in it, as if the smell of rubber and gasoline was the antidote he needed. I resumed work.

"Hey, Danny," Marino went on, "you ever eat shit like kidneys and gizzards since you started working here?"

"I've never ate any of that my entire life," he said as we removed the breastplate. "But I know what you mean.

When I see people order big slabs of liver in restaurants, I almost have to dive for the door. Especially if it's even the slightest bit pink."

The odor intensified as organs were exposed, and I leaned back.

"You smelling it?" Danny asked.

"Oh, yeah," I said.

Roche retreated to his distant corner, and now that Marino had had his fun, he walked over and stood next to me.

"So you think he drowned?" Marino quickly asked.

"At the moment I'm not thinking that. But certainly, I'm going to look for it," I said.

"What can you do to figure out he didn't drown?"