I couldn't imagine anyone adding something to a good scotch, and I doubted there was much to improve on in a fine bourbon either.

"Had you changed your clothes, Jean, to get ready to go to sleep?"

"No. Cara turned on the CD player and we started listening to the soundtrack from the show. Selim came back into the room and handed us each a drink. He offered a toast to our friendship and we clinked our glasses together."

The young woman rested her elbows on the desk and cushioned her head in her hands while I asked her how much of the cocktail she drank.

"Three sips of it, Ms. Cooper. Maybe four. I swear I didn't have any more than that."

"Any marijuana?"

"No. I mean he had some in the apartment-he offered me a joint that he took out of a drawer in one of the tables, but I didn't smoke any."

I needed her candor. The blood and urine that had been collected by the nurse-examiner would confirm her answer.

"Did he smoke?"

"Not in front of us. Not that I saw."

"What's the next thing you remember?"

"There was no next thing. That's the last memory I have, really. I felt dizzy and weak-so weak that I tried to stand up but I couldn't. The room started spinning and then it was dark. Completely black. That's all I know." Jean pushed herself upright again, looked at her nail-the bed red with irritation from her biting-and then back at me.

"Until…?"

"Until I woke up this morning."

"In the living room?"

"No, no. No. I was in one of the beds in the other room. That's what's so strange about this, Ms. Cooper. I was dressed in my nightgown, my clothes were folded neatly on top of my suitcase," Jean said, dropping her head back in her hands and lowering her voice. "And I ached. I ached terribly."

"I need to know where it hurt. Exactly where you felt it."