He's always believed that the best way to identify a cottonmouth is to poke at it. If the inside of its mouth is white, whack off its head. Otherwise, the critter's nothing more than a harmless water snake.

He may as well poke at the truth and see what he finds. While sitting at his desk, he picks up the phone and discovers Marino doesn't care who finds him-he has what Dr. Lanier calls a bring-'em-on attitude. He envisions Marino as the type who would ride a Fat Boy Harley, probably without a helmet. The cop's answering machine doesn't say he can't answer the phone because he's not in or is on the other line, which is what most professional, polite people record as greetings. The recorded gruff male voice says, "Don't call me at home," and offers another number for the person to try.

Dr. Lanier tries the other number. The voice that answers sounds like the recorded one.

"Detective Marino?"

"Who wants to know?"

He's from New Jersey and doesn't trust anyone, probably doesn't like hardly anyone, either.

Dr. Lanier introduces himself, and he's careful about what he says, too. In the trust and like department, Marino's met his match.

"We had a death down here about eight years ago. You ever heard of a woman named Charlotte Dard?"

"Nope."

Dr. Lanier gives him a few details of the case.

"Nope."

Dr. Lanier gives him a few more.

"Let me ask you something. Why the hell would I know anything about some drug overdose in Baton Rouge?" Marino's not at all nice about it.

"Same question I have."

"Huh? What is this? Are you some asshole bullshitting me?"

"A lot of people think I'm an asshole," Dr. Lanier replies. "But I'm not bullshitting you."