“Okay, start talking.”
I told him what had happened from the time I took the phone call from “Michael Shaw” until the time I’d called him.
I also told him the things I hadn’t bothered to tell the cops, because I knew it wouldn’t matter to them. We were just rent boys.
I told him things I couldn’t have told the cops, because up until then I hadn’t remembered them.
Vincent’s expression grew darker and darker, and I couldn’t prevent a shiver. “And you say the glasses and the bottle of Dewar’s were gone?”
“Yeah.”
“Did they draw blood when they got Pretty Boy here?”
“I don’t know. They wouldn’t let me in with him.”
He took out his cell phone and hit speed dial. “It’s Vincent. I’ve got a job for you. Patient in the ED of George Washington Hospital. Name of—” He paused and looked at me. “—Paul Stark.”
I didn’t bother wondering how he knew Paul’s real name. I didn’t even wonder if he knew my name.
“You’ve got the blood for him? Good. I want you to test for rohypnol and GHB.”