“Our first person of interest was Harmony LaFab. Hardly had to work for that one. A traumatized, strung-out prostitute, she needed to tell us her story. Our job was simply to listen—though trust me when I tell you some detectives would’ve still ruined the moment, feeling a need to talk over the witness. Doing less is often doing more, which was the best strategy with Harmony LaFab.

“Now, however, we’re returning to the motel night manager, Shaggy. Phil had already talked to the man once, getting permission to watch the video footage. According to Phil, Shaggy, whose real name involves more vowels than consonants, is a stringy, midthirties Eastern European male, most likely raised in a country where cops are the enemies and your best shot at getting ahead involves selling out your own mom. In other words, Shaggy won’t be volunteering anything for our benefit. This is going to take work.

“First off, we want to be as prepared as possible. So while I drove, Phil called our other squad mate, Neil, to get the latest on COD—cause of death. The ME wouldn’t be making an official ruling for days, but that doesn’t mean we can’t get some expert guesses to guide our discussion.

“According to Neil, COD appeared to be exsanguination from lower-leg amputation. Now, this is where things get interesting. For one thing, last we’d heard from Harmony LaFab, Wrobleski had started the deed with the butcher knife, but lost heart before ever reaching bone. According to her statement, when she fled the scene he’d already tossed aside the knife and was begging nine-one-one to save him.

“But the leg definitely ended up severed. Furthermore, Neil discovered scratch marks on the bone consistent with the teeth of the bloody hacksaw recovered from the scene. Meaning someone—Wrobleski? our mysterious wallet thief?—finished the job at hand. And to add even more insult to injury, at some point in the leg-removal process, the tourniquet was loosened. For those of you trained in first aid, a proper tourniquet needs to be twisted tightly—you can use, say, a pencil or a stick to twist the knot tight enough to cut off blood flow, then tie it off. In Wrobleski’s case, he’d definitely need to pinch off the major arteries in the leg before hacking away at his lower extremity.

“Instead, Neil found only a knotted silk tie serving as the tourniquet. Except this didn’t make sense to him. What kind of man goes to the trouble to research dry ice, only to botch a basic tourniquet?

“So he went back to the bathroom and searched the floor on his hands and knees. Where Neil discovered, behind the toilet, a bloody plastic pen bearing the name of the consulting firm where Wrobleski worked. Neil’s theory: Wrobleski had fashioned a proper tourniquet using the pen to get the necessary torque. But at some point, someone removed the pen, loosening the knot, and leading to catastrophic blood loss. Needless to say, Neil bagged the pen for prints.