“I suppose it depends on whether they trust you enough to be truthful,” I reply as he lifts out a dripping bottle of water and offers it to me. “No thanks. I’m all set at the moment. It depends on whether you trust them in return,” I add about the twins. “Do you?”

“Hell, by now I’ve got them thinking they’re going to be sworn in as junior detectives any minute. So I’m pretty sure if they had anything else they would have handed it over.”

“I’m also curious about why they didn’t bother picking up the driver’s license.” I begin working the synthetic white pant legs over my horrible shoes. “It was still on the path when Investigator Barclay arrived. I’m wondering how it got where it was and why the girls took other things but left that for some reason.”

“Probably because, the way they figure,” Marino says, “a dead person’s ID would get them caught red-handed. It’s not like they thought it was fine and dandy to take the belongings of someone who’s been injured or in this case killed. Point being, at some level they know right from wrong. They were thinking finders, keepers. And they assumed the dead lady wasn’t going to need sunglasses, a phone or a gold skull pendant anymore.”

“They said that?”

“Pretty much.”

“Well she wouldn’t be needing money anymore either.”

“I know. But unless they’ve got it hidden in their underwear?” He gulps the water, and the bottle is almost empty when he returns it to the cooler bag. “But I’ll have Flanders check into that because there was no way in hell I was going to and be accused of manhandling them.”

“Let’s hope there’s nothing else they’ve squirreled away that the victim wasn’t going to need anymore.” I replay my encounters with the cyclist when we were in front of the Faculty Club.

I didn’t notice much in the way of jewelry.

“I didn’t see a watch, for example,” I pass on to Marino. “But the phone, the sunglasses and any other items Anya and Enya picked up and tucked inside their knapsacks will be a problem if this goes to court.”

“I hope they didn’t mess up anything that matters.” He splays his fingers, working his hands into new gloves. “Not that there’s anything much to mess up. So far I’m not seeing discernible footprints, no fresh cigarette butts. No blood drips or anything that might make you think there was a struggle. It’s like she was already dead when she hit the ground.”

“It certainly appears that she didn’t move.” I stand up and work my arms into the slippery white sleeves. “Based on what I’m seeing, I suspect once she was on the ground she was unconscious and dying,” I add as my phone rings.