“It won’t be much longer,” Gary said. He got to his feet and focused his attention on Archie’s neck. The stray fine hairs at Gary’s hairline fluttered every time Archie exhaled. Archie tried to remain perfectly still. It was hard to be still. Every one of Archie’s knuckles suddenly needed cracking. His nose itched. He wanted to stretch. He was cold. Gary produced a pair of tweezers and plucked something off Archie’s skin and deposited it in a plastic bag. Gary had done that four times so far, and each time the item he’d pulled off Archie had been so minuscule that Archie couldn’t see it at all.

“What’s that?” Archie asked.

Gary shrugged. “Probably nothing,” he said. He tucked the bag into his crime scene kit and returned with a small black plastic comb and then settled onto his heels in front of Archie. “I’m going to comb your pubic hair,” he said.

Archie wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he tried to remain stoic as Gary drew the comb through Archie’s pubic hair in short swift strokes, stopping after each stroke to examine the comb for any errant hairs. When Gary saw hairs on the comb he eased them into an evidence bag. After thirty or so strokes, he sealed the bag, wrote something on it, and stowed it in his crime scene kit.

When Gary turned back to Archie he was holding what looked like a six-inch-long Q-tip.

Archie had a bad feeling about this. He took a small step back.

“We use this to perform two tests,” Gary said, wiggling the Q-tip. “We use it to swab the shaft and glans of the penis to search for traces of vaginal mucus, and we also insert it into the urethra to collect a sample for STD testing.”

“Excuse me?” Archie said. His mouth felt very dry.

“It’s protocol,” Gary said. “For a full examination.”

“It’s unnecessary,” Archie said emphatically. “Because I did not have sex with her.”

Gary pursed his lips. “It’s my understanding you don’t remember much of last night, yes?” he said. “So you can’t be sure, can you?”

Archie drew his hands through his hair. He hadn’t considered the possibility that he’d had sex with Gretchen last night or that there had been anything more to the evening than what the tape showed. But he had lost five hours, and the tape only accounted for two minutes of that. He was barely conscious in the boathouse footage, but who’s to say what state he’d been in before that? He wanted to believe he hadn’t had sex with her. But at the same time he couldn’t put it past himself, not with their history. He knew himself well enough to know that.

Archie eyed the Q-tip pinched between Gary’s latex-clad fingers. “We have to do both tests?” he asked.