“We had ’em done at the university. Here it is. Blood point five milligrams per one hundred milliliters, liver one point five milligrams per the same thing, and?—”
“May I see?” Perkins asked.
Corey surrendered the list. I looked over Perkins’s shoulder.
MORPHINE ESTIMATIONS
BLOOD | 0.5 MG PER 100 ML
LIVER | 1.5 MG PER 100 ML.
URINE | 2.0 MG PER 100 ML.
STOMACH NEGATIVE
ALCOHOL ESTIMATIONS
BLOOD | 80 MG PER 100 ML.
LIVER | 37 MG PER 100 ML.
URINE | 97 MG PER 100 ML.
STOMACH | 115 MG PER 100 ML.
BARBITURATE ESTIMATIONS
NONE DETECTED IN ANY SPECIMENS.
COCAINE ESTIMATIONS
NONE DETECTED IN ANY SPECIMENS.
NO BENZOIC ACID OR ECGONINE IN ANY SPECIMENS.
HIPPURIC ACID IN URINE: NEGATIVE.
Perkins tapped the list with a restless forefinger. “You found no traces of cocaine anywhere in the body,” he said. “Was there any substance in the nasal passage?”
“No,” Corey said.
“I see. What about the sock?”
“You were right,” Corey said grudgingly. “Traces of Camay soap and blood.”
“Good,” Perkins said. “Now one last question: Did anyone find any pipes in McDougall’s room?”
“Pipes? No.”
“Very good. Thank you for taking the time to come out here, Officer Corey.”
“You mean that’s all?”
“That’s all I need to know. I mean, I assume you’ve already questioned Clete Williams...”
Corey sneaked a quick look over at Clete, who was still sitting over in the corner, next to the same girl. “Of course. We’ve spoken to everyone who was?—”
Perkins cut him off. “But you never did charge him.”
