Sudden Death by David Rosenfelt

everything they know, though I’m not sure that’s the case with Kenny Schilling. But with Kenny, as with all my clients, my visiting is vital to their sanity, and they are generally desperate to see me and learn whatever is going on in their case.
    My visit to the jail this morning finds Kenny in surprisingly good spirits. A guard has slipped him the morning newspaper, and he’s read Karen’s story raising the possibility that Preston was the victim of a drug killing. It’s the first positive news Kenny’s heard in a very long time, and though it’s totally speculative and publicly denied by Dylan, he chooses to be euphoric over it.
    “So you think this Quintana guy could have done it?” he asks.
    “Somebody did,” I say, deflecting the question. “Preston didn’t go in that closet and shoot himself, did he?”
    “He sure as shit didn’t,” he says, laughing and punching me in the arm, which seems to be his way of being jovial. Since he’s a two-hundred-thirty-pound professional football player with a punch that can dent iron, I’m going to have to give him any future good news over the phone.
    Kenny’s been getting visits from some of his teammates on the Giants, and that has made him more upbeat as well. I’m always torn in situations like this over how much to level with the client. His situation is fairly grim at the moment, but it would do no good to bring him down emotionally. There will be plenty of time for that later.
    My next stop is back at my office, to receive a chemistry lecture from a professor at Fairleigh Dickinson University, located off Route 4 in Teaneck. The professor, Marianna Davila, will serve as my expert witness on the subject should I need one at trial. I’ve used her before and have always enjoyed the interaction. She’s a very pleasant, attractive young woman who has developed an incongruous reputation as one of the leading authorities on street drugs in North Jersey.
    I find with experts in any field that it is counterproductive for me to ask other than general questions early on in our discussions. I don’t want to lead them where I want to go; there’ll be plenty of time for that when I get them on the stand. I want the raw facts first, and then I can figure out how I want to manipulate them.
    I have Kevin and Adam sit in on the meeting, and I start by telling Marianna that we are meeting on a matter relating to the Kenny Schilling case. She tries not to show it, but I see her perk up. I know from past conversations that she wouldn’t know a football from an aardvark, but no one is immune from the barrage of media coverage this case has gotten. And it’s only beginning.
    “Tell us about Rohypnol,” I say.
    “Its nonproprietary name is flunitrazepam” is how she starts, and my eyelids begin drooping. “There is no medically accepted use for it in the United States, and it’s produced almost exclusively outside the country. It’s most prevalent in the U.S. in the South and Southwest, but lately, it’s gotten up here in much bigger quantities. Most of it comes out of Mexico.”
    “How long does it take to have an effect?” I ask.
    “Usually, thirty minutes to an hour, but it peaks in maybe two hours. Blackouts are possible for eight to twenty-four hours after taking it, which is why its main use is as a date-rape drug.” Anticipating my next question, she says, “It lasts in the bloodstream for up to seventy-two hours.”
    “What kind of a high does it give?” Kevin asks.
    She shakes her head. “It doesn’t. It’s more of a low. Think Valium, only way stronger. Very relaxing… gives a feeling of peace, serenity, when users know what they’re doing.”
    We continue to question Marianna, whose knowledge of the subject seems complete. She’ll make a fine witness if we need her, especially since she says that Rohypnol could absolutely be slipped into a drink.
    Marianna leaves, and Adam does as well. I doubt it’s a coincidence; Adam seemed to be so taken