Can’t talk long: I appear to have a dead prostitute in a Catholic school girl uniform floating face-down in my pool. No idea how she got there — things got a little hazy after the eighth or ninth Oxy — but I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for it. I just need to figure out what that explanation might be before paramedics and law enforcement arrive.
Crap, too late. Oh well. It won’t be the first time I’ve refused to answer a lot of stupid questions about dead hookers, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. Not so long as I’m paying all this good money for lawyers, at least.