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Trial by Coitus with Belinda The Black.

" As soon as Miller went down to the man cave, Wells and I took Rogers down the stairs, a step at a time, with me in front and Wells behind. Ellie grabbed some basth towels and followed us down the stairs. Over the next ten minutes we stuffed rolled gauze up his nostrils and wrapped gauze around his head, to surround his nose and catch as much of the blood as we could.

As I stood up I could hear women's voices chattering amiably. Ellie had gone up to be with Sherry, who was peering down from the top of the stairs. She asked, "Everything okay?"

I smiled up at her and answered, "Proceeding as planned." Then I saw Sonia's face as she looked around Sherry at the suspect, who now looked like the victim of a bomb blast. She asked, "Nose?"

"Yeah. We'll spread this shower curtain over the back seat of the car to catch the blood. I'll need two rolls of paper towels and four white garbage bags for the trip. Maybe two or three big towels just in case. Tony excused himself and slipped around the ladies as he came down the stairs. "Keys in the car?"



"On the driver's seat."

Ronald Rogers was placed into the back seat of the car, an old Lincoln TownCar, with his ankles tied securely together and then suspended above seat height from the riser rods of the head rest on the shotgun seat. We got Rogers situated so he was in a stable position, secured him with two seat belts, and made sure he could breathe all right. Then Ellie took a syringe out of her purse and gave him a shot in his shoulder, right through his shirt. "Monitor his breathing, Ralph. You can insert a hand through the front of his shirt, just above his belt buckle, to feel his diaphragm. Keep checking for the next fifteen minutes, and after that you can just spot check every ten to fifteen minutes."

Once Rogers was asleep and breathing evenly, Sonia came to the garage with a portable fingerprint kit and took his prints. She gave them to Wells, to be checked on the FBI's computerized ID system. Then we were ready to travel.

Tony drove, Ellie was in the shotgun seat, and I was in back with our suspect. We were making great time down Interstate 10, until a state trooper pulled us over for speeding. "I'll handle this," said Ellie.

The trooper came up to the driver's window. Ellie reached across Tony and opened her ID wallet. "Federal agent, officer, on official business."

The trooper pulled out a little notebook and wrote her name and ID number. "Thank you, ma'am. I'll radio ahead. You're cleared to wherever you're going."

As he was flipping his notebook closed, he mumbled to Tony, "Best lookin' Fed I've ever seen."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The trip to the private hospital south of Patagonia was about 180 miles, and it took us about two and a half hours. Doctor Johnson was expecting us, and we were relieved of our prisoner by two burly Mexican orderlies. I went with them, to look at the room he was to be confined in. It was very plain. The walls were concrete blocks, painted off-white. There was one small window high up in the outside wall. Furniture was a bed, a small bedside table with a drawer, and a chair. The bathroom was open to the bedroom, with a small step down from the bedroom floor so it could be hosed down. It had a toilet, sink, and small shower stall. The door to the hall had a viewing port, glazed with heavy Plexiglas, with a sliding panel to cover it on the outside. Below that was a wide, low panel that could be opened, closed, and locked from the outside, for passing food trays in and out.

Doctor Johnson invited us to join him for a late lunch, and we discussed the case of Ronald Rogers, whom we called Edwin Smith.

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