I was one of the best fingerprint examiners in the world. I could do things the FBI thought impossible. I could memorize fingerprints. The nearby agencies, including local offices of federal agencies that had their own labs, came to me for help. One day in a trial a new-hatched defence attorney tried to make me seem neglectful because I hadn't sent the prints from the crime scene to the FBI for verification. The FBI will not look at prints that have already been identified locally. I tried to get that across to him. Finally I said, "Sir, you don't understand. I don't ask the FBI for help. The FBI asks me for help." The courtroom went dead silent. The lawyer choked a bit and looked frantically at the judge, who knew me quite well. The judge slowly nodded. The lawyer choked a few more times, said, "No further questions," and returned to his seat. I was the only person in the five-state area in which the silver burglar was hitting who got him on fingerprint evidence. He never left fingerprint evidence . . . except when he did. Every other police agency quit looking, because his MO was unmistakable. We didn't. A detective got prints from a bamboo tree he had used to climb in a window, and I got several prints from items he had handled inside the house. After the trial he was being led back to the jail and I was walking down the hall. He stopped and said, "I want to talk to that lady." The bailiff told him he couldn't talk to the witness, but I said I wanted to hear what he had to say. He said, "Lady, you're the smartest cop I ever saw, and I hope to God I never see you again." I think that was the best compliment I ever got. I have other accomplishments. But I consider my police work the most important. The trial probably lasted - more than six months - not enough information - about six months - less than six months
less than six months

The next morning I called up my friend, Nick Unger, who worked for the police department. He agreed to meet me at the Casbah, a glorious little dive bar a few blocks from my apartment. It opened first thing in the morning, realizing the best drunks start early. By the time he showed up I was already deep into my third drink and trying charm the bartender, Maggie, into comping my fourth. I was failing miserably as usual, but at least it was fun trying. As soon as Nick walked through the front door, I slammed my palm down on the bar top. "Tricky Nicky! Have a drink, brother!" He slid onto the bar stool beside me and smiled warmly at the bartender. "Has this low life been giving you grief, Maggie?" She grinned at him. "Only since I opened the front door." Nick winked at her and ordered a half-pint of stout. "Pansy," I scoffed and slammed the rest of my whiskey. He shook his head. "God I miss you, you mad bastard. I can't imagine why Andrea won't let you come around the house anymore." I shrugged. "I know, it's like as soon as she started squirting out brood, she suddenly gets all uptight about people starting fires in the middle of your living room." "Imagine," he said as he raised his glass of beer. I clinked my empty glass to his. "So guess who I ran into last night at Jenny's wedding?" He shrugged. "Brian Lopez." He chuckled. "No shit. How is old Double-Dip?' "Fat and sad," I replied while waving Maggie over for a refill. "And married to a smoking hottie. Well, married or engaged or whatever." Nick nodded. "I met her. They were at a Police Union dinner around the holidays. She's a butterface." I arched my eyebrow. "She had a face?" Maggie rolled her eyes while she filled my glass. Nick caught her glance. "I know, he's got no class, but what are you gonna do?" "Anyways," I continued, "she's way too hot for him, and that's not gonna end well. You just know that one of these days he's gonna come home and find her with the pool boy or some shit." When did the narrator run into Brian Lopez? - During Jenny's wedding - not enough information - After Jenny's wedding - Before Jenny's wedding
During Jenny's wedding

Q: Jenny turned her nose up at me as I sat down, sniffing loudly and filling her nostrils with the strong alcohol stink I was emitting. "So have you been drinking already this morning, or are you just still drunk from last night?" "A little of both," I said. She peered at me disapprovingly over her iced latte. We were sitting at a table in front of a strip mall coffee shop. Jenny was wearing huge gold-rimmed sunglasses and had a decent collection of shopping bags gathered at her feet. "Busy afternoon?" I asked. "Just picking up a few things for Mexico. We leave tomorrow morning." My attention was drawn away by a group of men in black jumpsuits standing around in the parking lot next to a white van with the red Asterion logo painted on its side. It was hard to tell, but I thought one of them was the same guy I'd seen on the Light Rail a couple days before, the one who'd been reading the paper. Jenny seemed to notice my distraction and followed my gaze. "Is something wrong?" "No, it's just those Asterion guys seem to be everywhere now. I guess business must be booming." "Yeah, we hired them last month to archive our old financial records," Jenny replied. "They came in and hauled everything away, I was so happy to get all that empty space back. Of course it doesn't really matter now, since I'm going to have to find a new job when I get back from the honeymoon. "Anyways, I'm rambling," she admitted good-naturedly. "So what did you want to talk to me about?" "I wanted to ask you about someone I met last night." She bared her teeth ecstatically in a knowing grin. "Really? A woman, I presume." "Settle down, it's not like that. She's just a girl who said she can help introduce me to Dylan Maxwell." "Was it Natalie?" she asked. "I don't know. She was wearing a motley dress and a black veil." "Yep, that's Natalie," Jenny confirmed. When did Jenny hire Asterion guys? - She hired them last month. - She hired them last week, which was in the previous month. - She hired them yesterday. - not enough information
A: She hired them last month.