Blow Fly

56

JUST PLAIN-JANE COPYING PAPER," Polunsky's public information officer, Wayne Reeve, explains to Scarpetta over the phone.

"We buy it by the ream and sell it to the inmates for a penny a sheet. Envelopes are cheap white dime-store variety, three for a quarter," he adds. "If you don't mind my asking, why are you interested?"

"Research."

"Oh." His curiosity lingers.

"Forensic paper analysis. I'm a scientist. What if the inmate doesn't have commissary privileges?" Scarpetta inquires from her office in Delray Beach.

She was rushing out of the house with her suitcase when the phone rang. Rose answered it. Scarpetta eagerly took the call. She will miss her flight to New York.

"He-or she-can get writing paper, envelopes, stamps and so on. No one is denied that privilege, no matter what. You can understand it. Lawyers," Reeve says.

Scarpetta doesn't ask him if Jean-Baptiste Chandonne is still on death row. She doesn't hint that she's gotten a letter from him and is no longer certain Chandonne is safely locked up.

Enough, you son of a bitch.

I've had enough, you son of a bitch.

You want to see me, you'll see me, you son of a bitch.

You want to talk, we'll talk all right, you son of a bitch.

If you've escaped, I'm going to find out, you son of a bitch.

If you did or didn't write this letter, I'm going to find out, you son of a bitch.

You're not going to hurt anybody else, you son of a bitch.

I want you dead, you son of a bitch.

"Can you send me samples of commissary paper?" she asks Reeve.

"You'll get them tomorrow," he promises.