Cruel and Unusual

10

It was late afternoon, and Richmond's skyline was in view when I called Rose.

“Dr. Scarpetta, where are you?”

My secretary sounded frantic. “Are you in your car?”

“Yes. I'm about five minutes from downtown.”

“Well, keep driving. Don't come here right now.”

“What?”

“Lieutenant Marino's trying to reach you. He said if I talk to you to tell you to call him before you do anything. He said it's very, very urgent.”

“Rose, what on earth are you talking about?”

“Have you been listening to the news? Did you read the afternoon paper?”

“I've been in D.C. all day. What news?”

“Frank Donahue was found dead early this afternoon.”

“The prison warden? That Frank Donahue?”

“Yes.”

My hands tensed on the wheel as I stared hard at the road.

“What happened?”

“He was shot. He was found in his car a couple of hours ago. It's just like Susan.”

“I'm on my way,” I said. gliding into the left lane and accelerating.

“I really wouldn't. Fielding's already started on him. Please call Marino. You need to read the evening paper. They know about the bullets.”

`They?” I said.

“Reporters. They know about the bullets linking Edgy; Heath's and Susan's cases.”

“I called Marino's pager and told him I was on my way home. When I pulled into my garage, I went straight to the front stoop and retrieved the evening paper.

A photograph of Frank Donahue smiled above they fold: The headline read, “STATE PENITENTIARY WARDEN SLAIN.”

Below this was a second story featuring the photograph of another state official - me: That story's lead was that the bullets recovered from the bodies of the Heath boy and Susan had been fired from the same gun, and a number of bizarre connections seemed to link both homicides to me. In addition to the same intimation that had run in the Post was information much more sinister. My fingerprints, I was stunned to read, had been recovered from an envelope containing cash that the police had found inside Susan Story's house. I had demonstrated an “unusual interest” in Eddie Heath’s case by appearing at Henrico Doctor's Hospital, prior to his death, to examine his wounds. Later I had performed his autopsy, and it was at this time that Susan refused to witness his case and supposedly fled from the morgue When she was murdered less than two weeks later, I responded to the scene, appeared unannounced at the home of her parents directly afterward to ask them questions, and insisted on being present during the autopsy. I was not directly assigned a motive for malevolence toward anyone, but the one implied in Susan's case was as infuriating as it was amazing. I may have been making major mistakes on the job. I had neglected to print Ronnie Joe Waddell when his body came to the morgue after his execution. I recently had left the body of a homicide victim in the middle of a corridor, virtually in front of an elevator used by numerous people who worked in the building, thus seriously compromising the chain of evidence. I was described as aloof and unpredictable, with colleagues observing that my personality had begun to change after the death of my lover, Mark James. Perhaps Susan, who had worked by my side daily, had possessed knowledge that could ruin me professionally. Perhaps I had been paying for her silence.

“My fingerprints?” I said to Marino the instant he appeared at my door. “What the hell is this business about fingerprints belonging to me?”

“Easy, Doc.”

“I might just file suit this time. This has gone too far.”

“I don't think you want to be filing anything right now.“ He got out his cigarettes as he followed me toll kits; where the evening paper was spread out on the table. “Ben Steven is behind this.”

“Doc, I think what you watt to do is listen to what I've got to say.”

“He's got to be the source of the leak about bullets -“

“Doc. Goddam it, shut up.”

I sat down. “My ass is in the fire, too,” he said. “I'm working cases with you: and now suddenly you've become an element. Yes, we did find an envelope in Susan's house. It was in a dresser drawer under some clothes. There were three one-hundred-dollar bills inside it. Vander processed the envelope and several latents popped up. Two of them are yours. Your prints, like mine and those of a lot of other investigators, are in AFIS for exclusionary purposes, in case we ever do a dumbshit thing leave our prints at a scene.”

“I did not leave prints at any scene. There's a logic explanation for this. There has to be. Maybe the envelope was one I touched at some point at the office or the morgue, and Susan took it home.”

“It's definitely not an office envelope,” Marino said. “It's about twice as wide as a legal-size envelope of stiff, shiny black paper. There's no writing on it.”

I looked at him in disbelief as it dawned on me. “The scarf I gave her.”

“What scarf?”

“Susan's Christmas present from me was a red silk scarf I bought in San Francisco. What you're describing is the envelope it was in, a glossy black envelope made of cardboard or stiff paper. The flap closed with a-small gold seal. I wrapped the, present myself. Of course my prints would be on it.”

“So what about the three hundred dollars?” he said, avoiding my eyes.

I don't know anything about any money.”

“I'm saying, why was it in the envelope you gave her?”

“Maybe because saw wanted to hide her cash in something. The envelope was handy. Maybe she didn't want to throw it away. I don't know. I had no control over what she dad with something I gave her.”

“Did anybody see you give her the scarf?” he asked.

“No. Her husband wasn't home when she opened my Yeah, well, the only gift from you anyone seemed to know about was a pink poinsettia. Don't sound like Susan said a word about you giving her a scarf.”

“For God's sake, she was wearing the scarf when she was shot, Marino.”

“That don't tell us where it came from.”

“You're about to move into the accusatory stage,” I snapped.

“I'm not accusing you of nothing. Don't you get it? This is the way it goes, goddam it. You want me to baby you and pat your hand so some other cop can bust inhere and broadside you with questions like this?”

He got up and began pacing the kitchen, staring at tire floor, his hands in his pockets.

“Tell me about Donahue,” I said quietly.

“He was shot in his ride, probably early this morning. According to his wife, he left the house around sixteen. Around one-thirty this afternoon, his Thunderbird` was found parked at Deep Water Terminal with him in it.”

“I read that much in the paper.”

“Look. The less we talk about it, the better.”

“Why? Are reporters going to imply that I killed him, too.

“Where was you at six-fifteen this morning, Doc?”

“I was getting ready to leave my house and drive to Washington.”

“You got any witnesses that will verify you couldn't have been cruising around Deep Water Terminal? It's not very far from the Medical Examiner's Office, you know. Maybe two minutes.”

“That's absurd.”

'Get used to it. This is just the beginning. Wait, until Patterson sinks his teeth into you.”

Before Roy Patterson had run for Commonwealth Attorney, he had been one of the city's more combative, egotistical criminal lawyers. Back then he had never appreciated what I had to say; since in the majority of cases, medical examiner testimony does not cause jurors to think more kindly of the defendant.

“I ever told you how much Patterson hates your guts?”

Marino went on. “You embarrassed him when he was a defense attorney. You sat there cool as a cat in your sharp suits and made him look like an idiot.”

“He made himself look like an idiot. All I did was answer his questions:” “Not to mention, your old boyfriend Bill Boltz was one of his closest pals, and I don't eves need to go into that.”

“I wish you wouldn't.”

“I just know Patterson's going to go after you. Shit, I bet he's a happy man right now.”

“Marino, you're red as a beet. For God's sake, don't go stroking out on me.”

“Let's get back to this scarf you said you gave to Susan:” “I said I gave to Susan?”

“What was the name of the store in San francisco that sold it to you?” he asked.

“It wasn't a store.” He glanced sharply at the as he continued to pace.

“It was a street market. Lots of booths and stalls selling art, handmade things. Like Covent Garden,” I explained.

“You got a receipt?”

“I would have had no reason to save it.”

“So you don't know the name of the booth or whatever. So there's no way to verify that you bought a scarf from some artist type who uses these glassy black envelopes.”

“I can't verify it.”

“He paced some more and I stared out the window. Clouds drifted past oblong and the dark shapes of trees moved in the wind: I got up to close the blinds.

Marino stopped pacing. “Doc, I'm going to need to go through your financial records.”

I did not say anything.

“I've got to verify that you haven't made any large withdrawals of cash in recent Months.”

I remained silent.

“Doc, you haven't; have you?”

I got up from the table, my pulse pounding.

“You can talk to my attorney,” I said.

After Marino left, I went upstairs to the cedar closet where I stored my private papers and began collecting bank statements, tax returns; and various accounting records. I thought of all the defense attorneys in Richmond who would probably be delighted if I were locked up or exiled for the rest of my days. I was sitting in the kitchen making notes on a legal pad when my doorbell rang: I let Benton Wesley and Lucy in, and I knew instantly by their silence that it was unnecessary to tell them what was going on.

“Where's Connie?” I asked wearily.

“She`s hoping to stay through the New Year with her family in Charlottesville.”

“I'm going back to your study, Aunt Kay;' Lucy said without hugging me or smiling. She left with her suitcase.

“Marino wants to go through my financial records,” I said to Wesley as he followed me into the living room.

“Ben Stevens is setting me up. Personnel files and copies of memos are missing from the office, and he's hoping it will appear that I took them. And Roy Patterson, according to Marino, is a happy man these days. That's the update of the hour.”

“Where do you keep the Scotch?”

“I keep the good stuff in the hutch over mere. Glasses are in the bar.”

“I don't want to drink your good stuff.”

“Well, I do.”

I began building a fire.

“I called your deputy chief as I was driving in. Firearms has already taken a look at the slugs that were in Donahue's brain. Winchester one-fifty-grain, lead, unjacketed, twenty-two-caliber. Two of them: One went in his left cheek and traveled up through the skull, the other was a tight contact at the nape of his neck.”

“Fired from the same weapon that killed the other two?”

“Yes. Do you want ice?”

“Please.”

I closed the screen and returned the poker to its stand. “I don't suppose any feathers were recovered from the scene or from-Donahue's body.”

“Not that I know Of. It's clear that his assailant was standing outside the car and shot him through the open driver's window. That doesn't mean this individual wasn't inside with him earlier, but I don't think so. My guess is Donahue was supposed to meet someone at Deep Water Terminal in the parking lot. When this person arrived, Donahue rolled down his window and that was it. Did you have any luck with Downey?” He handed coke my drink and settled on the couch.

“It appears that the origin of the feathers and feather particles recovered from the three other cases is common eider duck.”

“A sea duck?” Wesley frowned. “The down is used in what, ski jackets, gloves?”

“Rarely. Eiderdown is extremely expensive. Your average person is not going to own anything filled with it.”

I proceeded to inform Wesley of the events of the day, sparing no details as I confessed that I had spent several hours: with Nicholas Grueman and did not believe he was even remotely involved in anything sinister.

“I'm glad you went to see him,” Wesley said. “I was hoping you would”

“Are you surprised by how it turned out?’

“No. It makes sense the way it turned out: Grueman's predicament is somewhat similar to your own. He gets a fax from Jennifer Deighton and it looks suspicious just as it looks suspicious that your prints were found on an envelope in Susan's dresser drawer. When violence hits close to you, you get splashed. You get dirty.”

“I'm more than splashed. I feel as if I'm about to drown.”

“At the moment, it seems that way. Maybe you ought to be talking to Grueman about that “ I did not reply.

“I'd want him on my side.”

“I wasn't aware that you knew him.”

Ice rattled quietly as Wesley sipped his drink. Brass on the hearth gleamed in the firelight Wood popped, sending sparks swarming up the chimney.

“I know about Grueman,” he said. “I know that he graduated number one from Harvard Law School, was the editor of the Law Review, and was offered a teaching position there but turned it down. That broke his heart. But his wife, Beverly, did not want to move from the D.C. area. Apparently, she had a lot of problems, not the least of which was a young daughter, from a first marriage who was institutionalized at Saint Elizabeths at the time Grueman and Beverly met. He moved to D.C. The daughter died several years later.”

“You've been running a background check on him,” I said.

“Sort of”

“Since when?”

“Since I learned he had received a fax from Jennifer Deighton. By all accounts, it appears he’s Mr. Clean, but someone still had to talk to him.”

“That's not the only reason you suggested it to me, is it?”

“An important reason but not the only one. I thought you should go back there.”

I took a deep breath. “Thank you, Benton. You are good man with the best of intentions.”

He lifted his glass to his lips and stared into the fire.

“Please don't interfere,” I added.

“It's not my style.”

“Of course it is. You're a pro at it. If you want to quietly steer, propel, or unplug someone from behind the scenes, you know how to do it. You know how to throw up so many obstacles and blow out so many bridges that someone like me would be lucky to find her way home.”

“Marino and I are very involved in all this, Kay. Richmond P.D. is involved. The Bureau's involved. Either we've got a psychopath out there who should have been executed or we've got somebody else who seems intent on making us think someone is out there who should have been executed.”

“Marino doesn't want me involved at all,” I said.

“He's in an impossible situation. He's the chief homicide investigator for the city and a member of a Bureau VICAP team, yet he's your colleague and friend. He's supposed to find out everything he can about you and what's gone on in your office. Yet his inclination is to protect you. Try to put yourself in his position.”

“I will. But he needs to put himself in mine.”

“That's only fair.”

“The way he talks, Benton, you would think half the world has a vendetta against me and would love to see me go up in flames.”

“Maybe not half the world, but there are people other than Ben Stevens who are standing around with boxes of matches and gasoline.”

“Who else?”

“I can't give you names because I don't know. And I'm not going to claim that ruining you professionally is the major mission for whoever is behind all this. But I suspect it's on the agenda, if for no other reason than that the cases would be severely compromised if it appears that all evidence routed through your office is tainted. Not to mention, without you, the Commonwealth loses one of its most potent expert witnesses.”

He met my eyes. “You need to consider what your testimony would be worth right now. If you took the stand this minute, would you be helping or hurting Eddie Heath?”

The remark cut to the bone.

“Right this minute, I would not be helping him much. But if I default, how much will that help him or anyone?”

“That's a good question. Marino doesn't want you hurt further, Kay.”

“Then perhaps you can impress upon him that the only reasonable response to such an unreasonable situation is for me to allow him to do his job while he allows me to do mine.”

“Can I refresh that?”

Getting up, he returned with the bottle. We didn't bother with ice.

“Benton, let's talk about the killer. In light of what's happened to Donahue, what are you thinking now?”

He set down the bottle and stirred the fire. For moment, he stood before the fireplace, his back to;a hands in his pockets. Then he sat on the edge of hearth, his forearms on his knees. Wesley was more rev less than I had seen him in a very long time.

“If you want to know the truth, Kay, this animal scares the hell out of me.”

“How is he different from other killers you have p sued?”

“I think he started out with one set of rules and then decided to change them.”

“His rules or someone else's?”

“I think the rules were not his at first. Whoever behind the conspiracy to free Waddell first made the decisions. But this guy's got his own rules now. Or maybe would be better to say that there are no rules now. He is cunning and he's careful. So far, he's in control.”

“What about motive?” I asked.

“That's hard. Maybe it would be better for me phrase it in terms of mission or assignment. I suspect there's some method to his madness, but the madness what turns him on. He gets off on playing with people minds. Waddell was locked up for ten years, then, suddenly the nightmare of his original crime is revisited. On the night of his execution, a boy is murdered in a sexually sadistic fashion that is reminiscent of Robin Naismith's case. Other, people start dying, and all of them are in some way connected to Waddell. Jennifer Deighton was his friend. Susan was it appears, involved, at least tangentially, in whatever this conspiracy is. Frank Donahue was the prison warden and would have supervised the execution that occurred on the night of December thirteenth. And what is this doing to everybody else, to the other players?”

“I should think that anyone who has had any association with Ronnie Waddell, either legitimately or otherwise, would feel very threatened,” I replied..

“Right. If a cop killer is on the loose and you are a cop, you know you may be next. I could walk out your door tonight and this guy's waiting in the shadows to gun me down. He could be out in his car somewhere, looking for Marino or trying to find my house: He could be fantasizing about taking out Grueman.”

“Or me.”

Wesley got up and began rearranging the fire again.

“Do you think it would be wise for me to send Lucy back to Miami?” I asked.

“Christ, Kay, I don't know what to tell you. She doesn't want to go home. That comes across loud and clear. You might feel better if she returned to Miami tonight. For that matter, I might feel better if you went with her. In fact, everybody - you, Marino, Grueman, Vander, Connie, Michele, me - would probably feel better if all of us left town. But then who would be left?”

“He would.” I said. “Whoever he is.”

Wesley.glanced at his watch and set his.glass on the coffee table. “None of us should interfere with each other,” he said. “We can't afford to.”

“Benton, I have to clear my name.”

“It is exactly what I would do. Where do you want to start?”

“With a feather.”

“Please explain.”

“It's possible that this killer went out and bought some specialty item filled with eiderdown, but I'd say there's a good chance he stole it.”

“That's a plausible theory.”

“We can't trace the item unless we have its label or some other piece to trace back to a manufacturer, but there may be another way. Maybe something could appear in the newspaper.”

“I don't think we want the killer to know he's leaking feathers everywhere. He's sure to get rid of the item in question.”

“I agree. But that doesn't preclude your getting one of your journalist sources to run some trumped-up little feature about the eider duck and its prized down, and how items filled with it are so expensive that they've become a hot commodity for thieves. Maybe this could be-tied in with the ski season or something.”

“What? In hopes someone out there will call and say that his car was broken into and his down-filled jacket was stolen?”

“Yes. If the reporter quotes some detective who supposedly has been assigned to the thefts; this gives readers someone they can call. You know, people read a story and say ‘The same thing happened to me.’ Their impulse is to help. They warn to feels important. So they pick up the phone”.

“I'll have to give it some thought.”

'Admittedly it's a long shot.”

We began walking to the door. “I spoke briefly with Michele before leaving the Homestead,” Wesley said. “She and Lucy have already been conferring. Michele says your niece is quite frightening.”

“She's been a holy terror since the day she was born”

He smiled. “Michele didn't mean it like that: She says that Lucy's intellect is frightening.”

“Sometimes I worry that it's too much wattage for such a fragile vessel.”

“I'm not certain she's all that fragile. Remember, I just spent the better part of two days with her. I’m very impressed with Lucy on many fronts.”

“Don't you go trying to recruit her for the Bureau.”

“I'll wait until she finishes college` That will take her, what? All of a year?”

Lucy did not emerge from my study, until Wesley had driven off and I was carrying our glasses into the kitchen.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” I asked her.

“Well, I hear you got along famously with the Wesleys.”

I turned off the faucet and sat at the, table where I’d left my legal pad.

“They're nice people.” “

Rumor has it they think you're nice, too.”

She opened the refrigerator door and idly stared; inside. “Why was Pete here earlier?”

It seemed odd to hear Marino referred to by his first name. I supposed he and Lucy had moved from a state of cold war to detente when he had taken her shooting”

“What makes you think he was here?” I asked.

“I smelled cigarettes when I came in the house. I assume he was here unless you're smoking again.”

She shut the refrigerator door and came over to the table.

“I'm not smoking again, and Marino was here briefly.”

“What did he want?”

“He wanted to ask me a lot of questions,” I said.

“About what?”

“Why do you need to know the details?”

Her eyes moved from my face to the stack of financial files to the legal pad filled with my indecipherable penmanship. “It doesn't matter why since you obviously don't want to tell me.”

“It's complicated, Lucy.”

“You always say something's complicated when you want to shut me out,” she said as she turned and walked away.

I felt as if my world were falling apart, the people in it scattering like dry seeds in the wind. When I watched parents with their children, I marveled over the gracefulness of their interactions and secretly feared I lacked an instinct that couldn't be learned: I found my niece in my study sitting before the computer. Columns of numbers combined with letters of the alphabet were on the screen, and embedded here and there were fragments of what I assumed were data. She was making computations with a pencil on graph paper, and did not look up as I moved next to her.

“Lucy, your mother has had many men in and out of your house; and I am well aware of how that has made you feel. But this is not your house and I am not your mother. It is not necessary for you to feel threatened by my male colleagues and friends. It is not necessary for you to constantly be looking for evidence that some man was here, and it is unfounded for you to be suspicious of my relationship with Marino or Wesley or anyone else.”

She did not respond.

I placed my hand on her shoulder. “I may not be the constant presence in your life that I wish I could be, but you are very important to me.”

Erasing a number and brushing rubber particles off the paper, she said, “Are you going to get charged with a crime?”

“Of course not. I haven't committed any crimes.”

I leaned closer to the monitor.

“What you're looking at is a hex dump,” she said.

“You were right. It's hieroglyphics.”

Placing her fingers on the keyboard, Lucy began moving the cursor as she explained, “What I'm doing here is trying to get the exact position of the SID number. That's the State Identification Number, which is the unique identifier. Every person in the system has a SID nun including you, since your prints are in AFIS, too. Fourth generation language, like SQL, I could a query by a column name. But in hexadecimal the language is technical and mathematical. There are no column names, only positions in the record layout. In other words, if I wanted to go to Miami, in SQL I would simply tell the computer I want to go to Miami. But in hexadecimal, I would have to say that I want to go position that is this many degrees north of the, equator and this many degrees east of the prime meridian. “So to extend the geographical analogy, I'm figuring out the longitude and latitude of the SID number also of the number that indicates the record type. Then I can write a program to search for any SID number wheel the record is a type two, which means a deletion, or y type three, which is an update. I'll run this program through each journal tape.”

“You're, assuming that if a record has been tampered with, then, what was changed was the SID?” I asked.

“Let's just say it would be a whole lot easier to with the SID number than it would be to mess with the actual fingerprint images on the optical disk record, that's really all you've got in AFIS - the SID number the corresponding prints. The person's name, his and other personal information are in his CCH, Computerized Criminal History, which resides at CCRE, or the Central Criminal Records Exchange:”

“As I understand it the records in CCRE are linked to the prints in AFIS by the SID numbers,” I said.

“Exactly.”

Lucy was still working when I went to bed I fell right to sleep, only to awaken at two A.M. I did not drift off again until five, and my alarm roused me less than an hour later. I drove downtown in the dark and listened as one of the local radio announcers gave a news update. He reported that police had questioned me, and I had refused to disclose information pertaining to my financial records. He went on to remind everyone that Susan Story had deposited thirty five hundred dollars in her checking account just weeks before her murder.

When I got to the office, I had barely taken off my coat when Marino called.

“The damn major can't keep his mouth shut,” he said right off.

“Obviously.”

“Shit, I'm sorry.”

“It's not your fault. I know you have to report to him.”

Marino hesitated. “I need to ask you about your guns. You don't own a twenty-two, right?”

“You know all about my handguns. I. have a Ruger and a Smith and Wesson. And if you pass that along to Major Cunningham, I'm sure I'll hear about it on the radio within the hour.”

“Doc, he wants them submitted to the firearms lab.”

For an instant, I thought Marino was joking…

“He thinks you should be willing to submit them for examination,” he added. “He thinks it's a good idea to show right away that the bullets recovered from Susan, the Heath kid, and Donahue couldn't have been fired from your guns.”

“Did you tell the major that the revolvers I have are thirty-eights?” I asked, incensed.

“Yes.”

“And he knows that twenty-two slugs were recovered from the bodies?”

“Yeah. I went round and round with him about it.

“Well, ask him for me if he knows of an adapter that would make it possible to use twenty-two rim fire cartridges in a thirty-eight revolver. If he does, tell him he ought to present a paper on it at the next American Academy of Forensic Sciences meeting.”

“I really don't think you want me to tell him that.”

'This is nothing but politics, publicity ploys. It's not even rational.”

Marino did not comment.

“Look,” I said evenly, “I have broken no laws. I am not submitting my financial records, firearms, or anything else to anyone until I have been appropriately advised. I understand that you must do your job, and I want you to do your job. What I want is to be left alone so I can do mine. I have three cases downstairs and Fielding's off to court.”

But I was not to be left alone, and this was made clear when Marino and I concluded our conversation and Rose appeared in my office. Her face was pale, her eyes frightened.

“The governor wants to see you,” she said.

“When?” I asked as my heart slapped.

“At nine.’

It was already eight-forty.

“Rose, what does he want?”

“The person who called didn't say.”

Fetching my coat and umbrella, I walked out into a winter rain that was just beginning to freeze. As I hurried along 14th Street, I tried to recall the last tine I had spoken to Governor Joe Norring and decided it was almost a year ago at a blacktie reception at the Virginia Museum. He was Republican, Episcopalian; and held a law degree from UVA. I was Italian, Catholic, born in: Miami, and schooled in the North. In my heart I was a Democrat.

The Capitol resides on Shockhoe Hill and is surrounded by an ornamental iron fence erected in the early nineteenth century to keep out trespassing cattle. The white brick building Jefferson designed is typical of his architecture, a pure symmetry of cornices and unfluted columns with Ionic capitals inspired by a Roman temple. Benches line the granite steps leading up through the grounds, and as freezing rain fell relentlessly I thought of my annual spring resolution to take a lunch hour away from my desk, and sit here in the sun. Rut I had yet to do it. Countless days of my life had been lost to artificial light and windowless, confined spaces that deed any architectural rubric.

Inside tree Capitol, I found a ladies' room and attempted to bolster my Confidence by making repairs.

Despite my efforts with lipstick and brush, the mirror had nothing reassuring to say. Bedraggled and unsettled, I took the elevator to the top of the Rotunda, where previous governors gaze sternly from oil portraits three floors above Houdon's marble statue -of George Washington. Midway along the south wall, journalists milled about with notepads, cameras, and microphones. I# did not-occur to me that I was their quarry until, as I approached, video cameras were mounted on shoulders, microphones were drawn like swords, and shutters began clicking with the rapidity of automatic weapons.

“Why won't you disclose your finances?”

“Dr: Scarpetta:..”

“Did you give money to Susan Story?”

“What kind of handgun do you own?”

“Doctor“

“Is it true that personnel records have disappeared from your office?”

They chummed the water with their accusations and questions as I fixed my attention straight ahead, my thoughts paralyzed. Microphones jabbed at my chin, bodies brushed against me, and lights flashed in my eyes. It seemed to take forever to reach the heavy mahogany door and escape into the genteel stillness behind it.

“Good morning,” said the receptionist from her fine wood fortress beneath a portrait of John Tyler.

Across the room, at a desk before a window, a plainclothes, Executive Protection Unit officer glanced at me, his face inscrutable.

“How did the press know about this?”

I asked the receptionist.

“Pardon?”

She was an older woman, dressed in tweed.

“How did they know I was meeting with the governor this morning?”

“I'm sorry. I wouldn't know.”

I settled on a pale blue love seat. Walls were papered in the same pale blue; the furniture was antique, with chair seats covered in needlepoint depicting the state seal. Ten minutes slowly passed. A door opened and a young man I recognized as Norring's press secretary stepped inside and smiled at me.

“Dr. Scarpetta, the governor will see you now.”

He was slight of build, blond, and dressed in a navy suit and yellow suspenders.

“I apologize for making you wait. Unbelievable weather we're having. And I understand it's supposed to drop into the teens tonight. The streets will be glass in the morning.”

He ushered me through one well-appointed office after another, where secretaries concentrated behind computer screens and aides moved about silently and with purpose. Knocking lightly on a formidable door, he tuned the brass knob and stepped aside, chivalrously touching my back as I preceded him into the private space of the most powerful man in Virginia. Governor Norring did not get up from his padded leather chair behind his uncluttered burled walnut desk. Two chairs were arranged across from him and I was shown to one while he continued perusing a document.

“Word you like something to drink?” the press secretary asked me.

“No, thank you:” He left softly shutting the door.

The governor placed the document on the desk and leaned back in his chair. He was a distinguished-looking titan with just enough irregularity of his features to cause one to take him seriously; and he was impossible to miss when he walked into a room. Like George Washington, who was six foot two in a day of short men, Nofing was well above average height; his hair thick and dark at an age when men are balding of going gray.

“Doctor, I've been wondering if there might be a way to extinguish this fire of controversy before it's completely out of control.”

He spoke with the soothing cadences of Virginian conversation.

“Governor Norring I certainly hope there is.”

“Then please help me understand why you are not cooperates with the police.”

“I wish to seek the advice of an attorney, and have not had a chance to do so. I don't view this as a lack of co-operation.”

“It certainly is your right not to incriminate yourself,” he said slowly. “But the very suggestion of your invoking the Fifth only darkens the cloud of suspicion surrounding you. I'm certain you must be aware of that.”

“I'm aware that I will probably be criticized no matter what I do right now. It is reasonable and prudent for me to protect myself.”

“Were you making payments to your morgue supervisor, Susan Story?”

“No, sir, I was not. I have done nothing wrong.”

“Dr. Scarpetta.”

He leaned forward in his chair and laced his fingers on top of the desk. “It is my understanding that you are unwilling to cooperate by turning over any records that might substantiate these claims you've made.”

“I have not been informed that I am a suspect in any crime, nor have I received Miranda warnings. I have waived no rights. I have had no opportunity to seek counsel. At this moment, it is not my intention to open the files of my professional and personal life to the police or anyone else.”

“Then, in summary, you are refusing to make full disclosure,” he said.

When a state official is accused of conflict of interests or any other manner of unethical behavior, there are only two defenses, full disclosure or resignation. The latter yawned before me like an abyss. It was dear that the governor's intention was to maneuver me over the edge.

“You are a forensic pathologist of national stature and the chief medical examiner of this, Commonwealth,” he went on. “You've enjoyed a very distinguished career and an impeccable reputation in the law enforcement community. But in the matter before us, you are showing poor judgment. You are not being meticulous about avoiding any appearance of impropriety.”

“I have been meticulous, Governor, and I have done nothing wrong,” I repeated. “The facts will bear this out, but I will not discuss the matter further until I speak with an attorney. And I will not make full disclosure unless it is through him and before a judge in a sealed hearing.”

“A sealed hearing?” His eyes narrowed.

“Certainly details of my personal life affect individuals besides me.”

“Who? Husband, children, lover? It is my understanding you have note of these, that you live alone and are - to use the cliche - wedded to your work. Just who might you be protecting?”

“Governor Norring, you are baiting me.”

“No ma'am. I'm simply looking for anything to corroborate your claims. You say you are concerned with protecting others, and I'm inquiring as to who these others might be. Certainly not patients. Your patients are deceased.

“I dog not feel that you are being fair or impartial,” I said and I knew I sounded cold. “Nothing about this meeing was fair from the outset. I'm given twenty minutes notice to be here and am not told the agenda -“

He interrupted. “Why, Doctor, I should think you might have guessed the agenda-”

“Just as l should have guessed that our meeting was a public event.”

“I understand the press came out in force.” His expression did not change.

“I'd like to know how this occurred,” I said heatedly.

“If you're asking if this office notified the press of ma meeting, I'm telling you that we did not.”

I did not respond.

“Doctor, I'm not certain you understand that as public servants we must operate by a different set of rules. In a sense, we are not allowed private lives. Or perhaps it would be better to say that if our ethics or judgment are questioned, the public has a right to examine, in some instances, the most private aspects of our existences. Whenever I am about to undertake a certain activity or even write a check, I have to ask myself if what I am doing will holdup under the most intense scrutiny.”

I noticed that he scarcely used his hands when he talked, and that the fabric and design of his suit and tie were a lesson in understated extravagance. My attention darted here and there as he continued his admonition, and I knew that nothing I might do or say would save me in the end. Though I had been appointed by the health commissioner, I would not have been offered the job, nor could I last long in it without the support of the governor. The quickest way to lose that was to cause him embarrassment or conflict, which I had already accomplished. He had the power to force my resignation. I had the power to buy myself a little time by threatening to embarrass him more.

“Doctor, perhaps you would like to tell me what you would do if you were in my position?”

Beyond the window rain was mixed with sleet, and buildings in the banking district were bleak against a dreary, pewter sky. I stared at Norring in silence, then quietly spoke.

“Governor Norring, I would like to think that I would not summon the chief medical examiner to my office to gratuitously insult her, both professionally and personally, and then demand of her that she surrender the rights guaranteed to every person by the Constitution. Further, I would like to think that I would accept this person's innocence until she had been proven guilty, and would not compromise her ethics and the Hippocratic oath she had sworn to uphold by demanding that she open confidential files to public scrutiny when doing so might do harm to herself and to others. I would like to think Governor Norring, that I would not give an individual who has served the Commonwealth faithfully no choice but to resign for cause.”

The governor absently picked up a silver fountain pen as he considered my words: For me to resign for cause after meeting with him would imply to all of the reporters waiting beyond his office door that I had quit because Norring had asked me to do something that I considered unethical.

“I have no interest in your resigning at this moment,” he said coldly. “In fact, I would not accept your resignation. I am a fair man, Dr. Scarpetta, and, I hope, a wise one. And wisdom dictates that I cannot have someone performing legal autopsies on the victims of homicide when this individual, herself, is being implicated in homicide or as an accessory to it. Therefore, I think it best to relieve you with pay until this matter is resolved.”

He reached for the phone. “John, would you be so kind as to show the chief medical examiner out?”

Almost instantly, the smiling press secretary appeared.

As I emerged from the governor's offices, I was accosted from every direction. Flashguns went off in my eyes, and it seemed that everyone was shouting. The lead news item the rest of the day and the following morning was that the governor had temporarily relieved me of my duties until I could clear my name. An editorial conjectured that Norring had shown himself to be a gentleman, and if I were a lady I would offer to step down.