Five Scarpetta Novels (114 page)

“Not now,” he said over the line. “I know. He's just going to have to wait.”

He returned to his chair and blew out a long breath, took his glasses off and set them on the coffee table.

“I think the best thing to do is send out a press release informing people that someone is impersonating you on the Internet, to do what we can to clear this up as much as possible,” he said. “We'll put an end to it, even if it requires a court order.”

“That would make me very happy,” I said.

He got up and I did, too.

“Thank you, Sinclair. Thank God I have a shield like you.”

“We'll just hope the new secretary will be the same,” he remarked as if I knew what he was talking about.

“What new secretary?” I asked as anxiety hummed again, this time more loudly.

A strange expression passed over his face. Then he looked angry.

“I've sent you several memos marked private and confidential. Goddamn it! Now this is going too far.”

“I've gotten nothing from you,” I said.

He pressed his lips together, his cheeks turning red. It was one thing to tamper with e-mail; it was another to intercept the secretary's sealed, classified memorandums. Not even Rose opened anything like that.

“Apparently the Governor's Crime Commission's gotten stuck on the notion that we should transfer your office out of Health and into Public Safety,” he told me.

“For God's sake, Sinclair,” I exclaimed.

“I know, I know.” He raised his hand to quiet me.

This same ignorant proposal had come up shortly after I'd been hired. The police and forensic labs were under Public Safety, meaning, among other things, that if my office fell under Public Safety, too, there would be no checks and balances anymore. The police department, in essence, would have a say-so in how I worked my cases.

“I've written position papers on this before,” I told Dr. Wagner. “Years ago, I fought it off by preaching to prosecutors and police chiefs. I even went to the defense attorneys' bar. We can't let this happen.”

Dr. Wagner said nothing.

“Why now?” I persisted. “Why has this just come up now? The issue's been dormant for more than ten years.”

“I think Representative Connors is pushing it because some of the higher-ups in law enforcement are pushing him,” he said. “Who the hell knows.”

I did, and as I drove toward my office, I got energized. I
thrived on unanswered questions, on excavating for what wasn't plain to see, on getting to the truth. What detractors like Chuck Ruffin and Diane Bray had not factored into their machinations was that they'd served to wake me up.

A scenario was materializing in my mind. It was very simple. Someone wanted me shot out of the air so my office would be vulnerable to a takeover by Public Safety. I had heard rumblings that the current secretary, whom I liked very much, was retiring. Wouldn't it be a coincidence if Bray just happened to take his place.

When I reached my office, I smiled at Rose and bid her a cheery good morning.

“Aren't we in a good mood today!” she said, enormously pleased.

“It's your vegetable soup,” I commented. “I have it to look forward to. Where's Chuck?”

Just his name gave Rose a sour look.

“Off delivering several brains to MCV,” she replied.

Now and then when cases were neurologically suspicious and complicated, I would fix the brain in formalin and have it delivered to the neuropathology lab for special studies.

“Let me know when he comes back,” I told her. “We need to set up the Luma-Lite in the decomposed room.”

She placed her elbow on her desk, chin in her hand and shook her head, eyes on me.

“I hate to be the one who tells you this,” she said.

“Oh God, now what? Just when I thought it might be a good day.”

“The Institute's doing a mock crime scene and it appears their Luma-Lite is in for repairs.”

“Don't tell me.”

“Well, all I know is someone called here and Chuck took our Luma-Lite to them before he left for MCV.”

“Then I'll just go get it back.”

“It's at an outdoor mock scene some ten miles away.”

“Who gave Chuck the authority to lend it to anyone?” I asked.

“Just be glad it isn't stolen like half of everything else around here,” she said.

“I guess I'll just have to go upstairs and do the examination in Vander's lab,” I said.

I walked into my office and sat down at my desk. I took my glasses off and massaged the bridge of my nose. I decided the time had come to set up a rendezvous between Bray and Chuck. I signed on to Ruffin's address and e-mailed a note to Bray.

Chief Bray,
Have some information
you must know.
Please meet me at Beverly Hills Shopping Center at 5:30. Park on back row near Buckhead's. We can talk in your car so nobody sees us. If you can't meet me, page me. Otherwise I'll see you then.

Chuck

Then I sent him a text message page, purportedly from Bray, inviting him to the meeting.

“Done,” I said, yielding to self-congratulation just as the phone rang.

“Yo,” Marino said. “Your personal investigator here. What'cha doing after work?”

“More work. Remember I said two can play this game? You're taking me to Buckhead's. We wouldn't want to miss a little rendezvous between two people near and dear to our hearts, would we? So I thought it might be nice if you took me out to dinner and we just happened to run into them,” I said.

M
arino met me in the parking lot as planned and we got in his monster Dodge Ram Quad Cab pickup truck because I didn't want to take the chance that Bray might recognize my Mercedes. It was dark and frigid out but the rain had stopped. I was riding so high I could almost look transfer truckers in the eye.

We followed Patterson Avenue toward Parham Road, a major thoroughfare in the city where people ate out and shopped and swarmed inside Regency Mall.

“I gotta warn you there ain't always a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow,” he said, throwing a cigarette butt out the window. “One or both of them might decide not to show. Hell, they may be on to us for all I know. But, gotta give it a shot, right?”

The Beverly Hills Shopping Center was a small strip of salons and a Ben Franklin Crafts & Frames store. The location was not at all where one might expect to find the city's finest chophouse.

“Don't see no sign of them,” Marino said as we scanned. “But we're a few minutes early.”

He parked some distance away from the restaurant,
between two cars in front of Ben Franklin, and cut the engine. I opened my door.

“Just where do you think you're going?” he protested.

“Inside the restaurant.”

“What if they roll up any minute and see you?”

“I have every right to be here.”

“What if she's in there at the bar?” he worried. “What are you going to say to her?”

“I'll offer to buy her a drink and then come out and get you.”

“Christ, Doc.” Marino was getting increasingly adamant. “I thought the whole point of this is to burn her.”

“Relax and let me do the talking.”

“Relax? I want to break the bitch's neck,” he said.

“We have to be smart. We walk out from behind a bunker and start firing, we might just get hit first.”

“You telling me you ain't going to tell her to her face you know what she's done? The e-mail to Chuck and everything?”

He was incredulous and furious and kept repeating himself.

“Then what the hell are we doing here?” he went on.

“Marino,” I tried to calm him down. “You know better than this. You're an experienced detective, and that's what you have to be with her. She's formidable. I'm going to tell you right now you'll never muscle this woman into a corner.”

He was silent.

“Keep a lookout from your truck while I check the inside of the restaurant. If you spot her before I do, send me a ten-four on my pager and call the restaurant asking for me, just in case I don't get the page for some reason,” I said.

He angrily lit a cigarette as I opened my door.

“It ain't fucking fair,” he said. “We know fucking well what she's doing. I still say we confront her and show her she ain't as smart as she thinks.”

“You, of all people, know about building cases,” I reiterated. I was getting worried that he wouldn't be able to control himself.

“We saw what she sent Chuck.”

“Lower your voice,” I said. “We can't prove she sent that e-mail any more than I can prove I
didn't
send e-mail that's being attributed to me. I can't even prove I didn't write that dreadful column, for that matter.”

“Maybe I should just become a soldier of fortune.”

He blasted smoke into the rearview mirror, scanning.

“Page or call me?” I asked as I climbed out.

“What if you don't get the message in time?”

“Then run her over with your truck,” I impatiently replied, pushing the door shut.

I looked around as I walked toward the restaurant and saw no sign of Bray. I had no idea what her personal car was but suspected she wouldn't show up in it, anyway. I pulled open the heavy wooden door of Buckhead's and was greeted by carefree voices and ice clinking in glasses as the bartender made drinks with a flourish. A mounted buck's head explained the restaurant's name. Lights were low, the paneling dark, and crates and racks of wine were stacked almost to the ceiling.

“Well, good evening.” The hostess at the podium smiled in a surprised way. “We've missed you, but I certainly know from the news that you've been a little busy. What can I help you with?”

“A reservation in the name of Bray?” I inquired. “I'm not sure of the time.”

She scanned the big reservation book, running a pencil down names and times. Then she tried again. She looked embarrassed. After all, it was impossible to stroll into a good restaurant unannounced even on a weeknight.

“I'm afraid not,” she quietly told me.

“Hmmm. Maybe it's in my name?” I tried again.

She tried again, too.

“Gosh, I'm so sorry, Dr. Scarpetta. And we're full tonight because we have a group taking up the entire front room.”

It was twenty of six now. Tables were covered with red-checked cloths, small lamps burning on them, and the room was completely empty because civilized people rarely dined before seven.

“I was going to have a drink with a friend.” I continued my act. “I suppose we could eat early if you could fit us? Maybe around six?”

“That's no problem at all,” she said, brightening up.

“Then put me down,” I replied as my worries intensified.

What if Bray realized Chuck's car wasn't in the lot and became suspicious?

“Then six it is . . .”

I was acutely aware of the pager on my belt and listening for a phone to ring.

“Perfect,” I said to the hostess.

This scenario curdled my sensibilities. It was my nature, my training and my professional practice to always tell the truth, in no way to slip into the behavior of the wily, lowlife trial lawyer I could have been had I given myself up to manipulation, evasion and the gray areas of the law.

The hostess penciled my name in the book as my pager vibrated like a big insect. I read the 10-4 on the display and hurried back through the bar. I had no choice but to open the front door because the windows were opaque and I could not see through them. I spotted the dark Crown Victoria.

Marino didn't do anything right away. My anxiety grew as Bray parked and turned her headlights off. I felt sure she wouldn't wait for Chuck very long and could already imagine her annoyance. Little nobodies like him didn't dare to keep Deputy Chief Diane Bray waiting.

“Is there something I can do for you?” the bartender asked me as he dried off a glass.

I continued to peer through the barely open door, wondering what Marino was going to do next.

“I'm expecting someone who isn't sure exactly where you're located,” I said.

“Just tell 'em we're next to Michelle's Face Works,” he said as Marino got out of his truck.

I met him in the parking lot and we walked with purpose toward Bray's car. She didn't notice us because she was talking on her portable phone and writing something down. When Marino tapped on her window, she turned to us, startled. Then her face turned hard. She said something else on her portable and ended her call. The window hummed down.

“Deputy Chief Bray? Thought that was you,” Marino said as if they were old friends.

He bent down and peered inside her car. Bray was clearly off balance and one could almost see her calculating thoughts regrouping in her head as she pretended there was nothing unusual about our running into her here.

“Good evening,” I politely said. “What a pleasant coincidence.”

“Kay, what a surprise,” she said in a flat voice. “How are you? So you've discovered Richmond's little secret.”

“By now, I know most of Richmond's little secrets,” I said with irony. “There are many of them if you know where to look.”

“I stay away from red meat as much as possible.” Bray switched conversational lanes. “But their fish is very good.”

“That's like going to a whorehouse and playing solitaire,” Marino remarked.

Bray ignored him and tried to stare me down with no success. I'd learned from many years of warring with bad employees, dishonest defense attorneys and ruthless politicians that if I stared between a person's eyes, he didn't know I wasn't, in fact, staring into his eyes, and I could keep up the intimidation all day.

“I'm eating dinner here,” she said as if she were distracted and in a hurry.

“We'll wait until your guest shows up,” Marino said. “Sure don't want you sitting alone out here in the dark or being bothered inside. Truth is, Deputy Chief Bray, you shouldn't be roaming around without security, as recognizable as you've gotten to be since you moved here. You've kind of gotten to be a celebrity, you know.”

“I'm not meeting anyone,” she said, irritation honing her tone.

“We've never had a woman so high up in the department, especially one so attractive and so loved by the media.” Marino wouldn't shut up.

She collected her pocketbook and mail off the seat, her cold anger palpable.

“Now if you'll please excuse me?” She said it as an order.

“It's not going to be easy to get a table tonight,” I let her know as she opened her door. “Unless you have a reservation,” I added, implying I knew damn well she didn't.

Bray's poise and self-confidence slipped just enough to unmask the evil coiling within. Her eyes struck at me, then revealed nothing as she climbed out of the car and Marino blocked her way. She couldn't get past him without ducking around him and brushing against him, and her enormous ego would never allow that.

She was almost pinned against the door of her shiny new car. It didn't escape my notice that she was dressed in corduroys, running shoes, and a Richmond Police Department jacket. Vain woman that she was, she would never show up in a fine restaurant dressed like that.

“Excuse me,” she said loudly to Marino.

“Oh gee, I'm sorry,” he gushed, stepping to one side.

I chose my next words carefully. I could not directly accuse her, but I intended to make sure she knew she'd gotten away with nothing and if she persisted in her ambushes, she would lose and she would pay.

“You're an investigator,” I thoughtfully said to her. “Maybe you can tell me your opinion on how someone might have gotten hold of my password and e-mailed messages, impersonating me. And then someone—most likely the same person—started an asinine, lobotomized chat room on the Internet called
Dear Dr. Kay.”

“How awful. I'm sorry, I can't help you. Computers are not my specialty,” she said with a smile.

Her eyes were dark holes, her teeth flashing like steel blades in the glow of sodium lights.

“All I can suggest is you look at the people closest to you, perhaps someone disgruntled, a friend you've fallen out with,” she continued her act. “I really have no idea, but I would expect it's someone with a link to you. I've heard your niece is an expert in computers. Maybe she could help you.”

Her mention of Lucy infuriated me.

“I've been wanting to talk to her,” Bray said as a by-the-way. “You know, we're implementing COMPSTAT and need a computer expert.”

COMPSTAT, or computer-driven statistics, was a new model of enlightened, technologically advanced policing devised by the New York Police Department. Computer experts would be needed for it, but to suggest a project like that for someone with Lucy's skills and experience was an insult.

“You might pass this along to her when you talk next,” Bray added.

Marino's rage was boiling like water in a pot.

“We really should sit down sometime, Kay, and let me tell you about some of my experiences in Washington,” she said as if I had never worked anywhere but in a small town. “You can't even begin to know the things people will try to bring you down. Especially women against the women, sabotage in the workplace. I've seen the best topple.”

“I'm sure you have,” I said.

She locked her car door and said, “Just so you know, you don't need a reservation to sit at the bar. That's where I usually eat anyway. They're famous for their steak fromage, but I recommend you try the lobster, Kay. And you, Captain Marino, would love their onion rings. I hear they're to die for.”

We watched her walk off.

“Fucking bitch,” Marino said.

“Let's get out of here,” I said.

“Yeah, last thing I want to do is eat anywhere near poison like that. I ain't even hungry.”

“That won't last.”

We climbed into his truck and I sank beneath a heavy depression that held me down like tar. I wanted to find some victory, some ray of optimism in what had just transpired, but I couldn't. I felt defeated. Worse, I felt foolish.

“Want a cigarette?” Marino asked inside the dark cab as he punched in the lighter.