Sara Paretsky - Body Work

“Anyway, after Nadia got killed, I came home one night, and my mom was praying in there. She ordered me out of the room, and I thought it was, well, you know, she wanted to be private while she prayed, maybe she wanted to ask Nadia to forgive her. But later, when I went to bed, I saw the Virgin wasn’t sitting flat on the base. So I went to put her back. And Mama had taken the bottom off and put these papers inside, except a bit of the paper was sticking out.”

“So you put them in your French book. Why?” I asked.

She hunched a shoulder. “I don’t know. It was… Nadia was dead, and Mamá had fought with her over Allie… I can’t explain it… I thought maybe if, I don’t know, if Mamá had listened to her, Nadia would still be alive. And I kept trying to decide if I should show the papers to you, if they were the reason Nadia was killed, although everyone said that crazy soldier shot her.”

“Victoria, that really is enough,” Lotty said. “I will call her mother, so the poor woman isn’t completely ravaged by grief, and then let’s get Clara someplace safe to spend what’s left of the night.”

“She can stay with me,” I said, “but only for tonight. I’m too visible a target for the people who came after her family and her.”

“Mitch could protect her,” Mr. Contreras huffed. He hates not being thought strong enough to protect a girl.

Lotty gave him what Max calls her “Princess of Austria” look: Do not argue with Royalty, back out of the room, keep subversive thoughts to yourself. Mr. Contreras subsided into a grumble.

“It’s all well and good to freeze our blood, Lotty,” I said, “but it doesn’t solve the problem of where she can stay.”

“We’re all tired now,” Lotty said. “Let’s get some sleep and pray that inspiration comes in our dreams. Come! My surgery schedule starts in three hours.”

I started to put the documents into a large envelope but stopped and frowned over them. Kystarnik, or Rainier Cowles, or someone at Tintrey, wanted these so badly they’d gone down to the Guamans’ hunting for them. I tried to imagine what I could do with them to keep them safe.

Lotty called the Guamans while I went to the clinic’s business office to make copies. I could hear Lotty’s voice, sharp, authoritative- I’m the doctor, I’m doing what’s best for your child -without making out the words. I put one copy into an envelope addressed to my lawyer, which I stuck in the clinic’s outbound mail basket. I mailed a second copy to myself. The others I tucked into an envelope underneath my sweater. I thought about sending a copy over to Murray at the Herald-Star but wasn’t sure how much publicity I wanted for them right now.

“Everything settled?” I asked when I got back to Lotty’s office.

Lotty nodded. “I explained we were watching Clara overnight but that you’d be down with her in the morning to talk about how to look after her. They’re not happy, how could they be? But they spoke to Clara, who made it clear that she wasn’t coming home tonight.”

“But what are you going to do?” Clara’s amber eyes were dark with drugs and fear. “They said they would blow up the house. I shouldn’t have run away, I should have just given the papers to them. Oh, why was I ever born? Why wasn’t I the one to get killed instead of Allie and Nadia?”

I took her in my arms. “You did the right thing, baby,” I said. “If you’d given them the autopsy report… They knew you and your mom had read it. It’s your ticket to safety, giving me the report. I’ll make sure they don’t know where to look for it, and I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

How, I didn’t know, but it was the least I could do after exposing the fragile remnants of the family to tonight’s assault.

“You come on home with us,” Mr. Contreras said gruffly. “Vic and me, we’ll get you settled for the night. And you listen to Vic. She knows what she’s talking about.”

A heroic admission. I grinned at him, and he turned red, covering his discomfiture by taking Clara from me and half carrying her out the clinic door.

As Lotty locked up and we bundled into our cars, I began to worry whether the thugs who had attacked the Guamans might have tailed Clara when she ran from home. As we followed Lotty onto Irving Park Road, I tried to look for anyone who might be trailing us. I couldn’t really tell in the dark which set of headlights looked familiar. Just to be on the safe side, I trailed Lotty the two miles to her high-rise on Lake Shore Drive. We bumped over the ice and potholes without incident, even when Lotty ran the red light at Ashland Avenue. Lotty is a terrible driver, the kind who insists that all her dings and near misses are due to the incompetence of every other car on the road.

Back at our own place, I circled the block, looking for anyone who might be staking out the building. All the cars on the street were quiet. Still, I sent Mr. Contreras in through the back with Clara while I parked on a side street some distance away.

Mr. Contreras and I decided to leave Mitch downstairs to sound the alarm if anyone tried breaking in. Clara and I took Peppy up to the third floor for comfort. By now, Clara was more asleep than awake, so I helped her undress, pulled a big sweatshirt over her head, and tucked her into my own bed.

Peppy jumped up and curled into a ball at her side. I remembered the grandmother saying Clara was allergic, but her fingers knotted themselves into Peppy’s fur, clinging to the dog. She’d been walking on a path strewn with broken glass and boulders; a few sneezes were a small price to pay for the security of a warm puppy.

As I pulled the blanket up to her chin, Clara whispered, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. It’s just until those men came tonight, I thought maybe if I didn’t say anything it would all turn out okay somehow.”

Her eyelids fluttered shut, and in an instant she was asleep. I double-checked the doors and windows. Everything was bolted shut. I made up the couch in the living room, put my gun on the floor by my head, and lay down with my copy of the document Clara had handed me.

Dear Mrs. Guaman

I have thought for a long time about whether to mail this letter. It may cause you great pain, and it may destroy my own career, but, after much agonizing, I have decided it would be a breach of my oath-as a doctor, as a soldier-to withhold this information from you.

It was my sad duty to examine the remains of your daughter, Alexandra, whose body was found along the verge of the Main Supply Route that connects the Green Zone to the Baghdad airport. Medics from the 4th Brigade combat team found her and brought her to our hospital inside the Green Zone, hoping to make an identification.

Forgive me for writing to you in a blunt fashion. Your daughter was found naked, with burns across her face and torso, as if she had received phosphorus burns from an IED. However, it troubled me that I did not see signs typically found in people who die as a result of burns; nor would an IED have burned off her clothes. While my staff submitted her fingerprints and DNA for identification, I began her autopsy.

The next day, her identity was determined, and we learned that she worked for the Tintrey Corporation. A representative from the company came to collect her body to prepare it for return to her family. I gave him a copy of my preliminary report. At that time, I was still waiting for results of various forensic tests, including analysis of semen found in her vagina, and for her blood work.

The following morning, I had a call from Colonel Cleburne, my own commanding officer, ordering me to destroy my autopsy report. No reason was given other than that Tintrey was a civilian operation and that the Army budget was stretched too thin to take on civilian autopsies. The Colonel informed me that he had also ordered the laboratory to end its tests on the various fluids we had sent over.