Patricia Cornwell - The Scarpetta Factor

“I didn’t publish a journal article on that particular topic.”

He didn’t add that Warner Agee did. Some derivative unoriginal editorial in Benton forgot which newspaper. He had Agee as a Google alert. Out of self-defense, ever since the bullshit had started cropping up in Wikipedia. Dr. Clark hadn’t been telling Benton anything he didn’t already know.

“She’s a patient of yours. True or false?” Marino’s voice. Christ, he was loud.

“I can’t tell you if she was or wasn’t,” Benton said.

“Past tense. She’s out, then, free as a cuckoo bird. Tell me what you want me to do,” Marino said.

“I think it would be a good idea to run her through RTCC.” Benton could only imagine what Dr. Clark would say.

“I got to go over there anyway, will probably be there most of tomorrow.”

“I’m talking about tonight. Now,” Benton said. “Maybe see if that beast of a computer system comes up with anything we should know. They letting you remote-access these days or do you have to go to One Police Plaza?”

“Can’t data-mine remote.”

“Sorry about that. Hate to put you out.”

“Got to work with the analysts, which is a good thing. I ain’t a Lucy. Still type with two fingers and don’t know a damn thing about disparate data sources, live feeds. What they call the hunt. Am putting on my boots as we speak, heading out on ‘the hunt,’ just for you, Benton.”

Benton was fed up with Marino trying to placate him, trying to win him over as if nothing had happened. Benton wasn’t friendly, barely civil, and he knew it and couldn’t seem to help it, and it had gotten worse in recent weeks. Maybe it would be better if Marino would just tell him to go fuck himself. Maybe then they could get past it.

“You don’t mind me asking, how’d you manage to connect a Christmas card with this Dodie lady who just called from Detroit? Supposedly Detroit,” Marino was saying. “The Doc know about the Christmas card?”

“No.”

“No to which question?”

“All of them,” Benton said.

“This Dodie lady ever met the Doc?”

“Not that I’m aware of. It’s not about Kay. It’s about me. Calling CNN was for my benefit.”

“Yeah, I know, Benton. Everything’s about you, but that’s not what I asked.” Aggression, like a finger poking Benton ’s chest. Good. Go ahead and get angry. Fight back.

“I recognized her voice,” Benton answered.

In an earlier century maybe the two of them would have taken it outside and had a slugfest. There was something to be said for primitive behavior. It was purging.

“On a Christmas card? I’m confused,” Marino went on.

“A singing card. You open it and a recording plays. A recording of Dodie Hodge singing a rather inappropriate Christmas tune.”

“You still got it?”

“Of course. It’s evidence.”

“Evidence of what?” Marino wanted to know.

“See what you find on the computer.”

“I’ll ask again. The Doc isn’t aware of Dodie Hodge or her card?”

“She’s unaware. Let me know what you find at RTCC.” Benton couldn’t go there himself and take care of it, didn’t have the authority, and he resented the hell out of it.

“Meaning I’m going to find something. That’s why you’re suggesting it,” Marino said. “You already know what I’m going to find. You realize how much time your confidentiality crap wastes?”

“I don’t know what you’ll find. We just need to make sure she isn’t dangerous, that she hasn’t been arrested somewhere for something,” Benton said.

Marino should find a record of Dodie’s arrest in Detroit. Maybe there were other things. Benton was being a cop again, only it was by proxy, and the powerlessness he felt was becoming intolerable.

“I’m concerned about unstable individuals who are aggressively interested in well-known people,” Benton added.

“Like who besides the Doc? Even though what Dodie did is really about you. Who else? You got other well-known people in mind?”

“For example, movie stars. Hypothetically, a movie star like Hap Judd.”

Silence, then Marino said, “Kind of interesting you’d bring him up.”

“Why?”

What did Marino know?

“Maybe you should tell me why you brought him up,” Marino said.

“As I suggested, see what you find at RTCC.” Benton had said too much. “As you know, I’m not in a position to investigate.”

He couldn’t even ask to see a driver’s license when he sat down in a room with a patient. Couldn’t pat the person down for a weapon. Couldn’t run a background. Couldn’t do anything.

“I’ll take a look at Dodie Hodge,” Marino said. “I’ll take a look at Hap Judd. You interested in anything else, let me know. I can run whatever the hell I want. I’m glad I’m not a profiler with all these bullshit limitations. Would drive me batshit.”

“If I was still a profiler I wouldn’t have limitations and I wouldn’t need you to run anything,” Benton said testily.

“If I talk to the Doc before you do? Okay if I tell her about Dodie?”

The idea of Marino talking to Scarpetta before Benton did was more than a little irritating.

Benton said, “If for some reason you talk to her before I do, it would be much appreciated if you’d tell her I’ve been trying to reach her.”

“I hear you, and I’m heading out,” Marino said. “I’m kind of surprised she’s still not home. I could get a couple of marked units to be on the lookout.”

“I wouldn’t at this point unless you want it all over the news. Remember who she’s with. She left with Carley Crispin. Cops roll up on the two of them, what do you suppose the lead will be on Carley’s show tomorrow night?”

“My guess is The Taxi Terror in Manhattan.”

“You making up headlines now?” Benton said.

“Not me. They’re already saying it. Talking about the yellow-cab connection. That’s probably all we’ll be hearing on the news this holiday. Maybe the Doc and Carley stopped for coffee or something.”

“I can’t imagine why Kay would want to have coffee with her after what she just did.”

“Let me know if you need anything else.” Marino hung up.

Benton tried Scarpetta again and the call went straight to voicemail. Maybe Alex was right and she’d forgotten to turn her phone back on and no one had reminded her, or maybe the battery was dead. It wasn’t like her, no matter the explanation. She must be preoccupied. It wasn’t her habit to be out of communication when she was en route and knew he was expecting her within a certain time frame. Alex wasn’t answering, either. Benton began studying the recording he’d made of Scarpetta’s appearance on The Crispin Report an hour earlier while he opened a video file on the computer notebook in his lap, this one a recording he’d made at McLean Hospital in mid-November.

“… The other morning I was reading an article by Dr. Benton Wesley, who is Kay’s highly respected forensic psychologist husband…” Dodie’s breathy voice, disembodied, sounding from the flat-screen TV.

Benton fast-forwarded the video file on his notebook as he watched Scarpetta on the TV over the nonworking fireplace inside their prewar apartment on Central Park West. She looked stunning, her fine-featured face youthful for her age, her blond hair casual, brushing the collar of a fitted skirt suit, navy with a hint of plum. It was incongruous and disconcerting to look at her, then at the recording of Dodie Hodge playing on the computer in his lap.

“… You can relate a teeny-weeny bit, can’t you? You’re almost in my same boat, aren’t you, Benton?” A hefty homely woman frumpily dressed, her graying hair in a bun, the Book of Magick in its black cover with yellow stars in front of her. “Of course it’s not like having a movie star in the family, but you do have Kay. I hope you’ll tell her I never miss her when she’s on CNN. Why don’t they have you on with her instead of that stuffed shirt Warner Agee, those hearing aids of his like flesh-colored leeches behind his ears?”