Patricia Cornwell - Predator

“Nothing quite like that.” It is Scarpetta who speaks. “But there is a very recent case that sounds similar to what you just described, an elderly woman whose trees were marked for eradication. A shotgun death.”

“My God. Did it happen aftersix p.m.this past Tuesday?”

“Probably before that,” Scarpetta says, fairly certain she knows why Dr. Self is asking.

“That’s a relief. Then she was already dead by the time the lawn man, Hog, called me. He called maybe five, ten minutes after six and asked to be on my show, told the story about the old woman threatening to kill herself. So she must have already done it. I wouldn’t want to think her death had something to do with him wanting to be on my show.”

Bentongives Scarpetta a look that says, What a narcissistic, insensitive bitch, and says to the speakerphone, “Right now we’re trying to figure out a lot of other things, Dr. Self. And it would be helpful if you could give us a little more information aboutDavidLuck. You prescribed Ritalin to him.”

“Are you now saying something horrible’s happened to him, too? I know he’s missing. Is there something new?”

“There’s reason to be greatly concerned.” Scarpetta repeats what she’s said in the past. “We have reason to be very concerned about him, his brother and the two sisters they lived with. How long have you been seeingDavidas a patient?”

“Since last summer. I think he first came to see me last July. It might have been late June. Both parents had been killed in an accident and he was acting out a lot, doing poorly in school. He and his brother were home schooled.”

“You saw him how often?”Bentonasks.

“Usually once a week.”

“Who brought him to his appointments?”

“Sometimes Kristin. Sometimes Ev. Now and then they both brought him, and on occasion I would meet with the three of them.”

“How wasDavidreferred to you?” It is Scarpetta who asks. “How did he end up in your care?”

“Well, it’s rather poignant. Kristin was a call-in. Apparently, she listens to my show a lot and decided maybe she could get hold of me that way. She called in to my radio show and said she was taking care of a South African boy who had just lost both his parents and he needed help, et cetera et cetera. It was quite a heartbreaking story, and I agreed on the air to see him. You would be amazed at the mail I got from my listeners after that. I still get mail, people wanting to know how the little South African orphan is doing.”

“Do you have a tape of the show you’re talking about?”Bentonasks. “An audio clip?”

“We have tapes of everything.”

“How quickly could you get me that audio clip, and one from your television show earlier today? I’m afraid we’re snowed in up here-at the moment, anyway. We’re doing what we can remotely but are somewhat limited.”

“Yes, I hear you’ve had quite the storm up there. Hope you don’t lose power,” she says, as if they’ve just spent the past half-hour having a pleasant conversation. “I can call my producer right now, and he can get it to you by e-mail. I’m sure he’ll want to talk with you about being on my show sometime.”

“And the phone numbers of the callers,”Bentonreminds her.

“Dr. Self?” Scarpetta says, looking out the window with dismay.

It is starting to snow again.

“What about Tony? David’s brother?”

“They fought a lot.”

“Did you see Tony, too?”

“I never met him,” she says.

“You said you know both Ev and Kristin. Did one of them have an eating disorder?”

“I wasn’t treating either one of them. They weren’t my patients.”

“I should think you could tell by looking at them. One of them was on a steady diet of carrots.”

“Based on her appearance, Kristin,” she replies.

Scarpetta looks atBenton. She had the Academy’s DNA lab contact Detective Thrush the instant she discovered the yellowish dura mater. DNA from the dead woman up here has been matched to DNA from yellowish stains on a blouse Scarpetta removed from Kristin’s and Ev’s house. The body in theBostonmorgue most likely is Kristin, and Scarpetta has no intention of relaying this information to Dr. Self, who might very well talk about it on the air.

Bentongets up from the couch to put another log on the fire as Scarpetta gets off the phone. She watches the snow. It falls fast in the light of the lamps atBenton’s front gate.

“No more coffee,”Bentonsays. “My nerves have had it.”

“Does it do anything besides snow up here?”

“The main streets are probably already clear. They’re amazingly fast up here. I don’t think the boys have anything to do with this.”

“They have something to do with it,” she says, moving in front of the fire, sitting on the hearth. “They’re gone. It appears Kristin’s dead. Probably all of them are.”

Marino calls Joe while Reba sits quietly nearby, engrossed in hell scenes.

“I’ve got a few things to go over with you,” Marino tells Joe. “There’s a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” he says cautiously.

“You need to hear about it from me. I’ve got to return a few calls in my office, take care of a few things. Where you going to be during the next hour?”

“Roomone twelve.”

“You there now?”

“Walking that way.”

“Let me guess,” Marino says. “Working on another hell scene you stole from me?”

“If that’s what you want to talk to me about…”

“It’s not,” Marino says. “It’s a whole lot worse than that.”

“You’re really something,” Reba says to Marino, placing the file of hell scenes back on his desk. “They’re really good. They’re brilliant, Pete.”

“We’re going to do this in five, give him time to get into his office,” and now he has Lucy on the phone. “Lay it on me, what do I do?”

“You’re going to hang up, so am I, then hit the conference button on your desk phone and dial my cell phone. When I answer, hit conference again and dial your cell phone. Then you can either put your desk phone on hold to keep the line open or just leave it off the hook. If someone’s monitoring our call, he’s going to assume you’re in your office.”

Marino waits a few minutes, then does what she said. He and Reba walk out of the building while he and Lucy talk to each other on their cell phones. They have a real conversation while he hopes like hell that Joe is listening in. He and Lucy are lucky so far. The reception is good. She sounds as if she’s in the next room.

They chat about the new motorcycles. They chat about all sorts of things as Marino and Reba walk.

The Last Stand motel is a modified double-wide trailer that has been divided into three rooms that are used for mock crime scenes. Each section has a separate door with a number on it. Room 112 is in the middle. Marino notes that the curtain is drawn over the front window, and he can hear the air conditioner running. He tries the door and it’s locked, and he kicks it hard with his big, Harley-booted foot and the cheap door flies open and slams against the wall. Joe is sitting at the desk, the receiver to his ear, a tape recorder hooked up to the phone, his face shocked, then terrified. Marino and Reba look at him.

“Know why they call this the Last Stand motel?” Marino asks, walking over to Joe, grabbing him out of the chair as if he weighs nothing. “Because you’re as dead as Colonel Custer.”

“Let me go!” Joe yells.

His feet are off the floor. Marino is holding him up by his armpits, their faces inches apart. Marino shoves him against a wall.

“Let me go! You’re hurting me!”

Marino drops him. He sits down hard on the floor.