Patricia Cornwell - Cruel and Unusual

"He and Susan were having an affair," I said, and it was odd that I did not object to Susan's morals. I was disappointed in her taste.

"Stevens admitted to the affair and denied everything else.”

"Such as having any idea where Susan got thirty-five hundred dollars?” I said.

"He denies knowing anything about that but we're not finished with him. A snitch of Marino's says he saw a black Jeep with a vanity plate in the area where Susan was shot and about the time we think it happened. Ben Stephens drives a black Jeep with the vanity plate”

"Stevens didn't kill her, Benton," I said.

"No, he didn't. I think what happened is Stevens got spooked when whoever he was dealing with wanted information about Jennifer Deighton's case.”

"The implication would have been pretty clear,". I agreed. "Stevens knew that Jennifer Deighton was murdered.”

"And coward that he is, he decides that when it is time for the next payoff, he'll let Susan handle it. Then he'll meet her directly afterward to get his share.”

"By which time she's already been killed.”

Wesley nodded. "I think whoever was sent to meet her shot her and kept the money: Later - maybe mere minutes later - Stevens appears in the designated spot, the alleyway off Strawberry Street.”

'What you're describing is consistent with her position in the car," I said. "Originally, she had to have been slumped forward in order for the assailant to have shot her in the nape of the neck. But when she was found, she was leaning back in the seat.”

"Stevens moved her.”

"When he first approached the car, he wouldn't have immediately known what was wrong with her. Ht couldn't see her face if she were slumped forward against the steering wheel. He leaned her back in the seat.”

"And then ran like hell.”

"And if he'd just splashed on some of his cologne before heading out to meet her, then he would have cologne on his hands. When he leaned her back in the seat; his hands would have been in contact with her coat probably in the area of her shoulders. That's what I smelled at the scene.”

"We'll break him eventually.”

"There are more important things to do, Benton," I said, and I told him about my visit with Helen Grimes and what she had said about Mrs. Waddell's last visit with her son.

"My theory," I went on, "is that Ronnie Waddell wanted the picture of Jesus buried with him, and that this may have been his last request. He puts it in an envelope and writes on it 'Urgent, extremely confidential,' and so on.”

"He couldn't have done this without Donahue's permission," Wesley said. "According to protocol, the inmate's last request must be communicated to the warden.”

“Right, and no matter what Donahue's been told, he's going to be too paranoid to let Waddell's body be carried off with a sealed envelope in a pocket. So he grants Waddell's request, then devises away to see what's inside the envelope without a hassle or a stink. He decides to switch envelopes after Wadded is dead, and instructs one of his thugs to take care of it. And this is where the receipts come in.”

"I was hoping you'd get around to that," Wesley said.

"I think the person made a little mistake Let's say he's got a white envelope on his desk, and inside it are receipts from a recent trip to Petersburg. Let's say he gets a similar white envelope, tucks something innocuous inside it, and then writes the same thing on the front that Waddell had written on the envelope he wanted buried with him.”

“Only the guard writes this on the wrong envelope.”

"Yes. He writes it on the one containing the receipts.”

"And he's going to discover this later when he looks for his receipts and finds the innocuous something inside the envelope instead.

"Precisely," I said. "And that's where Susan fits in. If I were the guard who made this mistake, I'd be very worried. The burning question for me would be whether one of the medical examiners opened that envelope in the morgue, or if the envelope was left sealed. If I, this guard, also happened to be the contact for Ben Stevens, the person forking over cash in exchange for making sure Waddell's body wasn't printed at the morgue, for example, then I'd know exactly where to turn.”

"You'd contact Stevens and tell him to find out if the envelope was opened. And if so, whether its contents made anybody suspicious or inclined to go around asking questions: It's called tripping over your paranoia and ending up with many more problems than you would have had if you'd just been cool. But it would seem Stevens could have answered that question easily.”

"Not so," I said. "He could ask Susan, but she didn't witness the opening of the envelope. Fielding opened it upstairs, photocopied the contents, and sent the original out with Waddell’s other personal effects.”

"Stevens couldn't have just pulled the case and looked at the photocopy?”

'Not unless he broke the lock on my credenza," I said.

"Then, in his mind, the only other alternative was the computer.”

"Unless he asked Fielding or me. He would know better than that. Neither of us would have divulged a confidential detail like that to him or Susan or anyone else.”

"Does he know enough about computers to break into your directory?”

"Not to my knowledge, but Susan had taken several courses and had UNIX books in her office.”

The telephone rang and I let Lucy answer it. When she came into the kitchen, her eyes were uneasy.

"It's your lawyer, Aunt Kay.”

She moved the kitchen phone within reach, and 'I picked it up without moving from my chair. Nicholas Grueman wasted no words on a greeting but went straight to his point.

"Dr. Scarpetta, on November twelfth you wrote a money market account check to the tune of ten thousand dollars cash. And I find no records in any of your bank statements that might indicate this money was deposited in any of your various accounts.”

"I didn't deposit the money.”

"You walked out of the bank with ten thousand dollars.”

"No, I did not. I wrote the check at Signet Bank, downtown, and with it purchased a cashier's check in British sterling.”

"To whom was the cashier's check made out?” My former professor asked as Benton Wesley stared tensely at me.

"Mr. Grueman, the transaction was of a private nature and in no way has any bearing on my profession.”

"Come now, Dr. Scarpetta. You know that's not good enough.”

I took a deep breath.

"Certainly, you know we're going to be asked about this. Certainly, you must realize it doesn't look good that "within weeks of your morgue assistant's depositing an unexplained amount of cash, you wrote a check for a large amount of cash.”

I shut my eyes and ran my fingers through my hair as Wesley got up from the table and came around behind me.

"Kay" - I felt Wesley's hands on my shoulders - "for God's sake, you've got to tell him.”

Had Grueman never been a practitioner of the law, I would not have entrusted my welfare to him. But before teaching he had been a litigator of renown, and he had done civil rights work and prosecuted mobsters for the Justice Department during the Robert Kennedy era. Now he represented clients who had no money and were condemned to die. I appreciated Grueman's seriousness and needed his cynicism.

He was not interested in trying to negotiate or protest my innocence. He refused to present the slightest shred of evidence to Marino or anyone. He told no one of the ten-thousand-dollar check, which was, he said, the worst piece of evidence against me. I was reminded of what he had taught his students on the first day of criminal law. Just say no. Just say no. Just say no. My former professor, abided by these rules to the letter, and frustrated Roy Patterson's every effort.