Book of the Dead (51 page)

    
“Let’s organize our thoughts,” Scarpetta says, because she doesn’t want to talk about Marino. She’s afraid Benton will sense how she feels.

    
Guilty and angry, and increasingly afraid. It appears Marino has pulled a disappearing stunt, got in his truck and drove away without a warning, without any effort to repair the damage he’s done. He’s never been facile with words, and he’s never made much effort to understand his complicated emotions, and this time what he needs to fix exceeds his capacity to cope. She’s tried to dismiss him, to not give a damn, but he’s like the persistent fog. Thoughts of him obscure what’s around her, and one lie becomes another. She told Benton her bruises are from the hatchback of her SUV accidentally shutting on her wrists. She hasn’t undressed in front of him.

    
“Let’s try to make some sense of what we know,” she says to everyone. “I would like to talk about the sand. Silica – or quartz, and limestone, and with high magnification, fragments of shells and coral, typical of sand in subtropical areas like this. And most interesting and perplexing of all, the components of gunshot residue. In fact, I’m just going to call it gunshot residue, because we can’t figure out any other explanation for barium, antimony, and lead to be present in beach sand.”

    
“If it’s beach sand,” Captain Poma says. “Maybe it isn’t. Dr. Maroni says the patient who came to see him claimed to have just returned from Iraq. I would expect gunshot residue in many areas of Iraq. Maybe he brought sand back from Iraq because he became demented over there, and the sand is a reminder.”

    
“We didn’t find gypsum, and gypsum’s common in desert sand,” Scarpetta says. “But it really depends on what area of Iraq, and I don’t believe Dr. Maroni knows the answer to that.”

    
“He didn’t tell me exactly where,” Benton says.

    
“What about his notes?” Lucy asks.

    
“It’s not in them.”

    
“Sand in different regions of Iraq has different compositions and morphology,” Scarpetta says. “It all depends on how sediment was deposited, and although a high saline content doesn’t prove the sand is from a beach, both samples we have – from Drew Martin’s body and Lydia Webster’s house – have a high saline content. In other words, salt.”

    
“I think what’s important is why sand is so important to him,” Benton says. “What does sand say about him? He calls himself the Sandman. Symbolic of putting people to sleep? Maybe. A type of euthanasia that might be related to the glue, to some medical component? Maybe.”

    
The glue. Two-octylcyanoacrylate. Surgical glue, primarily used by plastic surgeons and other medical practitioners to close small incisions or cuts, and in the military to treat friction blisters.

    
Scarpetta says, “The surgical glue might be what he had because of whatever it is he does and whoever he is. Not simply symbolism.”

    
“Is there an advantage?” Captain Poma asks. “Surgical glue instead of everyday superglue? I’m not so familiar with what plastic surgeons do.”

    
“Surgical glue is biodegradable,” she says. “It’s noncarcinogenic.”

    
“A healthy glue.” He smiles at her.

    
“You might say that.”

    
“Does he believe he’s relieving suffering? Maybe.” Benton resumes, as if ignoring them.

    
“You said it’s sexual,” Captain Poma points out.

    
He’s dressed in a dark blue suit and a black shirt and black tie and looks as if he stepped out of a Hollywood premiere or an ad for Armani. What he doesn’t look like is someone who belongs in Charleston, and Benton doesn’t seem to like him any more than he did in Rome.

    
“I didn’t say it was only sexual,” Benton replies. “I said there’s a sexual component. I will also say he may not be aware of it, and we don’t know if he assaults his victims sexually, only that he tortures them.”

    
“And I’m not sure we know that for a fact.”

    
“You saw the photographs he sent to Dr. Self. What do you call it when someone forces a woman to sit naked in a tub of cold water? And possibly dunks her?”

    
“I don’t know what I’d call it, because I wasn’t there when he did it,” Captain Poma says.

    
“Had you been, I suppose we wouldn’t be here, because the cases would be solved.” Benton’s eyes are like steel.

    
“I find it rather fantastic to think he’s relieving their suffering,” Captain Poma says to him. “Especially if your theory is correct and he tortures them. It would seem he causes suffering. Not relieves it.”

    
“Obviously, he causes it. But we’re not dealing with a rational mind, only an organized one. He’s calculating and deliberate. He’s intelligent and sophisticated. He understands breaking and entering and leaving no evidence. He possibly engages in cannibalism, and possibly believes he’s one with his victims, makes them part of him. That he has a significant relationship with them and is merciful.”

    
“The evidence.” Lucy is far more interested in that. “Do you think he knows there’s gunshot residue in the sand?”

    
“He might,” Benton says.

    
“I seriously doubt it,” Scarpetta says. “Very seriously. Even if the sand comes from some battlefield, so to speak, someplace meaningful to him, that doesn’t mean he knows the elemental composition. Why would he?”

    
“Point well taken. I should say it’s likely he brings the sand with him,” Benton says. “It’s very likely he brings his own tools and cutting instruments with him. Whatever he brings with him isn’t purely utilitarian. His world is rife with symbols, and he’s acting on impulses that make sense only when we understand these symbols.”

    
“I really don’t care about his symbols,” Lucy says. “What I care most about is he e-mailed Dr. Self. That’s the lynchpin, in my opinion. Why her? And why hijack the port’s wireless network? Why climb over the fence – we’ll assume. And use an abandoned container? Like he’s cargo?”

    
Lucy was her usual self. She climbed the shipyard’s fence earlier tonight and looked around because she had a hunch. Where could one hijack the port’s network without being seen? She got her answer inside a banged-up container where she discovered a table and a chair and a wireless router. Scarpetta has thought a lot about Bull, about the night he decided to smoke weed near abandoned containers and got cut up. Was the Sandman there? Did Bull get too close? She wants to ask him but hasn’t seen him since they searched the alley together and found the gun and the gold coin.

    
“I left everything in place,” Lucy says. “Hoping he wouldn’t know I was there. But he might. I can’t say. He’s not sent any e-mails from the port tonight, but he hasn’t for a while.”

    
“What about the weather?” Scarpetta asks, mindful of the time.

    
“Should clear by midnight. I’m stopping by the lab, then heading to the airport,” Lucy says.

    
She gets up. Then Captain Poma does. Benton stays in his chair, and Scarpetta meets his eyes, and her phobias return.

    
He says to her, “I need to talk to you a minute.”

    
Lucy and Captain Poma leave, and Scarpetta shuts her door.

    
“Maybe I should start. You showed up in Charleston with no announcement,” she says. “You didn’t call. I hadn’t heard from you in days, and then you walk in unexpectedly last night with him…”

    
“Kay,” he says, reaching for his briefcase and placing it on his lap. “We shouldn’t be doing this right now.”

    
“You’ve barely talked to me.”

    
“Can we…?” he starts to say.

    
“No, we can’t put this off until later. I can scarcely concentrate. I have to get to Rose’s apartment building, have so much to do, too much to do, and everything’s disintegrating and I know what you want to talk to me about. I can’t tell you how I feel. Maybe I really can’t. I don’t blame you if you’ve made a decision. I certainly understand.”

    
“I wasn’t going to suggest we put this off until later,” Benton says. “I was going to suggest we stop interrupting each other.”

    
This confuses her. That light in his eyes. She’s always believed what’s in his eyes is only for her, and now she’s afraid it isn’t and never was. He’s looking at her, and she looks away.

    
“What do you want to talk to me about, Benton?”

    
“Him.”

    
“Otto?”

    
“I don’t trust him. Waiting for the Sandman to show up to send more e-mails? On foot? In the rain? In the dark? Did he tell you he was coming here?”

    
“I suppose someone informed him of what’s been happening. A connection of the Drew Martin case with Charleston, with Hilton Head.”

    
“Maybe Dr. Maroni’s been talking to him,” Benton considers. “I don’t know. He’s like a phantom.” He means the captain. “All over the damn place. I don’t trust him.”

    
“Maybe I’m the one you don’t trust,” she says. “Maybe you should say it and get it over with.”

    
“I don’t trust him at all.”

    
“Then you shouldn’t spend so much time with him.”

    
“I haven’t. I don’t know what he does or where. Except I think he came to Charleston because of you. It’s obvious what he wants. To be the hero. To impress you. To make love to you. I can’t say I’d blame you. He’s handsome and charming, I’ll give him that.”

    
“Why are you jealous of him? He’s so small compared to you. I’ve done nothing to warrant it. You’re the one who lives up there and leaves me alone. I understand your not wanting to be in this relationship anymore. Just tell me and get it over with.” Scarpetta looks at her left hand, at the ring. “Should I take it off?” She starts to take it off.

    
“Don’t,” Benton says. “Please don’t. I don’t believe you want that.”

    
“It’s not a matter of what I want. It’s what I deserve.”

    
“I don’t blame men for falling in love with you. Or wanting you in bed. Do you know what happened?”

    
“I should give you the ring.”

    
“Let me tell you what happened,” Benton says. “It’s about time you knew. When your father died, he took some of you with him.”

    
“Please don’t be cruel.”

    
“Because he adored you,” Benton says. “How could he not? His beautiful little girl. His brilliant little girl. His good little girl.”

    
“Don’t hurt me like this.”

    
“I’m telling you a truth, Kay. A very important one.” The light in his eyes again.

    
She can’t look at him.

    
“From that day forward, a part of you decided it was too dangerous to notice the way someone looks at you if he adores you or wants you sexually. If he adores you and dies? You believe you can’t endure that again. Sexually wants you? Then how do you work with cops and DAs if you think they’re imagining what’s under your clothes and what they might do with it?”

    
“Stop it. I don’t deserve this.”

    
“You never did.”

    
“Just because I choose not to notice doesn’t mean I deserve what he did.”

    
“Never in a million years.”

    
“I don’t want to live here anymore,” she says. “I should give you back the ring. It was your great-grandmother’s.”

    
“And run away from home? Like you did when you had no one left but your mother and Dorothy? You ran away without going anywhere. Lost in learning and accomplishment. Running fast, too busy to feel. Now you want to run away like Marino just did.”