Five Scarpetta Novels (14 page)

I opened my window part of the way and drove onto Main Street, grateful that by now roads were only wet, and rush hour traffic not too bad. Damp, cold air felt good on my face, and I knew what I must do. It had been a while since I had stopped at church on my way home, for I thought to do this only when I was in crisis, when life had pushed me as far as I could go. At Three Chopt Road and Grove Avenue, I turned into the parking lot of Saint Bridget's, which was built of brick and slate and no longer kept its doors unlocked at night, because of what the world had become. But Alcoholics Anonymous met at this hour, and I always knew when I could get in and not be bothered.

Entering through a side door, I blessed myself with holy water as I walked into the sanctuary with its statues of saints guarding the cross, and crucifixion scenes in brilliant stained glass. I chose the last row of pews, and I wished for candles to light, but that ritual had stopped here with Vatican II. Kneeling on the bench, I prayed for Ted Eddings and his mother. I prayed for Marino and Wesley. In my private, dark space, I prayed for my niece. Then I sat in silence with my eyes shut, and I felt my tension begin to ease.

At almost six
P
.
M
., I was about to leave when I paused in the narthex and saw the lighted doorway of the library down a hall. I wasn't certain why I was guided in that direction, but it did occur to me that an evil book might be countered by one that was holy, and a few moments with the catechism might be what the priest would prescribe. When I walked in, I found an older woman inside, returning books to shelves.

“Dr. Scarpetta?” she asked, and she seemed both surprised and pleased.

“Good evening.” I was ashamed I did not remember her name.

“I'm Mrs. Edwards.”

I remembered she was in charge of social services at the church, and trained converts in Catholicism, which some days I thought should include me since it was so rare I went to Mass. Small and slightly plump, she had never seen a convent but still inspired the same guilt in me that the good nuns had when I was young.

“I don't often see you here at this hour,” she said.

“I just stopped by,” I answered. “After work. I'm afraid I missed evening prayer.”

“That was on Sunday.”

“Of course.”

“Well, I'm so glad I happened to see you on my way out.” Her eyes lingered on my face and I knew she sensed my need.

I scanned bookcases.

“Might I help you find something?” she asked.

“A copy of the catechism,” I said.

She crossed the room and pulled one off a shelf, and handed it to me. It was a large volume and I wondered if I had made a good decision, for I was very tired right now and I doubted Lucy was in a condition to read.

“Perhaps there is something I might help you with?” Her voice was kind.

“Maybe if I could speak to the priest for a few moments, that would be good,” I said.

“Father O'Connor is making hospital visits.” Her eyes continued searching. “Might I help you in some way?”

“Maybe you can.”

“We can sit right here,” she suggested.

We pulled chairs out from a plain wooden table reminiscent of ones I had sat at in parochial school when I was
a girl in Miami. I suddenly remembered the wonder of what had awaited me on the pages of those books, for learning was what I loved, and any mental escape from home had been a blessing. Mrs. Edwards and I faced each other like friends, but the words were hard to say because it was rare I talked this frankly.

“I can't go into much detail because my difficulty relates to a case I am working,” I began.

“I understand.” She nodded.

“But suffice it to say that I have become exposed to a satanic-type bible. Not devil worship, per se, but something evil.”

She did not react but continued to look me in the eye.

“And Lucy was, as well. My twenty-three-year-old niece. She also read this manuscript.”

“And you're having problems as a result?” Mrs. Edwards asked.

I took a deep breath and felt foolish. “I know this sounds rather weird.”

“Of course it doesn't,” she said. “We must never underestimate the power of evil, and we should avoid brushing up against it whenever we can.”

“I can't always avoid that,” I said. “It is evil that usually brings my patients to my door. But rarely do I have to look at documents like the one I'm talking about now. I've been having disturbing dreams, and my niece is acting erratically and has spent a lot of time with the Book. Mostly, I'm worried about her. That's why I'm here.”

“‘But continue thou in the things which thou hast learned and hast been assured of,”' she quoted to me. “It's really that simple.” She smiled.

“I'm not certain I understand,” I replied.

“Dr. Scarpetta, there is no cure for what you've just shared with me. I can't lay hands on you and push the
darkness and bad dreams away. Father O'Connor can't, either. We have no ritual or ceremony that works. We can pray for you, and of course, we will. But what you and Lucy must do right now is return to your own faith. You need to do whatever it is that has given you strength in the past.”

“That's why I came here today,” I said again.

“Good. Tell Lucy to return to the religious community and pray. She should come to church.”

That would be the day, I thought as I drove toward home, and my fears only intensified when I walked through my front door. It was not quite seven
P
.
M
. and Lucy was in bed.

“Are you asleep?” I sat next to her in the dark and placed my hand on her back. “Lucy?”

She did not answer and I was grateful that our cars had not arrived. I was afraid she might have tried to drive back to Charlottesville. I was so afraid she was about to repeat every terrible mistake she had ever made.

“Lucy?” I said again.

She slowly rolled over. “What?” she said.

“I'm just checking on you,” I said in a hushed tone.

I saw her wipe her eyes and realized she was not asleep but crying.

“What is it?” I said.

“Nothing.”

“I know it's something. And it's time we talk. You've not been yourself and I want to help.”

She would not answer.

“Lucy, I will sit right here until you talk to me.”

She was quiet some more, and I could see her eyelids move as she stared up at the ceiling. “Janet told them,” she said. “She told her mom and dad. They argued with her, as if they know more about her feelings than she does.
As if somehow she is wrong about herself.”

Her voice was getting angrier and she worked her way up to a half-sitting position, stuffing pillows behind her back.

“They want her to go to counseling,” she added.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I'm not sure I know what to say except that the problem lies with them and not with the two of you.”

“I don't know what she's going to do. It's bad enough that we have to worry about the Bureau finding out.”

“You have to be strong and true to who you are.”

“Whoever that is. Some days I don't know.” She got more upset. “I hate this. It's so hard. It's so unfair.” She leaned her head against my shoulder. “Why couldn't I have been like you? Why couldn't it have been easy?”

“I'm not sure you want to be like me,” I said. “And my life certainly isn't easy, and almost nothing that matters is easy. You and Janet can work things out if you are committed to do so. And if you truly love each other.”

She took a deep breath and slowly blew out air.

“No more destructive behavior.” I got up from her bed in the shadows of her room. “Where's the Book?”

“On the desk,” she said.

“In my office?”

“Yes. I put it there.”

We looked at each other, and her eyes shone. She sniffed loudly and blew her nose.

“Do you understand why it's not good to dwell on something like that?” I asked.

“Look what you have to dwell on all the time. It goes with the turf.”

“No,” I said, “what goes with the turf is knowing where to step and where not to stand. You must respect an enemy's power as much as you despise it. Otherwise, you
will lose, Lucy. You had better learn this now.”

“I understand,” she quietly said as she reached for the catechism I had set on the foot of the bed. “What is this, and do I have to read it all tonight?”

“Something I picked up for you at church. I thought you might like to look at it.”

“Forget church,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because it's forgotten me. It thinks people like me are aberrant, as if I should go to hell or jail for the way I am. That's what I'm talking about. You don't know what it's like to be isolated.”

“Lucy, I've been isolated most of my life. You don't even know what discrimination is until you're one of only three women in your medical school class. Or in law school, the men won't share their notes if you're sick and miss class. That's why I don't get sick. That's why I don't get drunk and hide in bed.” I sounded hard because I knew I needed to be.

“This is different,” she said.

“I think you want to believe it's different so you can make excuses and feel sorry for yourself,” I said. “It seems to me that the person doing all of the forgetting and rejecting here is you. It's not the church. It's not society. It's not even Janet's parents, who simply may not understand. I thought you were stronger than this.”

“I am strong.”

“Well, I've had enough,” I said. “Don't you come to my house and get drunk and pull the covers over your head so that I worry about you all day. And then when I try to help, you push me and everyone else away.”

She was silent as she stared at me. Finally she said, “Did you really go to church because of me?”

“I went because of me,” I said. “But you were the main topic of conversation.”

She threw the covers off. “ ‘A person's chief end is to glorify God and enjoy God forever,”' she said as she got up.

I paused in her doorway.

“Catechism. Using inclusive language, of course. I had a religion course at UVA. Do you want dinner?”

“What would you like?” I said.

“Whatever's easy.” She came over and hugged me. “Aunt Kay, I'm sorry,” she said.

In the kitchen I opened the freezer first and was not inspired by anything I saw. Next I looked inside the refrigerator, but my appetite had gone into hiding along with my peace of mind. I ate a banana and made a pot of coffee. At half past eight, the base station on the counter startled me.

“Unit six hundred to base station one,” Marino's voice came over the air.

I picked up the microphone and answered him, “Base station one.”

“Can you call me at a number?”

“Give it to me,” I said, and I had a bad feeling.

It was possible the radio frequency used by my office could be monitored, and whenever a case was especially sensitive, the detectives tried to keep all of us off the air. The number Marino gave me was for a pay phone.

When he answered, he said, “Sorry, I didn't have any change.”

“What's going on?” I didn't waste time.

“I'm skipping the M.E. on call because I knew you'd want us to get hold of you first.”

“What is it?”

“Shit, Doc, I'm really sorry. But we've got Danny.”

“Danny?” I said in confusion.

“Danny Webster. From your Norfolk office.”

“What do you mean you've got him?” I was gripped by fear. “What did he do?” I imagined he had gotten arrested driving my car. Or maybe he had wrecked it.

Marino said, “Doc, he's dead.”

Then there was silence on his end and mine.

“Oh God.” I leaned against the counter and shut my eyes. “Oh my God,” I said. “What happened?”

“Look, I think the best thing is for you to get down here.”

“Where are you?”

“Sugar Bottom, where the old train tunnel is. Your car's about a block uphill at Libby Hill Park.”

I asked nothing further but told Lucy I was leaving and probably would not be home until late. I grabbed my medical bag and my pistol, for I was familiar with the skid row part of town where the tunnel was, and I could not imagine what might have lured Danny there. He and his friend were to have driven my car and Lucy's Suburban to my office, where my administrator was to meet them in back and give them a ride to the bus station. Certainly, Church Hill was not far from the OCME, but I could not imagine why Danny would have driven anywhere in my Mercedes other than where he knew he was to be. He did not seem the type to abuse my trust.