Autopsy(Kay Scarpetta #25)(94)

He doesn’t answer, and I know the reason. Park Police Investigator Ryan gave Maggie a heads-up after the body was found because he knew trouble when he saw it.

“A woman jogger chased off the Mount Vernon Trail, beaten, then drowned in the Potomac River wasn’t the story you or others wanted,” I keep going. “Who did you make promises to, Elvin? A politician or two? Local businesses? If you lowered the homicide rate in the greater D.C. area, what a coup that would be. Why, even I’ve been impressed by the crime stats, thinking how safe things have gotten around here.”

“Cammie Ramada had temporal lobe epilepsy,” he starts to say, but I don’t let him finish his lame excuse for a manner of death he deliberately falsified.

“I’ve been through her records and talked to people familiar with the case, including Officer Fruge,” I let him know, and he gives me one of his condescending smiles.

“I wouldn’t consider her a reliable source.”

“She’s not the only one who smelled alcohol on your breath.” I begin filling him in on the rest of it, detailing what I believe went on the night of April 10.

August Ryan contacted Maggie, letting her know about the body in the park, wanting her to inform Elvin. What August did was bypass the medical examiner on call, and that was the main objective. Better if the chief himself showed up, and that’s what he did, shutting down any potential controversy.

Likely August figured that if he didn’t do this, he’d have hell to pay, and I think of what Marino said about the park police investigator. He probably means to do what’s right but gets leaned on. I can imagine Elvin bullying police like August, making it difficult if they don’t do his bidding.

“Supposedly you and Helen were on your way home from dinner at your favorite restaurant,” I then say to him. “Only Maggie can’t seem to recall the name . . .”





CHAPTER 37

THAT’S ENOUGH, KAY.” HE holds up his hand as if stopping traffic.

“I’m not here to cause domestic problems,” I reply quietly, after another pause. “Whatever the two of you have really isn’t my concern unless it impacts the criminal justice system. Why was Maggie with you that night?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation.” His voice has turned cold, and he’s tapping his fingers together again.

“Well, you’re going to owe one to somebody, Elvin,” I reply. “You swept a homicide under the rug, and now another woman has been murdered, possibly by the same killer, her body left in the same park. Aren’t you even slightly worried?”

“This recent case is an obvious homicide,” he replies. “Cammie Ramada wasn’t. And Maggie and I were out that night, you know me, not much of a shopper. It was about finding a birthday present for my wife. She had her heart set on diamond earrings, and Maggie was kind enough to help. Afterward, we stopped for a bite to eat.”

“Where?”

“The FYVE Restaurant in the Ritz-Carlton,” he says, and it’s an intimate place.

He and Maggie were leaving the restaurant when she got the call. August Ryan had been notified about a suspicious death on Daingerfield Island, and he didn’t want to contact the medical examiner’s office directly. He preferred talking to the chief first. What he says is exactly what I suspected, and it’s only now that I’m realizing the full extent of Elvin’s influence over those I’m supposed to work with.

“I understand you were at the White House yesterday.” He gets up from his desk and begins pacing in front of the windows. “If you’ve not figured it out by now, Kay? All of us answer to others.”

“Yes, we do.” I couldn’t agree more. “And we’re supposed to do so truthfully. I can’t work in a place where I’m supposed to lie even if only on occasion.” I get up, putting on my coat.

“Not even a month on the job.” He stops pacing, making a point to glance at his expensive watch.

“Yes, a new record.”

“I can’t get over the irony.” He walks me to the double doors. “Back when I was your least appreciated forensic path in training, I never thought this day would come. That I’d be dismissing you, making you feel what I did. That you just can’t measure up no matter what.”

“You made yourself feel that way, and it’s not because you’re incapable. It’s that you’re unwilling,” I reply, and he’s heard enough of my lectures.

“You’re to return to the office to clear out your belongings. I realize it might take a day or two,” he says, and at least he has that much decency.

He makes sure I know that he could demand my ID badge, my credentials, my keys. But we’re professionals with a long history.

“I’d rather keep this civilized,” he says, and what he’s really worried about is appearances. “Will you and Benton move back to Massachusetts?”

My answer is to walk out of his top-floor throne room, and soon enough Marino and I are headed back to the parking lot where we left our courtesy car.

“I can’t believe this,” he keeps saying, and I wish he’d stop.

“Don’t make me feel any worse,” I reply. “And not a word about all this during the flight home. I don’t want it discussed in front of Clare and the TSA, please.”