Autopsy (Kay Scarpetta, #25)(25)

CHAPTER 10


IF YOU WOULDN’T MIND maybe switching off your jewelry,” I say to Dorothy. “I’ve seen enough flashing lights for one night, please.”

“Of course, but no fun.” She does it with a long-suffering sigh. “There now, isn’t that better? I’ve gone all dark just like you.”

Eyeing me up and down, she makes sure I know what a wreck I am.

“You look like a wet dog and probably smell like one.” Her teasing often has a sharp tip when aimed in my direction.

“More like Armor All, actually,” I reply, and occasionally I still get a whiff of it. “Marino let me borrow a towel.”

“I wouldn’t know since he’s not answering my calls or texts. Almost never does when he’s busy playing cops and robbers with you.”

“He’s not with me, and hasn’t been for hours. I expect him to be out with the investigator for a while.” I ignore her slights.

“Details please,” she demands as Benton looks on, and watching us spar isn’t new or interesting, either one. “I want to know what we’re up against, and if I could be at risk. How do we know who else this maniac has noticed nearby and might have on his radar?”

“I can’t talk about it, Dorothy.”

“That couldn’t be more unfair! I have a right to know what’s going on when someone’s been abducted and murdered two houses down from us.”

The weather was awful, she launches into her story, saying that she and Marino decided to stay in watching TV. They were drinking hot toddies, eating Thanksgiving leftovers, having no clue what was going on with their new neighbor.

“That’s what I can’t get over,” she says, and there’s no one more dramatic than my sister when weaving a tale. “If only we had, if only! We could have done something. Pete would have shown up with one of his big guns, and that would have been the end of it.”

“Did you hear any cars driving past while you were watching TV?” Benton asks.

“No, but that doesn’t mean much,” she says.

The townhomes are solidly built, with double-glazed windows. The soundproofing in addition to the stormy weather, the television playing, and it’s possible they might not have noticed a car going past. With the drapes drawn, they wouldn’t have seen it, either. But they have cameras above each door leading outside, and I ask if Marino checked the recording.

“I’m wondering if they might have picked up anything, assuming the street’s not out of range,” I explain.

“Of course, he’s checked,” Dorothy says unhappily. “But you can’t see anything. The cameras don’t cover the street, and this is so upsetting. I was barely acquainted with Gwen but more than I wish, and right about now I’m feeling sorry I got involved.”

“I would imagine the police will need your DNA for exclusionary purposes since you’ve been inside her townhome.” Benton begins unbuttoning his shirt collar, loosening his tie. “How often? And how recently?”

“Just that one time I stopped by to welcome her to the neighborhood right after she moved here,” she says, and I’m not going to mention the near-dead dish garden. “Then Pete and Lucy did their security walk-through with her a few weeks after that.”

“By the way, where is she?” I ask.

When I got home, Lucy should have seen it in the gate cameras and others along the wooded perimeter. She monitors them on computer displays, also an app on her phone. I admit it hurts my feelings that she hasn’t shown up yet, and I hope she’s not annoyed with me for being late for her birthday.

“I have to say that Gwen was neither grateful nor friendly,” Dorothy summarizes. “In retrospect, I’m deciding that she acted like someone with a lot to hide.”

“Did you ever call her after the one time you dropped by?” Benton continues his questions.

“I don’t have her number. I could tell she didn’t want to give it out.”

“What about Lucy and Marino?” I inquire. “How did they set up their walk-through?”

“When I was with Gwen, we picked a date for mid-October.”

“This was how long after she moved in?” Benton wants to know.

“A couple of weeks,” Dorothy says. “But when I met her, she’d just gotten there, and what a disaster. I don’t know how she stood it.”

The townhome was being renovated, and was not really habitable. She recalls the strong smell of paint, the noise of the construction crew clearing out their debris and trash.

“I remember hearing them stomping around, packing up their tools, covering stuff upstairs with plastic, and whatnot,” she adds.

“How long were you with her?” I envision what I saw inside the townhome, the empty picture hooks, the dangling wires.

“Thirty, forty minutes tops,” she replies. “And when she told me about her problems with her ex, I suggested the security check. She wasn’t all that interested but I was insistent it was the smart thing to do. So we set it up, and just so we’re clear, I wasn’t present when Pete and Lucy were there.”

“I’m afraid you may not hear the end of this for a while,” Benton says.

“Well, I just hope it won’t ruin where we live.” Dorothy never fails to circle back to herself. “I’m not sure how safe I’ll feel anymore. Not to mention privacy issues now that Colonial Landing is all over the news.”