Autopsy (Kay Scarpetta, #25)(80)

Off our nose is the Catholic church I don’t attend often enough, across from it the Shell station. The colonial brick Harris Teeter is where we go for major food shopping, and Benton’s and my guilty pleasure is Haute Dogs & Fries, while Marino is a big fan of the Oak Steakhouse.

“When you decided to drop by today unannounced,” I ask, “who let you into the building?”

“Wyatt answered when I buzzed the gate. He was in the bay helping with a delivery and scanned me up to your office. Turns out his brother was a Richmond cop I used to know, and by the way, the security at your building stinks.”

“Obviously or you wouldn’t have made it to my floor.”

I ask him what time it was when he appeared at Maggie’s door as I imagine the look on her face.

“High noon,” he says, and by then I’d spotted Elvin inside the West Wing Mess Hall.

Likely he caught wind that I was there, and naturally he’s going to contact his former secretary of twenty years who’s remained steadfastly loyal to him through thick and thin. The truth is that they’ve never stopped working together, and it’s crossed my mind she might suffer from Stockholm syndrome.

Identifying with the aggressor, she’s treating me the way Elvin’s treated her, and I’m not na?ve. I expected Maggie to be one of many challenges facing me when I took this job. But stupidly, perhaps arrogantly I thought I’d win her over. I deluded myself into believing that if I were fair and empowering, if I were the sort of boss one ought to be, she’d come around.

She’d realize how much better off she is no longer working for a self-consumed overreacher, a misogynistic jerk, let’s be honest. I suppose I hoped to re-create what I had when getting started, and that wasn’t smart or completely honest. I didn’t move back to Virginia for nostalgia but to serve the public and help solve problems.

The good old days weren’t all that good anyway, and Maggie Cutbush will never be Rose. The past is past but never gone, and it’s a sad fact that women don’t always get along with each other. Some are too territorial and competitive, answering only to a man, creating the very toxic environment I’ve inherited.

“I’m sure Elvin would have been most unhappy finding out I was at the White House. The first thing he would have done was ask Maggie what I’m up to,” I explain, and we’re in Northeast Alexandria.

Following the Potomac’s shoreline, our timing is just right for getting caught at every red light.

“She didn’t say what either of you were doing there,” Marino says.

Keeping his eyes on the road, he steers with one hand while tossing out his gum again. There’s no point in reprimanding him about it.

“I asked and she wouldn’t tell me,” he adds.

“I doubt she knows. I doubt he does either,” I reply. “I hope they don’t, at any rate. Otherwise the president has serious issues with intelligence leaks.”

“You were with the president today? He wanted to meet with you personally?”

“I’m saying, it’s risky to national security if people can’t have private conversations.” That’s as much as I’m going to share.

“It would be helpful if you’d tell me what was so important that you suddenly got called to a top secret meeting.” Marino starts rummaging inside the ashtray for more gum, and it’s a good thing it’s sugarless or he’d have no teeth left. “You know, in case there’s something I should worry about besides you bringing home poisoned wine from Interpol.”

“I think it’s pretty obvious that there’s plenty for us to worry about, Marino.”

“I’ll take that as meaning we’re back to the way things used to be, you and me swimming upstream with alligators.” Peeling the wrappers off several sticks, clove again, he offers them to me.

“You know what? I could use a hit.” I take the gum from him, the inside of the truck smelling like potpourri.

“Sometimes I want to smoke so bad it’s killing me, Doc, and this is one of those times,” Marino says.

“Believe me, I know the feeling.”

“What if I told you I had a pack of Marlboros for emergencies?”

“I’d tell you that I didn’t hear what you just said.”

“Do you still think about it?”

“Not a day goes by.”

“Exactly,” he says. “One damn cigarette! What if I lit just one and we shared it?”





CHAPTER 32


IT’S NEVER JUST ONE,” I reply, both of us chewing our gum.

“I thought the craving would go away but if anything, it’s worse. As much as I hate to admit it.” He’s been saying the same thing since he and Dorothy got married.

Only Marino has been craving more than cigarettes if he’s honest about it, and he’s not. Easier if he’s blind to what I saw when he and Dorothy started dating seriously several years ago. He was her new challenge, her next bright, shiny thing.

It wasn’t for me to judge, and I was their biggest supporter despite my misgivings about my sister smothering him while sucking out his life force, emotional spider that she is. I’ve watched her do it to every pair of pants that’s come through her door. But maybe it would be different with him, not that it was my decision, and I was careful not to interfere.