Autopsy (Kay Scarpetta, #25)(92)

He and another agent are on their way to interview Jinx Slater, who doesn’t know they’re coming. Gwen’s former boyfriend likely also isn’t aware that his DNA has been recovered from an unbloodied part of the Star Wars blanket missing from her townhome’s inflatable bed.

“The question is when his semen was deposited on it,” I reply. “This past Friday night when she was attacked? Or some time earlier when she was living with him in Boston?”

“What I know is the blanket was on her bed when Lucy and I did our security walk-through for Gwen,” Marino reminds us.

“But where was it before that?” I ask. “If she brought it with her when she moved to Old Town, that could be the explanation. The stain might be old.”

“Do we have any idea where Jinx Slater was the past Friday night?” Marino wants to know.

“He claims he was staying with a friend over the Thanksgiving holiday, a woman he’s started seeing in Cambridge.” Benton’s voice inside our courtesy truck. “She’s confirmed that this is true, but consider the source.”

“You should be able to check the airlines, tollbooths, the GPS in his car,” Marino says, and he can’t help himself.

He has to tell my husband how to do his job. Benton patiently assures him that the Secret Service is working closely with other law enforcement agencies. They’re trying to find out if Jinx Slater left Massachusetts last week and might have headed to Northern Virginia.

“There’s no indication of it so far,” Benton says, and I try Clark Givens next.

He confirms the news about Jinx Slater’s DNA showing up on the blanket. Clark also got an unknown profile from skin cells under Gwen’s fingernails.

“I’m surprised you got anything,” I reply. “But we’re lucky it’s wintertime.”

“Otherwise forget it,” he agrees. “Four or five days in a dumpster during the summer? And we’d be out of luck.”

He examined the clippings I collected in the autopsy suite last night, and it’s possible Gwen scratched her assailant.

“But it’s not Jinx Slater’s DNA,” Clark explains. “As I’ve mentioned, it’s an unknown profile that I’ll run through CODIS.”

He says he hopes to have more information by the time I get back to the office, and I’m not sure that’s going to happen. The way I’m feeling, I expect to arrive and find my key doesn’t work, that I’ve lost my take-home car and parking space. Elvin Reddy will have a well-laid plan, and no doubt he’s looking forward to watching it unfold.

On I-95 now, we’ve reached the campus of the Medical College of Virginia where I once was on the faculty. Next, we’re turning onto North 14th Street, and Main Street Station is in our windshield, the site of my former life all around us.

“Now’s not a good time to bring this up,” Marino says. “But I don’t suppose Maggie said anything about parking?”

“Of course she didn’t,” I reply in exasperation, and I should have thought to ask.

“Because there’s nothing around here but street parking with meters, and I’m not seeing an empty space anywhere,” he says, both of us looking for an empty spot or someone leaving.

I send Maggie a text, and she doesn’t answer as Marino circles the building several times to no avail. By the time she gets back to me, we’re in a public lot several blocks away.

“She says there’s no special parking,” I let Marino know as he tucks a five-dollar bill into the honor box.

“Let the games begin,” he says as we follow the sidewalk, hoofing it to the Monroe Building.

It’s ten o’clock on the nose when we hurry through the glass front door. Then we’re waiting with a crowd of state employees gathering by the elevators, and after being early, now I’m late. The ride up twenty-nine floors takes an eternity with all the stops along the way, and when we walk into the health commissioner’s lobby, I’m sweating.

I shouldn’t have worn these shoes, am getting a blister, and I don’t have time to touch up my makeup. Announcing myself to the young bubbly receptionist, I take off my coat as her pretty face screws into a frown.

“OH MY.” SHE MAKES a big production of looking at the faux antique grandfather clock inside a spacious area recently furnished.

It would seem Elvin didn’t waste any time fixing up his empire to his liking. I take in the new carpet, the overstuffed sofas and chairs, paintings and photographs of Virginia everywhere as I listen to the receptionist explain that I’m late.

“Your appointment was at ten.” She looks up at Marino and me.

“It’s twelve minutes after,” I reply.

“I guess he thought you weren’t coming. Also, you didn’t call to confirm this morning.”

“You’re saying he didn’t hear our helicopter. That he had no idea we were on our way,” I reply.

“Oh, that was you?” She’s a terrible actress. “I might be able to fit you in tomorrow at the same time. Is it possible you could come back?”

“What’s your name?” I ask her.

“Tina.”

“Is he here, Tina? Because I’m not going anywhere.”

“All I know is he stepped out a few minutes ago.”