Autopsy (Kay Scarpetta, #25)(93)

“I’ll wait.” I find a sofa next to a silk orchid. “Let Doctor Reddy know I’m here.”

I’m not going to bother Maggie about what’s happened. She’s clearly part of the problem, and I angrily envision us race-walking here from a public parking lot.

“But he has a booked schedule, ma’am,” Tina reminds me, and she’s getting unnerved.

“I’m not going anywhere.” I say it again as Marino plops down next to me like a gargoyle.

“And it’s doctor, not ma’am,” he lets her know. “You tell the health commissioner we’ll be sitting right here until we turn into skeletons if we have to.”

The wait isn’t that long but close enough. Two hours and twenty minutes later, Elvin Reddy looks chagrined when he walks in.

“I apologize but you weren’t here at ten, and then the governor wanted to have coffee. One thing after another, you know how it goes.” In his sharp double-breasted gray suit, Elvin brings to mind a wealthy businessman, a small bald one with a prominent nose and small dark eyes.

“I offered her an appointment for tomorrow,” Tina, his receptionist, is quick to say.

“I’m not coming back tomorrow or any other time, Elvin.” I get up from the sofa. “Say what you have to say. Or don’t bother.”

“I’ve got a few minutes.” He lets Tina know that she’s to hold all calls until he tells her otherwise. “Just you.” He makes it clear that Marino isn’t invited.

I follow Elvin through double wooden doors into his corner space overlooking his kingdom. Walls are arranged with I love me photographs, awards, degrees, and to look at all his trophies, you’d think he deserves the high offices he manages to reach.

You’d think he’s the next celebrity health official in the making, and I imagine him hobnobbing at the White House, angling for some big appointment.

“I guess that was you flying by, making all that noise.” He shuts the doors. “Please, make yourself comfortable, Kay.”

He shows me to a blue satin couch that reminds me of the Oval Office while he sits behind his big desk, potentate that he is.

“As you know, my niece is a helicopter pilot,” I reply. “And driving here wasn’t going to be possible unless I left in the middle of the night. Traffic being what it is on I-95, especially in Northern Virginia. You’ve set me up for failure at every turn, and my being twelve minutes late isn’t why you decided to make me wait forever. It’s all about power. With you, everything is.”

“How is Lucy, by the way?” He folds his hands together on top of his desk, tilting his head as if he cares. “I know she’s had her struggles. Maggie’s filled me in about her partner and their adopted child. I lost a few people to COVID.”

He disingenuously goes on to inquire about the welfare of everyone I care about, leaning back in his big leather chair. But he’s not as smug as he was when he first came up with his little drama, of that I’m quite certain, and I tell him to throw his best punch.

“Go ahead,” I invite him. “Get it over with, Elvin. I don’t care but I won’t take it quietly. It’s too late. I know too much.”

“I’m wondering if you have any concept of the fear you’re inspiring in Virginians,” he says, lightly touching his fingertips together. “Have you seen the piece that’s all over the news? The one about the so-called Railway Slayer?”

“Yes, by the same TV journalist who may have faked her own home invasion.”

“I wouldn’t know, but that doesn’t change what the public thinks about some serial killer terrorizing our nation’s capital and its historic surrounds,” he says. “It’s most unfortunate you’ve let things get out of hand like this.”

“I realize that murder is bad for local business, and serial murder is worse,” I reply. “Most assuredly it could interfere with tourism, and God forbid if bodies start turning up in a popular D.C.-area national park.”

“This is what I mean about you being a drama queen, Kay. That’s always been your fatal flaw, turning something mundane into the next headline.”

“I have many flaws but that happens not to be one of them.” I look him in the eye. “Let’s get this over with. What do you want?”

“Maggie says you were prowling around Daingerfield Island last night.” He’s not putting on the diplomatic act anymore. “And lo and behold, clothing, body parts, why, all sorts of things start turning up,” he says as if accusing me of being the cause. “What is this I hear about a penny found on the railroad tracks?”

As in only one, and I think of August Ryan. He found that single penny near Gwen’s body, and he doesn’t know about the others. I didn’t tell him what Marino and I discovered by the tracks last night, and it would seem that Fruge hasn’t said a word to him or anyone else.

“Daingerfield Island is a place you’re familiar with,” I say to Elvin. “I have it on good authority that you responded to Cammie Ramada’s scene last April tenth. You and your wife, Maggie says. Even if it’s not in any paperwork I’ve reviewed.”

Holding my stare, he doesn’t say a word.

“You’re not a first responder,” I go on. “You’re really not a responder at all, and I’d be very interested to hear why you decided to roll up on that particular scene. With your wife,” I repeat. “Especially when you’d been out to dinner. You and Helen had.” Pausing again. “And it would seem you’d been drinking enough that it was noticeable at the scene.”