She stared into the fire, eyes wide and unblinking, as if watching it again in her mind.
"I say, You think I didn't expect you would use us and then do this? You think I'm stupid? Well, guess what? I forgot to tell you Mr. Tortora is expecting our company-and I look at my watch-in exactly one hour and sixteen minutes. I thought it would be nice to entertain him before you motherfuckers showed up and blew his guts out and took all his guns and money and fucking cocaine. What happens if we don't show up? You think he won't get nervous?"
I couldn't take my eyes off Lucy. Images flew at me from all directions. I imagined her playing out this dangerous act, and I saw her in battle dress when she was at fire scenes and flying a helicopter and programming computers. I envisioned her as the irritating, irrepressible child I had virtually raised.. Marino was right. Lucy thought she had so much to prove. Her first impulse had always been to fight.
"I didn't think they really believed me," she said. "So I turn to Jo. I'll never forget the look in her eyes, the pistol barrel right against her temple. Her eyes." She paused. "They're so calm as she looks in mine because…"
Her voice shook.
"Because she wants me to know she loves me…" Lucy chokes on sobs. "She loves me! She wants me to know because she believes..:" Her voice went up and stopped. "She believes we're going to die. And that's when I start yelling at her. I call her a stupid fucking bitch and slap her face so hard my hand goes numb.
"And she just looks at me as if I'm all there is, blood trickling out of her nose and the sides of her mouth, a red river down her face, dripping off her chin. She didn't even cry. She's out of the story, lost her role, her training; everything she damn well knows what to do. I grab her. I shove her hard to the ground and get on top of her, swearing and slapping and yelling."
She wiped her eyes and stared straight ahead.
"And what's so awful, Aunt Kay, is part of it's real. I'm so angry with her for quitting on me, for just giving up. She was going to just give up and die, goddamn it!"
"Like Benton did;" I quietly said.
Lucy wiped her face on her shirt. She didn't seem to hear what I'd said.
"I'm so fucking tired of people giving up and leaving me;" she said in a shattered voice. "When I need them and they fucking give up!"
"Benton didn't give up, Lucy."
"I just keep swearing at Jo, screaming and hitting her and telling her I'm going to kill her as I straddle her, shaking her by her hair. It wakes her up, maybe even pisses her off, too, and she starts fighting back. Calls me a Cuban cunt and spits blood in my face, punches me, and by this time the guys are laughing and whistling and grabbing their crotches..: '
She took another long breath and shut her eyes, barely able to sit up. She leaned against my legs, firelight playing on her strong, beautiful face.
"She starts really struggling. My knees are so tight against her sides I'm surprised I didn't break her ribs, and while we're going at each other like that, I tear open her shirt, and this really gets the guys going and they don't see me grab my gun out of my ankle holster. I start firing. I just fire. Fire. Fire. Fire. Fire..:' Her voice trailed off.
I bent over and put my arms around her.
"You know? I'm wearing those wide-legged street jeans to hide my Sig. They say I fired eleven rounds. I don't even remember dropping the empty magazine, putting in a full one. Racking it back. Agents are everywhere and somehow I'm dragging Jo out the door. And she's bleeding heavily from her head."
Lucy's lower lip trembled as she tried to go on, her voice far away. She wasn't here. She was there, living it again.
"Fire. Fire. Fire. Her blood on my hands."
Her voice rose to God.
"I hit her and hit her. I can still feel the sting of her cheek against the palm of my hand."
She looked at her hand as if it should be put to death.
"I felt it. How soft her skin was. And she bled. I made her bleed. The skin I had touched and loved. I drew blood from it. Then the guns, the guns, the guns, and smoke and ringing in my ears and it's a blaze when it happens like that. It's over and never started. I knew she was dead."
She bowed her head and wept quietly, and I stroked her hair.
"You saved her life. And you saved yours;" I finally said. "Jo knows what you did and why you did it, Lucy. She should love you all the more."
"I'm in trouble this time, Aunt Kay," she said.
"You're a hero. That's what you are."
"No. You don't understand. It doesn't matter if it was a good shooting. It doesn't matter ifATF gives me a medaclass="underline" "
She sat up and got to her feet. She stared down at me with defeat in her eyes and another emotion I didn't recognize. Maybe it was grief. She'd never shown grief when Benton was murdered. All I'd ever seen was rage.
"The bullet they took out of her leg? It's a Hornady Custom Jacketed hollowpoint. Ninety grains. What I had in my gun."
I didn't know what to say.
"I'm the one who shot her, Aunt Kay."
"Even if you did.:."
"What if she never walks again…? What if she's finished in law enforcement because of me?"
"She won't be jumping out of helicopters anytime soon," I said. "But she's going to be fine."
"What if I permanently damaged her face with my fucking fist?"
"Lucy, listen to me," I said. "You saved her life. If you killed two people to do that, then so be it. You had no choice. It's not that you wanted to:' "The hell I didn't;' she said. "I wish I'd killed all of them."
"You don't mean that:' "Maybe I'll just be a mercenary soldier," she bitterly said. "Got any murderers, rapists, carjackers, pedophiles, drug dealers you need to get rid of? Just call one-eighthundred-L-U-C-Y"
"You can't bring Benton back through killing."
Still, it was as if she didn't hear me.
"He wouldn't want you to feel this way," I said.
The telephone rang.
"He didn't abandon you, Lucy. Don't be angry with him because he died."
The phone rang a third time, and she couldn't restrain herself. She grabbed it, unable to hide the hope and fear in her eyes. I couldn't bring myself to tell her what Dr. Worth had told me. Now was not the time.
"Sure, hold on," she said, and disappointment and more hurt touched her face as she handed me the phone.
"Yes," I reluctantly answered.
"Is this Dr. Kay Scarpetta?" an unfamiliar male voice asked.
"Who is this?"
"It's important I verify who you are." The accent was American.
"If you're another reporter..:'
"I'm going to give you a phone number."
"I'm going to give you a promise," I said. "Tell me who you are, or I'm hanging up."
"Let me give you this number," and he began reciting it before I could refuse.
I recognized the country code for France.
"It's three o'clock in the morning in France," I said, as if he didn't know.
"It doesn't matter what time it is. We have been getting information from you and running it through our computer system."
"Not from me."
"No, not in the sense that you typed it into the computer, Dr. Scarpetta"
His voice was baritone and smooth, like fine polished wood.
"I'm at the secretariat in Lyon," he informed me. "Call the number I gave you and at least get our after-hours voice mail."
"How much sense does that…?"
"Please."
I hung up and tried, and a recording of a woman with a heavy French accent said "Bonjour, hello," and gave the office hours in both languages. I entered the extension he had given me, and the man's voice came back over the line.
"Bonjour, hello? And that's supposed to identify who you are?" I said. "You could be a restaurant for all I know."
"Please fax me a sheet of your letterhead. When I see that I'll fill you in."
He gave me the number. I put him on hold and went back to my study. I faxed a sheet of my stationery to him while Lucy remained in front of the fire, elbow on her knee, chin in her hand, listless.
"My name's Jay Talley, the ATF liaison at Interpol," he said when I got back with him. "We need you to come here right away. You and Captain Marino."