"At least she's not going anywhere," Rudy remarks as he and Lucy take off their headsets.
Lucy unscrews a large cap on her watch and pulls out the antenna, activating her ELT.
"Come on," she says. "We can't sit here."
"I can," Marino replies.
"Nic?" Lucy turns around. "You got any idea how deep the water is right here?"
"Not too deep, or there wouldn't be all this saw grass. Its the mud that's the problem. We could sink up to our knees."
"I'm not going anywhere," Marino says. "What for? The boat's sunk, so she ain't going anywhere, either. And I'm not getting snake-bit or eaten by a fucking alligator."
"Here's what we can do." Nic continues as if Marino isn't in the back with her. "The saw grass stretches all the way behind the shack, and I know the water's not that deep, because we used to put on high boots and collect mussels."
"I'm going," Lucy says, opening her door.
Inside the shack, dogs are barking loudly.
The problem for Lucy is that the fat float on her skid is going to make it impossible for her to lower herself gently, one foot at a time. She tightens the shoelaces on her ankle-high boots and hands Rudy her Glock and extra magazines.
Perched in the door frame like a skydiver, she says, "Here I go!"
She lands in the water feetfirst and is pleasantly surprised to find she sinks in just above her boots. If she steps quickly, she doesn't sink as much. Stepping closer, her face splattered with dirty water, she reaches out to take her weapon and wedges it into the back of her pants. She temporarily jams the extra magazines into a pocket.
Everybody takes turns holding on to guns and ammo as Rudy, then Nic, jumps out, exiting from the same side of the helicopter as Lucy did. Marino sits like an angry lump in the backseat.
"You gonna sit there until the chopper turns over on its side?" Rudy raises his voice. "Idiot! Get out!"
Marino slides across the seats and tosses Rudy his gun. He jumps, loses his balance and falls, his head hitting a float. When he manages to get to his feet, he is covered with mud and swearing.
"Shhhh," Lucy says. "Voices carry on the water. You all right?"
Marino wipes his hands on Rudy's shirt and angrily takes back his gun as both ELTs flash brightly on radar screens in airport towers and are picked up by any pilors who happen to be monitoring the emergency frequency.
They slog along, tensely keeping an eye out for snakes, hearing them rustle through the tall grass. When the four of them are within a hundred feet of the shack, pistols held high, barrels pointed up, the screen door whines open again and Bev dashes out on the pier with the shotgun, shrieking, screaming at them, insane and suicidal with desperation and rage.
Before she can even take aim, Rudy fires.
Crack-crack! Crack-crack! Crack-crack!
She hits the old wood planking and rolls into the water next to the half-sunken boat.
123
ALBERT DARD OPENS the imposing door, the front of his long-sleeve shirt spotted with blood.
"What happened?" Scarpetta exclaims as she steps inside.
She gets down and gently raises his shirt. In a tic-tac-toe pattern on his stomach are shallow cuts. Scarpetta lets out a long breath as she lowers his shirt and stands up.
"When did you do this?" She takes his hand.
"After she left and didn't come back. Then he left. The man on the plane. I don't like him!"
"Your aunt didn't come back?"
Scarpetta noted when she approached the house that a white Mercedes and Mrs. Guidon's old Volvo were parked in front.
"You have a place where I can do something about those cuts?"
He shakes his head. "I don't want to do anything."
"Well, I do. I'm a doctor. Come on."
"You are?" He seems dazzled, as if he's never imagined that women could be doctors.
He leads her up the stairs to a bathroom that, like the kitchen, hasn't been renovated in many years. Inside is a old-fashioned white tub, a white sink and a medicine cabinet, where she finds iodine but no Band-Aids.
"Let's get your shirt off." She helps him pull it over his head. "Can you be brave? I know you can. Cutting yourself hurts, doesn't it?"
She is dismayed by the multitude of scars covering his back and shoulders.
"I don't really feel it when I do it," he says, watching anxiously as she unscrews the cap from the iodine.
"I'm afraid you're going to feel this, Albert. A little sting." She lies the way all doctors do when some procedure is going to hurt like hell.
She works quickly while he bites his lip. He waves his hands to cool the burning while he tries not to cry.
"You are brave," she says, lowering the lid of the toilet and sitting on it. "You want to tell me why you started cutting yourself? Someone said it began several years ago."
He hangs his head.
"You can tell me." She takes both his hands. "We're friends, aren't we?"
He slowly nods.
"These people came," he whispers. "I heard cars. My aunt went outside, so I did too, only I hid. And they pulled this lady out of a car and she was trying to scream but they had her tied up." He points to his mouth, indicating a gag. "Then they pushed her into the cellar."
"The wine cellar?"
"Yes."
Scarpetta recalls Mrs. Guidons insistence that she tour the wine cellar. Fear raises the hairs on the back of her neck. She is here. She doesn't know who else is here, except Albert, and someone could drive up at any moment.
"One of the people with the tied-up lady was a monster." Albert's voice rises almost to a squeal as his eyes widen in terror. "Like I've seen on TV, in scary movies, with these sharp teeth and long hair. I was so afraid he saw me behind the bush!"
Jean-Baptiste Chandonne.
"And then my doggie, Nestle. She never came home again!" He begins to cry.
Scarpetta hears the front door open and close, then footsteps downstairs.
"Is there a phone up here?" Scarpetta whispers to Albert.
Terrified, he wipes away tears.
She repeats her question urgently.
He stares at her, paralyzed.
"Go lock yourself in your room!"
He touches the wounds on his stomach, then rubs them, causing them to bleed.
"Go! Don't make any noise."
He walks quickly, quietly down the hall and turns into a room.
For several minutes she waits, listening to footsteps until they stop. The footsteps sound like those of a man, relatively heavy, but not the sharp sound of hard leather against wood. He starts walking again, and Scarpetta's heart hammers as he seems to head toward the stairs. She hears him on the first step and walks out of the bathroom, because she does not want him-and she is certain he is Jean-Baptiste Chandonne-to find Albert.
At the top of the stairs she freezes, gripping the railing with all her might, looking down the staircase at him, the sight of him draining the blood from her head. She shuts her eyes and opens them again, thinking he will go away. Slowly, she takes one step at a time, holding on to the railing, staring. Midway, she sits down, staring.
Benton Wesley doesn't move as he too stares. His eyes glisten with tears that he quickly blinks away.
"Who are you?" Scarpetta's voice sounds miles away. "You aren't him." "I am."
She begins to cry.
"Please come down. Or would you like me to come up and get you?" He doesn't want to touch her until she is ready. Until he is ready, too.
She gets up and slowly walks down the stairs. When she reaches him, she backs away, far away.
"So you're part of this, you bastard. You goddamn bastard." Her voice shakes so violently that she can barely speak. "So I guess you'd better shoot me, because now I know. What you've been doing all this time I thought you were dead. With them!" She looks at the stairs, as if someone is standing there. "You are one of them!"