I was relieved Lucy had identified herself as my niece. It told me she wasn't terribly concerned about my finding out she had purchased a gun. I supposed Marino eventually would have told me, too.
I was sad only because she had not talked to me first.
"Jon," I went on, "you said she called a second time. Can you tell me about that? First of all, when was it?"
"That same Monday. Maybe a couple hours later."
"And she talked to Rick?"
"Very briefly. I remember I was waiting on a customer and Rick had answered the phone. He said it was Scarpetta and she couldn't remember when she told me we would meet. I said Wednesday at eight, which he relayed to her. And that was the end of it."
"Excuse me," I said.
"She said what?"
Jon hesitated.
"I'm not sure what you're asking."
"Lucy identified herself as Scarpetta when she called the second time?"
"That's what Rick told me. He just said it was Scarpetta on the line."
"Her last name is not Scarpetta."
"Jeez," he said after a startled pause.
"You're kidding. I just assumed. Well, that's kinda weird."
I thought of Lucy paging Marino, who then returned her call, quite likely from the Steiner home. Denesa Steiner must have thought he was talking to me, and how simple it would have been for her to wait until Marino was out of the room and get directory assistance to give her the number for Green Top. Then all she had to do was call and ask the questions she did. It was an odd sense of relief mingled with fury I felt. Denesa Steiner had not attempted to kill Lucy, nor had Carrie Grethen or anyone else. The intended victim had been me.
I asked Jon one last question.
"I don't want to put you on the spot, but did Lucy seem intoxicated when you waited on her?"
"If she had, I never would have sold her anything."
"What was her demeanor?"
"She was in a hurry but joking around and very nice." If Lucy had been drinking as much as I suspected she had for months or longer, she could have had a.12 and seemed to function fine. But her judgment and reflexes would have been impaired. She would not have reacted as well to what happened on the road. I hung up and got the number for the Asheville-Citizen Times, and was told by the city desk that the name of the person who had written about the accident was Linda Mayfair. Fortunately, she was in, and momentarily I had her on the line.
"This is Dr. Kay Scarpetta," I said.
"Oh! Gosh, what can I do for you?" She sounded very young.
"I wanted to ask about a story you wrote. It was about an accident involving my car in Virginia. Are you aware that you were incorrect to say that I was driving and subsequently arrested for DUI?" I was very calm but firm.
"Oh, yes, ma'am. I'm really sorry, but let me tell you what happened. Something brief about the wreck came over the wire very late the night of the accident. All it said was that the car, a Mercedes, was identified as yours and it was suspected the driver was you and alcohol was involved. I happened to be working late finishing up something else when the editor came over with the printout. He told me to run it if I could confirm that the driver was you. Well, by now we're on deadline and I didn't think there was a chance.
"Then out of the blue, a call gets rolled over to my desk. And it's this lady who says she's a friend of yours and is calling from a hospital in Virginia. She wants us to know that you were not badly injured in the accident. She thought we should know since Dr. Scarpetta-you-have colleagues still in our area working on the Steiner case. She says she doesn't want us hearing about the accident some other way and printing something that would alarm your colleagues when they pick up the paper. "
"And you took the word of a stranger and ran a story like that?"
"She gave her name and number and both of them checked out. And if she wasn't someone familiar with you, how could she have known about the accident and that you have been here working on the Steiner case?" She could have known all of that if she were Denesa Steiner and were in a phone booth in Virginia after attempting to kill me. I asked, "How did you check her out?"
"I called the number right back and she answered, and it was a Virginia area code."
"Do you still have the number?"
"Gosh, I think so. It should be in my notepad."
"Will you look for it now?"
I heard pages flipping and a lot of shuffling around. A long minute passed, and she gave me the number.
"Thank you very much. I hope you've gotten around to printing a retraction," I said, and I could tell she was intimidated. I felt sorry for her and did not believe she had intended harm. She was just young and inexperienced, and was certainly no match for a psychopath determined to play games with me.
"We ran a We Were Wrong the next day. I can send you a copy."
"That won't be necessary," I said as I recalled the reporters turning up at the exhumation. I knew who had tipped them off. Mrs. Steiner. She couldn't resist more attention. The phone rang for a long time when I dialed the number the reporter had given me. Finally, it was answered by a man.
"Excuse me," I said.
"Hello?"
"Yes, I need to know where this phone is."
"Which phone. Yours or mine?" The man laughed. " Cause if you don't know where yours is, you're in trouble. "
"Yours."
"I'm at a pay phone outside a Safeway getting ready to call my wife to ask what kind of ice cream she wants. She forgot to tell me. The phone started ringing so I answered it."
"Which Safeway?" I asked.
"Where?"
"On Cary Street."
"In Richmond?" I asked in horror.
"Yeah. Where are you?"
I thanked him and hung up and began pacing around the room. She had been to Richmond. Why? To see where I lived? Had she driven past my house?
I looked out at the bright afternoon, and the clear blue sky and vivid colors of the leaves seemed to say that nothing bad like this could happen. No dark power was at work in the world, and none of what I was finding out was real. But I always felt the same disbelief when the weather was exquisite, when snow was falling, or the city was filled with Christmas lights and music. Then morning after morning I would go into the morgue and there would be new cases. There would be people raped and shot, and killed in mindless accidents.
Before I vacated the room, I tried the FBI labs and was surprised the scientist I intended to leave a message for was in. But like so many of us who seemed to do nothing but work, weekends were for others.
"The truth is I've done all with it I can," he said of the image enhancement he had been working on for days.
"And nothing?" I asked, disappointed.
"I've filled it out a little. It's a little clearer, but I can't begin to recognize whatever it is that's there."
"How long will you be in the lab today?"
"For another hour or two."
"Where do you live?"
"Aquia Harbor."
I would not have enjoyed that commute every day, but a surprising number of Washington agents with families lived there and in Stafford and Montclair. Aquia Harbor was maybe a half hour drive from where Wesley lived.
"} hate to ask you this," I went on.
"But it's extremely important that I get a printout of this enhancement as soon as I can. Is there any possibility you could drop one by Benton Wesley's house? Round trip, it would be about an hour out of your way." He hesitated before saying, "I can do that if I leave now. I'll call him at home and get directions."
I grabbed my overnight bag. I did not return my revolver to my briefcase until I was at the Knoxville airport behind a shut door in the ladies' room.
I went through the usual routine of checking that one bag and letting them know what was in it, and they marked it with the usual fluorescent orange tag, which brought to mind the duct tape again. I wondered why Denesa Steiner would have blaze orange duct tape and where she might have gotten it.