"Ecclesiastes," I remind him.
"Yeah. A latent on the open pages, Kiffin's fingerprint. And remember, she said she didn't open the Bible, so I asked her about it over the phone and she still says she didn't open it. So I'm getting mighty suspicious about what her involvement is, especially now that we know Bray was in that very room before the guy was killed in there. What was Bray doing at that motel? You want to tell me that?"
"Maybe her drug-dealing brought her there," I reply. "I can't think of another reason. Certainly, the motel isn't the sort of place you would expect her to stay."
"Bingo." Marino fires his finger at me like a gun. "And Kiffin's husband supposedly works for the same trucking company that Barbosa did, right? Although we still ain't found no record of someone named Kiffin who drives a truck or whatever_can't even track him down at all, which I have to admit is strange. And we know Overland's into smuggling drugs and guns, right? Maybe it's making more sense if it turns out that Chandonne's the one who left those hairs at the campsite. Maybe we're talking his family cartel, huh? Maybe that's what fucking brought him to Richmond to begin with_ the family business. And while he was in the area, he just couldn't control his habit of whacking women."
"Might also help explain what Matos was doing there," I add.
"No kidding. Maybe he and John the Baptist were pals. Or maybe someone in the family sent Matos to Virginia to snuff Johnny-boy, take him out of commission so he don't sing to anyone about the family business."
There are endless possibilities. "What none of this explains is why Matos was murdered and who did it. Or why Barbosa was killed," I point out.
"No, but I feel like we're getting warmer," Marino replies. "And I got an itch and I think if we scratch it, we might find Talley. Maybe he's the missing link in all this."
"Well, he apparently knew Bray in Washington," I say. "And he's been living in the same city where the Chandonne family is headquartered."
"And he always manages to be on the scene when John the Baptist is, too," Marino adds. "And I think I saw the asshole the other day. Was pulled up at a red light and there's this big black Honda motorcycle in the lane next to me. Didn't recognize him at first because he had a helmet on with this tinted shield covering his face, but he was staring at my truck. I'm pretty sure it was Talley and he looked away real quick. Asshole."
Rose buzzes me to say that the governor is calling for our ten o'clock telephone appointment. I motion for Marino to shut my office door while I wait on the line for Mitchell. Reality again intrudes. I am returned to my predicament and its wide broadcast. I have a feeling I know exactly what the governor has on his mind. "Kay?" Mike Mitchell is somber. "I was very sorry to see the paper this morning."
"I'm not happy about it, either," I let him know.
"I'm supportive of you and will continue to be," he says, maybe to ease me into the rest of what he plans to relay, which can't be good. I don't respond. I also suspect he knows about Berger and probably had something to do with her being appointed the special prosecutor. I don't bring it up. There is no point. "I think in light of your current circumstances," he goes on, "that it's best you relinquish your duties until this matter is resolved. And Kay, it's not because I believe a word of it." This is also not the same thing as saying that he thinks I am innocent. "But until things calm down, I believe your continuing to run the medical examiner system for the commonwealth would be unwise."
"Are you firing me, Mike?" I ask him point-blank.
"No, no," he is quick to say, and his tone is gentler. "Let's just get through the special grand jury hearing, and we'll go from there. I haven't given up on you or your idea of being a private contractor, either. Let's just get through this," he says again.
"Of course, I will do whatever you wish," I tell him with all due respect. "But I have to say that I don't think it's in the best interest of the commonwealth for me to withdraw from ongoing cases that still need my attention."
"Kay, it's not possible." He is the politician. "We're only talking two weeks, assuming your hearing turns out all right."
"Good God," I reply. "It has to."
"And I'm sure it will."
I get off the phone and look at Marino. "Well, that's that."
I start throwing things in my briefcase. "I hope they don't change the locks the minute I'm out the door."
"Really, what could he do? When you think about it, Doc, what could he do?" Marino has resigned himself to this inevitability.
"I would just like to know who the hell leaked it to the media." I shut my briefcase and snap in the locks. "Have you been subpoenaed, Marino?" I go ahead and ask. "Nothing's confidential. May as well tell me."
"You knew I would be." He has a pained expression on his face. "Don't let the bastards get you, Doc. Don't give up."
I pick up my briefcase and open the office door. "I'm doing anything but give up. In fact, I've got a lot to do."
His expression asks, what"? I've just been ordered by the governor to do nothing. "Mike's a good guy," Marino says. "But don't push him. Don't give him a reason to fire you. Why don't you go somewhere for a few days? Maybe go see Lucy in New York. Didn't she head on up to New York? Her and Teun? Just get the hell out of here until the hearing. I wish you would so I don't have to worry about you every other minute. I don't even like you being out there in Anna's house all by yourself."
I take a deep breath and try to tuck in my fury and hurt. Marino is right. There is no point in pissing off the governor and making matters worse. But now I feel run out of town on top of everything else, and I have not heard a word from Anna, and that stings, too. I am almost in tears, and I refuse to cry in my office. I avert my eyes from Marino, but he catches my feelings.
"Hey," he says, "you got every right not to feel good. All of this sucks, Doc."
I cross the hallway and cut through the ladies' room, on my way to the morgue. Turk is sewing up Benny White and Jack is sitting at the counter doing paperwork. I pull out a chair next to my assistant chief and pluck several stray hairs off his scrubs. "You got to quit shedding," I say, trying to hide my upset. "You going to tell me why your hair keeps falling out?" I have been meaning to ask him for weeks. As usual, so much has happened and Jack and I have not talked.
"All you got to do is read the paper," he says, putting down his pen. "That should tell you why my hair's falling out." His eyes are heavy.
I nod as I get his meaning. It is what I expect. Jack has known for a while that I am in serious trouble. Maybe Righter contacted him weeks ago and started fishing, just as he did with Anna. I ask Jack if this is the case, and he admits it. He says he has been a wreck. He hates politics and administration and does not want my job and never will.
"You make me look good," he says. "You always have, Dr. Scarpetta. They might think I should be appointed chief. Then what do I do? I don't know." He runs his fingers through his hair and loses more. "I just wish everything could go back to normal."
"Believe me, so do I," I say as the phone rings and Turk answers it.
"That reminds me," Jack says. "We're getting weird phone calls down here. I tell you about that?"
"I was down here when we got one," I reply. "Someone claiming to be Benton."
"Sick," he says in disgust.
"That's the only one I'm aware of," I add.
"Dr. Scarpetta?" Turk calls out. "Can you take it? It's Paul."
I go to the phone. "How are you, Paul?" I ask Paul Monty, the statewide director of the forensic labs.
"First, I just want you to know everybody in this damn building is pulling for you, Kay," he says. "Bullshit. I read all that bullshit and practically spit my coffee out. And we're working our fannies off." By this he means evidence testing. There is supposed to be an egalitarian order in the workup of evidence_appropriately, no one victim should be more important than another and moved to the front of the line. But there is also an unspoken code, same as in police shootings. People take care of their own. It is a fact. "Got some interesting test results that I wanted to pass on to you personally," Paul Monty goes on. "The hairs from the campground_the ones that you suspect are Chandonne's? Well, the DNA matches. What's of even more interest is that a fiber comparison shows that the cotton linens from that campsite match fibers collected from the mattress in Diane Bray's bedroom."