As if making a bomb that might blow off a person’s hands or worse was to be commended.
Lucy said, “And we’re in.”
The black screen with the binary banner turned midnight-blue, and CALIGULA appeared across the center in what looked like three-dimensional silvery cast-metal letters. A typeface that was familiar. Scarpetta almost felt queasy.
“ Gotham,” Lucy said. “That’s interesting. The font is Gotham.”
Marino’s paper gown rustled as he moved closer to see what she meant, his eyes bloodshot behind his safety glasses as he said, “ Gotham? I don’t see Batman anywhere.”
The screen was prompting Lucy to press any key to continue. But she didn’t. She was intrigued by the Gotham font and what it might mean.
“Authoritative, practical, what’s known as the workman-like typeface of public places,” she said. “The sans-serif style you see in names and numbers on signs, walls, buildings, and the Freedom Tower cornerstone at the World Trade Center site. But the reason the Gotham font has gotten so much attention of late is Obama.”
“First I’ve heard of a font called Gotham,” Marino replied. “But then again, I don’t get the font newsletter or monthly magazine or go to fucking font conventions.”
“Gotham’s the typeface the Obama people used during his campaign,” Lucy said. “And you should pay attention to fonts, like I’ve told you how many times? Fonts are part of twenty-first-century documents examination, and you ignore them at your own peril. What they are and why someone might pick them for a specific communication can be telling and significant.”
“Why Gotham for this website?” Scarpetta envisioned the FedEx airbill and the immaculate, almost perfect handwriting on it.
“I don’t know, except the typeface is supposed to suggest credibility,” Lucy said. “Inspire trust. Subliminally, we’re supposed to take this website seriously.”
“The name Caligula inspires anything but trust,” said Scarpetta.
“Gotham is popular,” Lucy said. “It’s cool. It’s supposed to suggest all the right things if you want to influence someone into taking you or your product or a political candidate or maybe some type of research project seriously.”
“Or take a dangerous package seriously,” Scarpetta said, suddenly angry. “This typeface looks very similar if not identical to the style of printing on the package I got last night. I don’t guess you were able to see the box before it was shot with the PAN disrupter,” she asked Marino.
“Like I told you, the batteries they targeted were right behind the address. You said it referenced you as the chief medical examiner of Gotham City. So there’s this Gotham reference again. It bother anybody besides me that Hap Judd was in a Batman movie and fucks dead bodies?”
“Why would Hap Judd send Aunt Kay what you’re calling a stink bomb?” Lucy said, busy on the other MacBook.
“If the sick prick killed Hannah, maybe? Or maybe he’s got to do with Toni Darien, since he’s been in High Roller Lanes and probably met her, at the very least. The Doc did Toni’s autopsy and might end up being the ME on Hannah’s case, too.”
“So Aunt Kay gets a bomb delivered? And that’s going to prevent Hap Judd from being caught if Hannah’s body turns up or for who knows what?” Lucy said, as if Scarpetta wasn’t inside the lab with them anymore. “I’m not saying the asshole didn’t do something to Hannah or doesn’t know where she is.”
“Yeah, him and dead bodies,” Marino said. “Kind of interesting now that we know Toni may have been dead a few days before she was dumped. Wonder where she was and what fun someone was having with her. He probably did do that dead girl in the hospital fridge. Why else would he be in there fifteen minutes and come out with only one glove on?”
“But I don’t think he left a bomb for Aunt Kay thinking that would scare her off the case or two cases or any cases. That’s retarded,” Lucy said. “And the Gotham font has nothing to do with Batman.”
“Maybe it does if the person’s into some sort of sicko game,” Marino argued.
The odor of fire and brimstone, and Scarpetta kept thinking about the bomb. A stink bomb, a different sort of dirty bomb, an emotionally destructive bomb. Someone who knew Scarpetta. Someone who knew Benton. Someone who knew their history almost as intimately as they did. Games, she thought. Sick games.
Lucy hit the return key and CALIGULA went away and was replaced by:
Welcome, Toni.
Then:
Do you want to sync data? Yes No
Lucy answered yes and the next message she got was:
Toni, your scales are three days overdue. Would you like to complete them now? Yes No
Lucy clicked on Yes, and the screen faded and was replaced by another one:
Please rate how well these adjectives describe how you felt today.
This was followed by choices such as elated, confused, content, happy, irritable, angry, enthusiastic, inspired, each list of questions followed by a five-point scale, ranging from 1 for very little or not at all to 5 for extreme.
“If Toni was doing this every day,” Marino said, “would it be on her laptop? And maybe that’s why it’s missing?”
“It wouldn’t have been on her laptop. What you’re seeing resides on this website’s server,” Lucy said.
“But she hooked up her watch to her laptop,” Marino said.
“Yes. To upload information and to charge it,” Lucy said. “The data collected by this watchlike device weren’t for her use and wouldn’t have lived on her laptop. She not only wouldn’t have any use for the data but she wouldn’t have the software needed to aggregate it, to sort it, to make it meaningful.”
Lucy was being prompted by more questions and was answering them on the screen because she wanted to see what would happen next. She rated her moods as very little or not at all. Were Scarpetta answering the questions, she might just rate her own moods as extreme right now.
“I don’t know,” Marino said. “I can’t stop thinking this Caligula project might explain why maybe someone went inside her apartment and took her laptop and her phone and who knows what else.” His safety glasses looked at Scarpetta and he said, “We don’t know it was Toni on the security recording, you’re right about that. Just because the person had on what looked like her coat. How hard would that be if you were close to her same size and maybe had on similar running shoes? She wasn’t a small person, thin but tall. About five-ten, right? I don’t see how it could have been her going into her building Wednesday night at around quarter to six and leaving at seven. You think she’s been dead since Tuesday. And now this Caligula thing’s saying maybe the same thing. She hasn’t done her questionnaire for three days.”
“If it’s true that someone impersonated her on the security recordings,” Lucy said, “then he had her coat or one very similar and the keys to her apartment.”
“She was dead at least thirty-six hours,” Scarpetta said. “If her apartment keys were in her pocket and her killer knew where she lived, it wouldn’t have been hard to take the keys, let himself in, remove what he wanted from the scene, then return her keys to her pocket when he dumped her body in the park. Maybe this person had her coat, too. Maybe she was wearing it when she went out last. It might explain why she didn’t seem to be dressed warmly when her body was found. Maybe some of her clothing was missing.”