“Damn,” I said, glancing at the death certificate on top of my stack. “You think we might ever convince Dr. Carmichael that `cardiac arrest’ is not a cause of death? Everyone’s heart stops when he dies. The question is why did it stop. Well, that one gets amended.”
I flipped through more certificates as I followed the long teal- and plum-carpeted hallway to my corner office. Rose worked in an open space with plenty of windows, and it wasn’t possible to reach my door without entering her airspace. She was standing before an open filing cabinet drawer, fingers impatiently fluttering through labeled tabs.
“How are you?” she asked around a pen clamped in her mouth. “Marino’s looking for you:’
“Rose, we need to get Dr. Carmichael on the line.”
“Again?”
“‘Fraid so.”
“He needs to retire.”
My secretary had been saying this for years. She pushed the drawer shut and pulled open another one.
“Why is Marino looking for me? Did he call me from home?”
She took the pen out of her mouth.
“He’s here. Or was. Dr: Scarpetta, do you remember that letter you got last month from that hateful woman?”
“Which hateful woman?” I asked, looking up and down the hallway for Marino and seeing no sign of him.
“The one in prison for murdering her husband right after she took out a million-dollar fife insurance policy on him.”
“Oh, that one,” I said.
I slipped off my suit jacket as I walked into my office _ and set my briefcase on the floor.
“Why is Marino looking for me?” I asked again.
Rose didn’t answer. I had noticed she was getting hard of hearing, and every reminder of her encroaching frailties frightened me. Lput the death certificates on top of a stack of about a hundred others I hadn’t gotten around to reviewing yet and draped my suit jacket over my chair.
“Point is,” Rose loudly said, “she’s since sent you another letter. This time accusing you of racketeering.”
I retrieved my lab coat from the back of the door.
“She claims you conspired with the insurance company and changed her husband’s manner of death from accident to homicide so they wouldn’t have to pay out the money. And for this you got quite a large kickback, which is-according to her–how you can afford your Mercedes and expensive suits.”
I threw my lab coat over my shoulders and pushed my arms through the sleeves.
“You know, I can’t keep up with the crazies anymore, Dr. Scarpetta. Some of them really frighten me, and I think the Internet is making all of it worse.”
Rose peeked around the doorway.
“You aren’t listening to a word I’m saying,” she said.
“I get suits on sale,” I replied. “And you blame everything on the Internet.”
I probably wouldn’t bother shopping for clothes at all if Rose didn’t force me out the door every now and then when stores were clearing out last season’s styles. I hated shopping, unless it was for good wine or food. I hated crowds. I hated malls. Rose hated the Internet and believed the world would end one day because of it. I’d had to force her to use e-mail.
“If Lucy calls, will you make sure I get it no matter where I am?” I said as Marino walked into Rose’s office. “And try her field office, too. You can patch her through.”
The thought of Lucy knotted my stomach. I’d lost my temper and hurled words at her I didn’t mean. Rose glanced at me. Somehow she knew.
“Captain,” she said to Marino, “you look mighty spiffy this morning.”
Marino grunted. Glass rattled as he opened a jar of lemon drops on her desk and helped himself.
“What do you want me to do with this crazy lady’s letter?” Rose peered through the open doorway at me, reading glasses perched on her nose as she dug through another drawer.
“I think it’s time we forward the lady’s file-if you ever find it to the A.G.’s office,” I said. “In case she sues. Which will probably lie next. Good morning, Marino.”
“You still talking about that nutcake I locked up?” he asked, sucking candy.
“That’s right,” I remembered. “That nutcake was one of your cases.”