BLACK NOTICE. PATRICIA CORNWELL

Rose glanced over at me as we went out of the building into the dark, empty parking lot. She looked old and sad, and I didn’t know if her eyes were tearing up because of me or the cold, sharp air.

“I don’t know,” she answered me.

“My scattered troops,” I muttered.

She turned her collar up to her ears and tucked in her chin.

“It has come to this,” I said. “When Carrie Gretten murdered Benton, she took out all the rest of us, too. Didn’t she, Rose?”

“Of course it’s had its horrendous effect. I’ve not known what I can do for you, but I’ve tried.”

She glanced over at me as we walked, hunched against the cold.

“I’ve tried as hard as I can and still do,” she went on.

“Everybody scattered,” I muttered. “Lucy’s angry with me, and when she gets that way, she always does the same thing. She shuts me out. Marino’s not a detective anymore. And now I find out that you’ve been rolling my telephone calls over to Jack without asking me, Rose. Distraught

families haven’t been allowed to get through to me. Why would you do such a thing?”

We had reached her blue Honda Accord. Keys jingled as she dug for them in her big pocketbook.

“Isn’t that funny,” she said. “I was afraid you were going to ask me about your schedule. You’re teaching at the Institute more than ever, and as I worked on next month’s calendar, I realized you are terribly overcommitted. I should have picked upon it earlier and prevented it.”

“That’s the least of my worries at the moment,” I replied, and I tried not to sound upset. “Why did you do this to me?” I said, and I wasn’t talking about my commitments. “You shielded me from phone calls? You hurt me as a person and a professional.”

Rose unlocked the door and started the engine, turning on the heat to warm up the car for her lonely ride home.

“I’m doing what you instructed me to do, Dr. Scarpetta,” she finally answered me, her breath smoking out.

“I never instructed you to do such a thing, nor would I ever” I said, not believing what I was hearing. “And you know that. You know how I feel about being accessible to families:’

Of course she knew. I had gotten rid of two forensic pathologists in the -last five years because they had been so unavailable and indifferent to the grieving left behind.

“It wasn’t with my blessing,” Rose said, sounding like her mothering self again.

“When did I supposedly say this to you?”

“You didn’t say it. You e-mailed it. This was back in late August.”

“I never e-mailed such a thing to you,” I told her. “Did you save it?”

“No,” she said with regret. “I generally don’t save e-mail. I have no reason to. I’m sorry I have to use it at all.”

“What did this e-mail message allegedly from me say?”

“1 need you to redirect as many calls from families as you can. It’s too hard for me right now. I know you understand Or words to that effect.”

“And you didn’t question this?” I said in disbelief.

She turned the heat down.

“Of course I did,” she replied. “I e-mailed you right back and asked you about it. I voiced my concerns, and you replied that I was just to do it and not discuss it anymore:’

“I never got an e-mail like that from you;” I told her.

“I don’t know what to say,” she replied, fastening her shoulder harness. “Except is it possible you just don’t remember? I forget e-mails all the time. I’ll say I didn’t say something and then find out I did.”

“No. It isn’t possible.”

“Then it would seem to me someone is pretending to be you.

“Is? Have there been more?”

“Not many,” she replied. “Just one here and there, warm ones thanking me for being so supportive. And let’s see…?”

She searched her memory. Lights in the parking lot made her car look dark green instead of blue. Her face was in shadows and I could not read her eyes. She tapped her gloved fingers on the steering wheel while I stood looking down at her. I was freezing.

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