CAUSE OF DEATH
Patricia Cornwell
CAUSE OF DEATH
Patricia Cornwell
A Dr. Kay Scarpetta Mystery
CHAPTER 1
ON THE LAST MORNING OF VIRGINIA’S BLOODIEST YEAR since the Civil War, I built a fire and sat facing a window of darkness where at sunrise I knew I would find the sea. I was in my robe in lamplight, reviewing my office’s annual statistics for car crashes, hangings, beatings, shootings, stabbings, when the telephone rudely rang at five-fifteen.
“Damn,” I muttered, for I was beginning to feel less charitable about answering Dr. Philip Mant’s phone. “All right, all right.”
His weathered cottage was tucked behind a dune in a stark coastal Virginia subdivision called Sandbridge, between the U.S. Naval Amphibious Base and Back Bay National Wildlife Refuge. Mant was my deputy chief medical examiner for the Tidewater District, and sadly, his mother had died last week on Christmas Eve. Under ordinary circumstances, his returning to London to get family affairs in order would not have constituted an emergency for the Virginia medical examiner system. But his assistant forensic pathologist was already out on maternity leave, and recently, the morgue supervisor had quit.
“Mant residence,” I answered as wind tore the dark shapes of pines beyond windowpanes.
“This is Officer Young with the Chesapeake police,” said someone who sounded like a white male born and bred in the South. “I’m trying to reach Dr. Mant.”
“He is out of the country,” I answered. “How may I help you?”
“Are you Mrs. Mant?”
“I’m Dr. Kay Scarpetta, the chief medical examiner. I’m covering for Dr. Mant.”
The voice hesitated, and went on, “We got a tip about a death. An anonymous call.”
“Do you know where this death supposedly took place?” I was making notes.
“Supposedly the Inactive Naval Ship Yard.”
“Excuse me?” I looked up.
He repeated what he had said.
“What are we talking about, a Navy SEAL?” I was baffled, for it was my understanding that SEALs on maneuvers were the only divers permitted around old ships moored at the Inactive Yard.
“We don’t know who it is but he might have been looking for Civil War relics.”
“After dark?”
“Ma’am, the area’s off-limits unless you have clearance.
But that hasn’t stopped people from being curious before.
They sneak their boats in and always it’s after dark.”
“This scenario is what the anonymous caller suggested?”
“Pretty much.”
“That’s rather interesting.”
“I thought so.”
“And the body hasn’t been located yet,” I said as I continued to wonder why this officer had taken it upon himself to call a medical examiner at such an early hour when it was not known for a fact that there was a body or even someone missing.
“We’re out looking now, and the Navy’s sending in a few divers, so we’ll get the situation handled if it pans out.
But I just wanted you to have a heads up. And be sure you give Dr. Mant my condolences.”
“Your condolences?” I puzzled, for if he had known about Mant’s circumstances, why did he call here asking for him?
“I heard his mother passed on.”
I rested the tip of the pen on the sheet of paper. “Would you tell me your full name and how you can be reached, please?”
“S. T. Young.” He gave me a telephone number and we hung up.
I stared into the low fire, feeling uneasy and lonely as I got up to add more wood. I wished I were in Richmond in my own home with its candies in the windows and Fraser fir decorated with Christmases from my past. I wanted Mozart and Handel instead of wind shrilly rushing around the roof, and I wished I had not taken Mant up on his kind offer that I could stay in his home instead of a hotel. I resumed reading the statistical report, but my mind would not stop drifting. I imagined the sluggish water of the Elizabeth River, which this time of year would be less than sixty degrees, visibility, at best, maybe eighteen inches.
In the winter, it was one thing to dive for oysters in the Chesapeake Bay or go thirty miles offshore in the Atlantic Ocean to explore a sunken aircraft carrier or German submarine and other wonders worth a wet suit. But in the Elizabeth River, where the Navy parked its decommissioned ships, I could think of nothing enticing, no matter the weather. I could not imagine who would dive there alone in winter after dark to look for artifacts or anything, and believed the tip would prove to be a crank.