“I know about the Book but not why this individual had it in his possession, because certainly his name was not Dwain Shapiro.”
He paused to rub his face. “I think his name was Catlett.”
“But he could have been Dwain Shapiro’s killer,” I said.
“That could be why he had the bible.”
Mant did not know. “When I realized we had a naval case in our morgue,” he said, “I had Danny transport the body to Portsmouth. Clearly, the poor man’s effects should have gone with him.”
“But Danny kept the book,” I said.
“I’m afraid so.” He leaned forward and crushed out the cigarette in an ashtray on the coffee table.
“Why would he do that?”
” I happened to walk into his office and spotted it, and I asked him why in the world he had it. His explanation was that since the book had another individual’s name on it, he wondered if it hadn’t been accidentally picked up at the scene. That perhaps the satchel belonged to someone else, as well.” He paused. “You see, he was still rather new and I think he’d simply made an honest mistake.”
“Tell me something,” I said, “were any reporters calling the office or coming around at this time? For example, might anyone have inquired about the man crushed to death in the shipyard?”
“Oh yes, Mr. Eddings showed up. I remember that because he was rather keen on finding out every detail, which puzzled me a bit. To my knowledge, he never wrote anything about it.”
“Might Danny have talked to Eddings?”
Mant stared off in thought. “It seems I did see the two of them talking some. But young Danny certainly knew better than to give him a quote.”
“Might he have given Eddings the Book, assuming that Eddings was doing a story on the New Zionists?”
“Actually, I wouldn’t know. I never saw the Book again and assumed Danny had returned it to the Navy. I miss the lad. How is he, by the way? How is his knee’! I called him Hop-Along, you know.” He laughed.
But I did not answer his question or even smile. “Tell me what happened after that. What made you afraid?”
“Strange things. Hang-ups. I felt I was being followed.
My morgue supervisor, as you recall, abruptly quit with no good explanation. And one day when I went out to the parking lot, there was blood all over the windshield of my car. I actually had it tested in the lab, and it was type butcher shop. From a cow, in other words.”
“I presume you have met Detective Roche,” I said.
“Unfortunately. I don’t fancy him at all.”
“Did he ever try to get information from you?”
“He would drop by. Not for postmortems, of course. He doesn’t have the stomach for them.”
“What did he want to know?”
“Well, the Navy death we talked about. He had questions about that.”
“Did he ask about his personal effects? The satchel that inadvertently came into the morgue along with the body?”
Mant was trying to remember. “Well, now that you’re prodding this rather pathetic memory of mine, it seems I do recall him asking about the satchel. And I referred him to Danny, I believe.”
“Well, Danny obviously never gave it to him,” I said.
“Or at least not the Book, because that has turned up since.”
I did not tell him how because I did not want to upset him.
“That bloody Book must be terribly important to someone,” he mused.
I paused as he smoked again. Then I said, “Why didn’t you tell me’? Why did you just run and never say a word?”
“Frankly, I didn’t want you dragged into it as well. And it all sounded rather fantastic.” He paused, and I could tell by his face he sensed other bad events had occurred since he had left Virginia. “Dr. Scarpetta, I’m not a young man.
I only want to peacefully do my job a little while longer before I retire.”
I did not want to criticize him further because I understood what he had done. I frankly could not blame him and was glad he had fled, for he probably had saved his own life. Ironically, there had been nothing important he knew, and had he been murdered, it would have been for no cause, as Danny’s murder was for no cause.