“Would now be a convenient time?” I asked after a pause.
“Well, I would appreciate it very much. And my name is Elizabeth Glenn,” she said as she began to cry.
I reached Marino at his home, where his television was turned up so high I did not know how he could hear anything else. He was on the other line and clearly did not want to keep whoever it was on hold.
“Sure, see what you can find out,” he said when I told him what I was about to do. “Me, I’m up to my ass right now. Got a situation down in Mosby Court that could turn into a riot.”
“That’s all we need,” I said.
“I’m on my way over there. Otherwise I’d go with you.”
We hung up and I dressed for the weather because I did not have a car. Lucy was on the phone in my office, talking to Janet, I suspected, based on her intense demeanor and quiet tone. I waved from the hallway and indicated by pointing at my watch I’d be back in about an hour. As I left my house and started walking in the cold, wet dark my spirit began to crawl inside me like a creature trying to’ hide. Coping with the loved ones tragedy leaves behind remained one of the cruelest features of my career.
Over the years, I had experienced a multitude of reactions ranging from my being turned into a scapegoat to families begging me to somehow make the death untrue. I had seen people weep, wall, rant, rage and not react in the least, and throughout I was always the physician, always appropriately dispassionate yet kind, for that was what I was trained to be.
My own responses had to be mine. Those moments no one saw, not even when I was married, when I became expert at covering moods or crying in the shower. I remembered breaking out in hives one year and telling Tony I was allergic to plants, shellfish, the sulfite in red wine. My former husband was so easy because he did not want to hear.
Windsor Farms was eerily still as I entered it from the back, near the river. Fog clung to Victorian iron lamps reminiscent of England, and although windows were lighted in most of the stately homes, it did not seem anyone was up or out. Leaves were like soggy paper on pavement, rain lightly smacking and beginning to freeze. It occurred to me that I had foolishly walked out of my house with no umbrella.
When I reached the Sulgrave address, it was familiar, for I knew the judge who lived next door and had been to many of his parties. Three-story brick, the Eddings home was Federal-style with paired end chimneys, arched dormer windows and an elliptical fanlight over the paneled front door. To the left of the entry porch was the same stone lion that had been standing guard for years. I climbed slick steps, and had to ring the bell twice before a voice sounded faintly on the other side of thick wood.
“It’s Dr. Scarpetta,” I answered, and the door slowly opened.
“I thought it would be you.” An anxious face peered out as the space got wider. “Please come in and get warm.
It is a terrible night.”
“It’s getting very icy,” I said as I stepped inside.
Mrs. Eddings was attractive in a well-bred, vain way, with refined features, and spun-white hair swept back from a high, smooth brow. She had dressed in a Black Watch suit and cashmere turtleneck sweater, as if she had been bravely receiving company all day. But her eyes could not hide her irrecoverable loss, and as she led me into the foyer, her gait was unsteady and I suspected she had been drinking.
“This is gorgeous,” I said as she took my coat. “I’ve walked and driven past your house I don’t know how many times and had no idea who lives here.”
“And you live where?”
“Over there. Just west of Windsor Farms.” I pointed.
“My house is new. In fact, I just moved in last fall.”
“Oh yes, I know where you are.” She closed the closet door and led me down a hall. “I know quite a number of people over there.”