“I apologize for making you wait. Unbelievable weather we’re having. And I understand it’s supposed to drop into the teens tonight. The streets will be glass in the morning.”
He ushered me through one well-appointed office after another, where secretaries concentrated behind computer screens and aides moved about silently and with purpose. Knocking lightly on a formidable door, he tuned the brass knob and stepped aside, chivalrously touching my back as I preceded him into the private space of the most powerful man in Virginia. Governor Norring did not get up from his padded leather chair behind his uncluttered burled walnut desk. Two chairs were arranged across from him and I was shown to one while he continued perusing a document.
“Word you like something to drink?” the press secretary asked me.
“No, thank you:” He left softly shutting the door.
The governor placed the document on the desk and leaned back in his chair. He was a distinguished-looking titan with just enough irregularity of his features to cause one to take him seriously; and he was impossible to miss when he walked into a room. Like George Washington, who was six foot two in a day of short men, Nofing was well above average height; his hair thick and dark at an age when men are balding of going gray.
“Doctor, I’ve been wondering if there might be a way to extinguish this fire of controversy before it’s completely out of control.”
He spoke with the soothing cadences of Virginian conversation.
“Governor Norring I certainly hope there is.”
“Then please help me understand why you are not cooperates with the police.”
“I wish to seek the advice of an attorney, and have not had a chance to do so. I don’t view this as a lack of co-operation.”
“It certainly is your right not to incriminate yourself,” he said slowly. “But the very suggestion of your invoking the Fifth only darkens the cloud of suspicion surrounding you. I’m certain you must be aware of that.”
“I’m aware that I will probably be criticized no matter what I do right now. It is reasonable and prudent for me to protect myself.”
“Were you making payments to your morgue supervisor, Susan Story?”
“No, sir, I was not. I have done nothing wrong.”
“Dr. Scarpetta.”
He leaned forward in his chair and laced his fingers on top of the desk. “It is my understanding that you are unwilling to cooperate by turning over any records that might substantiate these claims you’ve made.”
“I have not been informed that I am a suspect in any crime, nor have I received Miranda warnings. I have waived no rights. I have had no opportunity to seek counsel. At this moment, it is not my intention to open the files of my professional and personal life to the police or anyone else.”
“Then, in summary, you are refusing to make full disclosure,” he said.
When a state official is accused of conflict of interests or any other manner of unethical behavior, there are only two defenses, full disclosure or resignation. The latter yawned before me like an abyss. It was dear that the governor’s intention was to maneuver me over the edge.
“You are a forensic pathologist of national stature and the chief medical examiner of this, Commonwealth,” he went on. “You’ve enjoyed a very distinguished career and an impeccable reputation in the law enforcement community. But in the matter before us, you are showing poor judgment. You are not being meticulous about avoiding any appearance of impropriety.”
“I have been meticulous, Governor, and I have done nothing wrong,” I repeated. “The facts will bear this out, but I will not discuss the matter further until I speak with an attorney. And I will not make full disclosure unless it is through him and before a judge in a sealed hearing.”
“A sealed hearing?” His eyes narrowed.
“Certainly details of my personal life affect individuals besides me.”
“Who? Husband, children, lover? It is my understanding you have note of these, that you live alone and are – to use the cliché – wedded to your work. Just who might you be protecting?”
“Governor Norring, you are baiting me.”