The next morning, I called the New York Medical Examiner’s Office and left a message for Dr. Horowitz that suggested he begin DNA analysis on Jane’s blood. Then Marino picked me up at my house while neighbors looked out windows and opened handsome front doors to collect their newspapers. Three cruisers were parked in front, Marino’s unmarked Ford in the brick drive. Windsor Farms woke up, went to work and watched me squired away by cops. Perfect lawns were white with frost and the sky was almost blue.
When I arrived at the John Marshall Courthouse, it was as I had done so many times in the past. But the deputy at the scanner did not understand why I was here.
‘Good morning, Dr. Scarpetta,’ he said with a broad smile. ‘How about that snow? Don’t it just make you feel like you’re living in the middle of a Hallmark card? And Captain, a nice day to you, sir,’ he said to Marino.
I set off the X-ray machine. A female deputy appeared to search me while the deputy who enjoyed snow went through my bag. Marino and I walked downstairs to an orange-carpeted room filled with rows of sparsely populated orange chairs. We sat in the back, where we listened to people dozing, crackling paper, coughing and blowing their noses. A man in a leather jacket with shirt-tail hanging out prowled for magazines while a man in cashmere read a novel. Next door a vacuum cleaner roared. It butted into the orange room’s door and quit.
Including Marino, I had three uniformed officers around me in this deadly dull room. Then at eight-fifty a.m. the jury officer walked in late and went to a podium to orient us.
‘I have two changes,’ she said, looking directly at me. ‘The sheriff on the videotape you’re about to see is no longer the sheriff.’
Marino whispered in my ear, ‘That’s because he’s no longer alive.’.
‘And,’ the jury officer went on, ‘the tape will tell you the fee for jury duty is thirty dollars, but it’s still twenty dollars.’
‘Nuts.’ Marino was in my ear again. ‘Do you need a loan?’
We watched the video and I learned much about my important civic duty and its privileges. I watched Sheriff Brown on tape as he thanked me again for performing this important service. He told me I had been called up to decide the fate of another person and then showed the computer he had used to select me.
‘Names called are then drawn from a jury ballot box,’ he recited with a smile. ‘Our system of justice depends on our careful consideration of the evidence. Our system depends on us.’
He gave a phone number I could call and reminded all of us that coffee was twenty-five cents a cup and no change was available.
After the video, the jury officer, a handsome black woman, came over to me.
‘Are you police?’ she whispered.
‘No,’ I said, explaining who I was as she looked at Marino and the other two officers.
‘We need to excuse you now,’ she whispered. ‘You shouldn’t be here. You should have called and told us. I don’t know why you’re here at all.’
The other draftees were staring. They had been, staring since we walked in, and the reason crystallized. They were ignorant of the judicial system, and I was surrounded by police. Now the jury officer was over here, too. I was the defendant. They probably did not know that defendants don’t read magazines in the same room with the jury pool.
By lunchtime I was gone and wondering if I would ever be allowed to serve on a jury even once in my life. Marino let me out at the front door of my building and I went into my office. I called New York again and Dr. Horowitz got on the phone.
‘She was buried yesterday,’ he said of Jane.
I felt a great sadness. ‘I thought you usually wait a little longer than that,’ I said.
‘Ten days. It’s been about that, Kay. You know the problem we have with storage space.’
‘We can identify her with DNA,’ I said.
‘Why not dental records?’