I was numb. I tasted blood and thought of AIDS.
The chief of police appeared and asked questions.
Marino began to explain. ‘It appears the sheriff thought he’d deliver more than Christmas in this neighborhood.’
‘Drugs?’
‘We’re assuming.’
‘I wondered why we stopped here,’ said the chief. ‘This address isn’t on the list.’
‘Well, that’s why.’ Marino stared blankly at the body.
‘Do we have an identity?’
‘Anthony Jones of the Jones Brothers fame. Seventeen years old, been in jail more’n the Doc there’s been to the opera. His older brother got whacked last year by a Tec 9. That was in Fairfield Court, on Phaup Street. And last month we think Anthony murdered Trevi’s mother, but you know how it goes around here. Nobody saw nothing. We had no case. Maybe now we can clear it.’
‘Trevi? You mean the little boy in there?’ The chief’s expression did not change.
‘Yo. Anthony’s probably the kid’s father. Or was.’
‘What about a weapon?’
‘In which case?’
‘In this case.’
‘Smith and Wesson thirty-eight, all five rounds fired. Jones hadn’t dumped his brass yet and we found a speedloader in the grass.’
‘He fired five times and missed,’ said the chief, resplendent in dress uniform, snow dusting the top of his cap.
‘Hard to say. Sheriff Brown’s got on a vest.’
‘He’s got on a bulletproof vest beneath his Santa suit.’ The chief continued repeating the facts as if he notes.
‘Yo.’ Marino bent close to a tilting clothesline pole, the beam of light licking over rusting metal. With a gloved thumb, he rubbed a dimple made by a bullet. ‘Well, well,’ he said, ‘looks like we got one black and one Pole shot tonight.’
The chief was silent for a moment, then said, ‘My wife is Polish, Captain.’
Marino looked baffled as I inwardly cringed. ‘Your last name ain’t Polish,’ he said.
‘She took my name and I am not Polish,’ said the chief, who was black. ‘I suggest you refrain from ethnic and racial jokes, Captain,’ he warned, jaw muscles bunching.
The ambulance arrived. I began to shiver.
‘Look, I didn’t mean . . .’ Marino started to say.
The chief cut him off. ‘I believe you are the perfect candidate for cultural diversity class.’
‘I’ve already been.’
‘You’ve already been, sir, and you’ll go again, Captain.’
‘I’ve been three times. It’s not necessary to send me again,’ said Marino, who would rather go to the proctologist than another cultural diversity class.
Doors slammed and a metal stretcher clanked.
‘Marino, there’s nothing more I can do here.’ I wanted to shut him up before he talked himself into deeper trouble. ‘And I need to get to the office.’
‘What? You’re posting him tonight?’ Marino looked deflated.
I think it’s a good idea in light of the circumstances,’ I said seriously. ‘And I’m leaving town in the morning.’
‘Christmas with the family?’ said Chief Tucker, who was young to be ranked so high.
‘Yes.’
‘That’s nice,’ he said without smiling. ‘Come with me, Dr. Scarpetta, I’ll give you a lift to the morgue.’
Marino eyed me as he lit a cigarette. ‘I’ll stop by as soon as I clear up here,’ he said.
2
Paul Tucker had been appointed Richmond’s chief of police several months ago, but we had encountered each other only briefly at a social function. Tonight was the first time we had met at a crime scene, and what I knew about him I could fit on an index card.
He had been a basketball star at the University of Maryland and a finalist for a Rhodes scholarship. He was supremely fit, exceptionally bright and a graduate of the FBI’s National Academy. I thought I liked him but wasn’t sure.
‘Marino doesn’t mean any harm,’ I said as we passed through a yellow light on East Broad Street.
I could feel Tucker’s dark eyes on my face and sense their curiosity. The world is full of people who mean no harm and cause a great deal of it.’ He had a rich, deep voice that reminded me of bronze and polished wood.
‘I can’t argue with that, Colonel Tucker.’
‘You can call me Paul.’
I did not tell him he could call me Kay, because after many years of being a woman in a world such as this, I had learned.