‘The ones Lucy gave me. A set of three in a hard plastic box. Three different sizes.’
Recognition registered on her face. ‘Oh yes. I remember now. I thought you kept them in your cabinet.’
‘They’re not there.’
‘Shoot. Not the cleaning crew, I hope. When was the last time you saw them?’
‘Probably right after Lucy gave them to me, which was actually before Christmas because she didn’t want to take them down to Miami. I showed the set to you, remember? And then I put them in my cabinet because I didn’t want to keep them downstairs.’
Rose was grim. ‘I know what you must be thinking. Uh.’ She shivered. ‘What a gruesome thought.’
I pulled up a chair and sat. ‘The thought of him doing something like that with my-‘
‘You can’t think about it,’ she interrupted me. ‘You have no control over what he does.’
I stared off.
‘I’m worried about Jennifer,’ my secretary then said.
Jennifer was one of the clerks in the front office. Her major responsibility was sorting photographs, answering the phones, and entering cases into our database.
‘She’s traumatized.’
‘By what’s just happened,’ I assumed.
Rose nodded. ‘She’s been in the bathroom crying quite a lot today. Needless to say, what happened is awful and there are many tales circulating. But she’s so much more upset than anyone else. I’ve tried to talk to her. I’m afraid she’s going to quit.’ She pointed the mouse at the WordPerfect icon and clicked a button. ‘I’ll print out the autopsy protocols for your review.’
‘You’ve already typed both of them?’
‘I came in early this morning. I’ve got four-wheel drive.’
‘I’ll talk to Jennifer,’ I said.
I walked down the corridor and glanced into the computer room. Lucy was mesmerized by the monitor, and I did not bother her. Up front, Tamara was answering one line while two others rang and someone else was unhappily flashing on hold. Cleta made photocopies while Jo entered death certificates at a workstation.
I walked back down the hall and pushed open the door to the ladies’ room. Jennifer was at one of the sinks, splashing cold water on her face.
‘Oh!’ she exclaimed when she saw me in the mirror. ‘Hello, Dr. Scarpetta,’ she said, unnerved and embarrassed.
She was a homely young woman who would forever struggle with calories and the clothes that might hide them. Her eyes were puffy and she had protruding teeth and flyaway hair. She wore too much makeup even at times like this when her appearance should not matter.
‘Please sit down,’ I said kindly, motioning to a red plastic chair near lockers.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I know I’ve not done right today.’
I pulled up another chair and sat so I would not tower over her.
‘You’re upset,’ I said.
She bit her bottom lip to stop it from quivering as her eyes filled with tears.
‘What can I do to help you?’ I asked.
She shook her head and began to sob.
‘I can’t stop,’ she said. ‘I can’t stop crying. And if someone even scrapes their chair across the floor I jump.’ She wiped tears with a paper towel, hands shaking. ‘I feel like I’m going crazy.’
‘When did this all start?’
She blew her nose. ‘Yesterday. After the sheriff and the policeman were found. I heard about the one downstairs. They said even his boots was on fire.’
‘Jennifer, do you remember the pamphlets I passed out about Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘It’s something everybody’s got to worry about in a place like this. Every single one of us. I have to worry about it, too.’
‘You do?’ Her mouth fell open.
‘Certainly. I have to worry about it more than anyone.’
‘I just thought you was used to it.’
‘God forbid that any of us should get used to it.’
‘I mean’ – she lowered her voice as if we were talking about sex – ‘do you get like I am right now?’ She quickly added, ‘I mean, I’m sure you don’t.’
‘I’m sure I do,’ I said. ‘I get very upset sometimes.’
Her eyes brimmed with tears again and she took a deep breath. ‘That makes me feel a whole lot better. You know, when I was little my daddy always was telling me how stupid and fat I was. I didn’t figure someone like you would ever feel like I do.’