I could hear the background noise of people drinking and enjoying food that was guaranteed to be heavy and rich but worth it.
‘Are you on a pay phone?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, and I’m off duty, just so you know.’
He took a swallow of something that I figured was beer.
‘I’ve got to get to Washington tomorrow. Something significant has come up.’
‘Uh oh. I hate it when you say that.’
‘I found something else.’
‘You gonna tell me or do I have to stay up all night pacing?’
He had been drinking, and I did not want to talk to him about this now.
‘Listen, can you go with me, assuming Dr Vessey can see us?’
‘The bones man at the Smithsonian?’
‘I’ll call him at home as soon as we get off the phone.’
‘I’m off tomorrow, so I guess I can squeeze you in.’
I did not say anything as I stared at the simmering pot and turned the heat down just a little.
‘Point is, count me in,’ Marino said, swallowing again.
‘Meet me at my house,’ I said. ‘At nine.’
‘I’ll be there with bells on.’
Next I tried Dr Vessey’s Bethesda home and he answered on the first ring.
‘Thank God,’ I said. ‘Alex? It’s Kay Scarpetta.’
‘Oh! Well, how are you?’
He was always a bit befuddled and missing in action in the minds of the hoi polloi who did not spend their lives putting people back together again. Dr Vessey was one of the finest forensic anthropologists in the world, and he had helped me many times before.
‘I’ll be much better if you tell me you’re in town tomorrow,’ I said.
‘I’ll be working on the railroad as always.’
‘I’ve got a cut mark on a skull. I need your help. Are you familiar with the Warrenton fire?’
‘Can’t be conscious and not know about that.’
‘Okay. Then you understand.’
‘I won’t be there until about ten and there’s no place to park,’ he said. ‘I got in a pig’s tooth the other day with aluminum foil stuck in it,’ he absently went on about whatever he’d been doing of late. ‘I guess from a pig roast, dug up in someone’s backyard. The Mississippi coroner thought it was a homicide, some guy shot in the mouth.’
He coughed and loudly cleared his throat. I heard him drink something.
‘Still getting bear paws now and then,’ he went on, ‘more coroners thinking they’re human hands.’
‘I know, Alex,’ I said. ‘Nothing has changed.’
8
MARINO PULLED INTO my driveway early, at quarter of nine, because he wanted coffee and something to eat. He was officially not working, so he was dressed in blue jeans, a Richmond Police T-shirt, and cowboy boots that had lived a full life. He had slicked back what little hair had weathered his years, and he looked like an old beer-bellied bachelor about to take his woman to Billy Bob’s.
‘Are we going to a rodeo?’ I asked as I let him in.
‘You know, you always have a way of pissing me off.’
He gave me a sour look that didn’t faze me in the least. He didn’t mean it.
‘Well, I think you look pretty cool, as Lucy would say. I’ve got coffee and granola.’
‘How many times do I got to tell you that I don’t eat friggin’ birdseed,’ he grumbled as he followed me through my house.
‘And I don’t cook steak-egg biscuits.’
‘Well, maybe if you did, you wouldn’t spend so many evenings alone.’
‘I hadn’t thought about that.’
‘Did the Smithsonian tell you where we was going to park up there? Because there’s no parking in D.C.’
‘Nowhere in the entire district? The President should do something about that.’
We were inside my kitchen, and the sun was gold on windows facing it, while the southern exposure caught the river glinting through trees. I had slept better last night, although I had no idea why, unless my brain had been so overloaded it simply had died. I remembered no dreams, and was grateful.
‘I got a couple of VIP parking passes from the last time Clinton was in town,’ Marino said, helping himself to coffee. ‘Issued by the mayor’s office.’