PATRICIA CORNWELL. Point of Origin

‘The floor was hard and unkind to my lower lumbar spine. But I was a good sport. A prompt asked her to enter a word or words or phrases that she wished the system to search for throughout the database.

‘Don’t worry about the format,’ Lucy said. ‘The text search engines can handle complete stream of consciousness. We can try everything from the size of the fire hose used to the materials the house was made of — all that fire safety info and stuff that’s in your set forms fire departments fill out. Or you can go with your own key queries.’

‘Let’s try death, homicide, suspected arson,’ I said.

‘Female,’ Marino added. ‘And wealth.’

‘Cut, incision, hemorrhage, fast, hot,’ I continued thinking.

‘What about unidentified,’ Lucy said as she typed.

‘Good,’ I said. ‘And bathroom, I suppose.’

‘Hell, put horses in there,’ Marino said.

‘Let’s go ahead and give it a shot,’ Lucy proposed. ‘We can always try more words as we think of them.’

She executed a search and then stretched her legs out and rolled her neck. I could hear Janet in the kitchen washing dishes, and in less than a minute, the computer came back with 11,873 records searched and 453 keywords found.

‘That’s since 1988,’ Lucy let us know. ‘And it also includes any cases from overseas in which ATF was called in to assist.’

‘Can we print out the four hundred and fifty-three records?’ I asked.

‘You know, the printer’s packed, Aunt Kay.’ Lucy looked up apologetically at me.

‘Then how about downloading the records to my computer,’ I said.

She looked uncertain.

‘I guess that’s all right,’ she said, ‘as long as you make sure . . . Oh, never mind.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m used to confidential information. I’ll make sure no one else gets hold of them.’

I knew it was stupid when I said it. Lucy stared longingly into the computer screen.

‘This whole thing’s UMX-based SQL.’ She seemed to be talking to no one. ‘Makes me crazy.’

‘Well, if they had a brain in their head, they’d have you here doing their computer shit,’ Marino said.

‘I haven’t made an issue of it,’ Lucy replied. ‘I’m trying to pay my dues. I’ll ship those files to you, Aunt Kay.’

She walked out of the room. We followed her into the kitchen, where Janet was rolling glasses in newspaper and carefully packing them into a Stor-All box.

‘Before I head out,’ I said to my niece, ‘could we maybe go for a walk around the block or something? And just catch up?’

She gave me a look that was something less than trustful.

‘What?’ she said.

‘I may not see you again for a while,’ I said.

‘We can sit out on the porch.’

‘That would be fine.’

We chose white plastic chairs in the open air above the street, and I shut the sliders behind us and watched crowds come alive at night. Taxis were not stopping, and the fireplace in the window of The Flame danced behind glass while men drank in the dark with each other.

‘I just want to know how you are,’ I said to her. ‘I don’t feel like you talk to me much.’

‘Ditto.’

She stared out with a wry smile, her profile striking and strong.

‘I’m all right, Lucy. As all right as I ever am, I guess. Too much work. What else has changed?’

‘You always worry about me.’

‘I have since you were born.’

‘Why?’

‘Because somebody should.’

‘Did I tell you Mother’s getting a facelift?’

Just the thought of my only sibling made my heart turn hard.

‘She had half her teeth crowned last year, now this,’ Lucy went on. ‘Her current boyfriend, Bo, has hung in there for almost a year and a half. How ’bout that? How many times can you screw before you need something else nipped and tucked?’

‘Lucy.’

‘Oh, don’t be self-righteous, Aunt Kay. You feel the same way about her that I do. How did I end up with such a piece of shit for a mother?’

‘This isn’t helping you in the least,’ I said quietly. ‘Don’t hate her, Lucy.’

‘She hasn’t said one fucking word about my moving to Philadelphia. She never asks about Janet, or you, for that matter. I’m getting a beer. Do you want one?’

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