PATRICIA CORNWELL. Point of Origin

‘Did you get the names of any of these guys who showed up?’ Marino asked loudly from the passenger seat.

‘Domino’s and Pizza Hut.’

Tom’s animated face was shadowed beneath the brim of his baseball cap.

‘And the cabs were Colonial, Metro, and Yellow Cab. The construction company was Frick. Now I took the liberty to make a few calls. Every one of ’em had orders in your name, Dr Scarpetta, including the times you called. I got it written down.’

Tom could not hide how pleased he was when he slipped a square of notepaper from a back pocket and handed it to me. His role had been more than the usual this night, and he was almost intoxicated by it. I turned on the interior light and Marino and I scanned the list. The taxi and pizza orders had been placed between ten-ten and eleven, while the Dumpster order had been placed earlier in the afternoon with instructions for a late afternoon delivery.

‘I know at least Domino’s said it was a woman who called. I talked to the dispatcher myself. A young kid. According to him, you called and said to just bring a large thick crust pizza supreme to the gate and you’d get it from there. I got his name written down, too,’ Tom reported with great pride. ‘So none of this came from you, Dr Scarpetta?’ He wanted to make sure.

‘No sir,’ I answered. ‘And if anything else shows up tonight, I want you to call me right away.’

‘Yo, call me, too,’ said Marino, and he jotted his home number on a business card. ‘I don’t give a shit what time it is.’

I handed Marino’s card out my window and Tom looked at it carefully, even though Marino had passed through these gates more times than I could guess.

‘You got it, Captain,’ Tom said with a deep nod. ‘Yes sir, anybody else shows up, I’m on the horn, and I can hold ’em till you get here, if you want me to.’

‘Don’t do that,’ Marino said. ‘Some kid with a pizza’s not going to know a damn thing. And if it’s real trouble, I don’t want you tangling with whoever it is.’

I knew right then that he was thinking about Carrie.

‘I’m pretty spry. But you got it, Captain.’

‘You did a great job, Tom,’ I complimented him. ‘I can’t thank you enough.’

‘That’s what I’m here for.’

He pointed his remote control and raised the arm to let us through.

‘I’m listening,’ I said to Marino.

‘Some asshole harassing you,’ he said, his face grim in the intermittent bath of street lamps. ‘Trying to upset you, scare you, piss you off. And doing a pretty damn good job, I might add.’

‘You don’t think Carrie . . .’ I went ahead and started to say.

‘I don’t know,’ Marino cut me off. ‘But it wouldn’t surprise me. Your neighborhood’s been in the news enough times.’

‘I guess what would be good to know is if the orders were placed locally,’ I said.

‘Christ,’ he said as I turned into my driveway and parked behind his car. ‘I sure as hell hope not. Unless it’s someone else who’s jerking you around.’

‘Take a number and stand in line.’

I cut the engine.

‘I can sleep on your couch if you want me to,’ Marino said as he opened his door.

‘Of course not,’ I said. ‘I’ll be fine. As long as no construction Dumpsters show up. That would be the last straw with my neighbors.’

‘I don’t know why you live here, anyway.’

‘Yes, you do.’

He got out a cigarette and clearly did not want to go anywhere.

‘Right. ‘The guard booth. Shit, talk about a placebo.’

‘If you don’t feel okay to drive, I’d be pleased to have you stay on my couch,’ I said.

‘Who, me?’

He fired his lighter and puffed smoke out the open car door.

‘It ain’t me I’m worried about, Doc.’

I got out of my car and stood on the driveway, waiting for him. His shape was big and tired in the dark, and I suddenly was overwhelmed by sad affection for him. Marino was alone and probably felt like hell. He couldn’t have memories worth much, between violence on the job and bad relationships the rest of the time. I supposed I was the only constant in his life, and although I was usually polite, I wasn’t always warm. It simply wasn’t possible.

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