Patricia Cornwell – Scarpetta11 – The Last Precinct

“I’ll go with you to the motel,” Jay says to Marino.

Marino gets up and looks out the window. “Wonder where the hell Vander is,” he says.

He gets Vander on the cell phone and we head out minutes later to meet in the parking lot. Jay walks with me. I feel the energy of his desire to talk to me, to somehow come to a con­sensus. In this way, he is like the stereotype of a woman. He wants to talk, to settle matters, to have closure or to rekindle our connection so he can then play hard to get again. I, on the other hand, want none of it.

“Kay, can I have a minute?” he says in the parking lot.

I stop and look at him as I button my coat. I notice Marino glancing our way as he gets the trash bags and baby carriage out of the back of his truck and loads them into Vander’s car.

“I know this is awkward, but is there some way we can make it easier? For one thing, we have to work together,” Jay says.

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you told Jaime Berger every detail, Jay,” I reply.

“That wasn’t against you.” His eyes are intense.

“Right.”

“She asked me questions, understandably. She’s just doing her job.”

I don’t believe him. That is my fundamental problem with Jay Talley. I don’t trust him and wish I never had. “Well, that’s curious,” I comment. “Because it appears people started ask­ing questions about me before Diane Bray was even mur­dered. Right about the time I was with you in France inquiries began, as a matter of fact.”

His expression darkens. Anger peers out before he can hide it. “You’re paranoid, Kay,” he says.

“You’re right,” I reply. “You’re absolutely right, Jay.”[“_Toc37098927”]

CHAPTER 25

I HAVE NEVER DRIVEN MARINO’S DODGE RAM QUAD Cab pickup truck, and were circumstances not so strained I would probably find the scenario comical. I am not a big per­son, barely five foot five, slender, and there is nothing funky or extreme about me. I do wear jeans, but not today. I suppose I dress like a proper chief or lawyer, usually in a tailored skirt suit or flannel trousers and a blazer, unless I am working a crime scene. I wear my blond hair short and neatly styled, am light on makeup and, other than my signet ring and watch, jewelry is an afterthought. I don’t have a single tattoo. I don’t look like the sort who would be roaring along in a monster macho truck that is dark blue with pinstriping, chrome, mud flaps, scanner and big, swooping antennas that go with the CB and two-way radios.

I take 64 West back to Richmond because it is quicker, and I pay close attention to my driving because it is a lot to handle a vehicle this size with only one arm. I have never spent a Christmas Eve like this and I am increasingly depressed over the notion. Usually, by now I have stocked the refrigerator and freezer, and have cooked sauces and soups and decorated the house. I feel utterly homeless and alien as I drive Marino’s truck along the interstate, and it occurs to me that I don’t know where I will sleep tonight. I guess at Anna’s, but I dread the necessary chill between us. I didn’t even see her this morning, and a helpless feeling of loneliness settles over me and seems to push me down in my seat. I page Lucy. “I’ve got to move back into my house tomorrow,” I tell her on the phone.

“Maybe you should stay in the hotel with Teun and me,” she suggests.

“How about you and Teun stay with me?” It is so hard for me to express a need, and I need them. I do. For a lot of rea­sons.

“When do you want us there?”

“We’ll have Christmas together in the morning.”

“Early.” Lucy has never stayed in bed past six on Christ­mas morning.

“I’ll be up, and then we’ll go to the house,” I tell her.

December 24. Days have gotten as short as they can, and it will be a while before light savors the hours and burns off my heavy, anxious moods. It is dark by the time I reach down­town Richmond, and when I pull up to Anna’s house at five minutes past six, I find Berger waiting for me in her Mercedes SUV, headlights penetrating the night. Anna’s car is gone. She is not home. I don’t know why this unsettles me so completely unless it is that I am suspicious she somehow knows Berger is meeting me and chose not to be here. Considering such a pos­sibility reminds me that Anna has talked to people and may one day be forced to reveal what I have told her during my most vulnerable hours in her home. Berger climbs out as I open the track door, and if she is taken aback by my trans­portation, she makes no indication of it.