“It might have,” I reply. “Depends on how it affected her moods. PMS could certainly make her eating disorder worse, and mood swings couldn’t have helped her volatile relationship with Anderson.”
“Pretty amazing to think about the common, mundane things that can lead to catastrophe.” Berger drops the panties back into the machine. “I had a case one time. This man has to pee and decides to pull off Bleecker Street and relieve himself in an alleyway. He can’t see what he’s doing until another car goes by and illuminates the alleyway just enough for the poor old guy to realize he’s peeing on a bloody dead body. The guy peeing has a heart attack. A little later, a cop investigates this car illegally parked, goes in the alleyway and finds a dead Hispanic with multiple stab wounds. Next to him is a dead older white male with his dick hanging out of his unzipped pants.” Berger goes to a sink and rinses her hands, shakes them dry. “Took a little while to figure that one out,” she says.[“_Toc37098929”]
CHAPTER 27
WE FINISH WITH BRAY’S HOUSE AT HALF PAST nine, and although I am tired, it would be impossible for me to even think about sleeping. I am energized in a strung-out way. My mind is lit up like a huge city at night and I almost feel feverish. I would never want to admit to anyone how much I actually enjoy working with Berger. She misses nothing. She keeps even more to herself. She has me intrigued. I have tasted the forbidden fruit of straying from my bureaucratic boundaries and I like it. I am flexing muscles I rarely get to use because she is not limiting my areas of expertise, and she is not territorial or insecure. Maybe I also want her to respect me, too. She has encountered me at my lowest point, when I am accused. She returns the house key to Eric Bray, who has no questions for us. He doesn’t even seem curious but just wants to be on his way.
“How are you feeling?” Berger asks me as we drive off. “Holding up?”
“Holding up,” I affirm.
She turns on an overhead light and squints at a Post-it on the dash. She dials a number on her car phone, leaving it on speaker. Her own recorded announcement comes on and she hits a code to see how many messages she has. Eight. And she picks up the handset so I can’t hear them. This seems odd. Is there some reason she wanted me to know how many messages she has? I am alone with my thoughts for the next few minutes as she drives through my neighborhood, the phone against her ear. She goes through messages quickly and I suspect we share the same impatient habit. If someone is long-winded, I tend to delete the message before it is finished. Berger, I bet, does the same thing. We follow Sulgrave Road through the heart of Windsor Farms, passing the Virginia House and Agecroft Hallancient Tudor mansions that were dismantled and crated in England and shipped over here by wealthy Richmonders back in an era when this part of the city was one huge estate.
We approach the guard booth for Lockgreen, my neighborhood. Rita steps out of the booth and I know instantly by her bland expression that she has seen this Mercedes SUV and its driver before. “Hi,” Berger says to her. “I have Dr. Scarpetta.”
Rita bends over and her face shines in the open window. She is happy to see me. “Welcome back,” she says with a hint of relief. “You’re home for good, I hope? It doesn’t seem right, you not being here. Seems real quiet these days.”
“Coming home in the morning.” I experience ambivalence, even fear, as I hear myself say the words. “Merry Christmas, Rita. It looks like all of us are working tonight.”
“Gotta do what you gotta do.”
Guilt pinches my heart as we drive off. This will be the first Christmas when I haven’t remembered the guards in some way. Usually, I bake bread for them or send food to whoever’s sad lot it is to be sitting in that small booth when he should be home with family. I have gotten quiet. Berger senses I am troubled. “It’s very important that you tell me your feelings,” she quietly says. “I know it’s completely against your nature and violates every rule you have laid down in your life.” We follow the street toward the river. “I understand all too well.”