Patricia Cornwell – Scarpetta11 – The Last Precinct

“I understand that much.”

“Can we start with the status of your relationship with Jay

now?”

“He drove me to the hospital.” I give up. I am clearly not the one who is going to be asking the questions in this situa- tion. “When I broke my arm. He showed up with the police, with ATF, and I spoke briefly to him Saturday afternoon while the police were still at my home.”

“Do you have any idea why he thought it necessary to fly here from France to assist in the manhunt for Chandonne?”

“I can only assume it’s because he’s so familiar with the case.”

“Or an excuse to see you?”

“He’d have to answer that.”

“Are you seeing him?”

“Not since Saturday afternoon, as I’ve said.”

“Why not? Do you consider the relationship over?”

“I don’t consider it ever began.”

“But you slept with him.” She raises an eyebrow.

“So I’m guilty of poor judgment.”

“He’s handsome, bright. And young. Some might be more likely to convict you of good taste. He’s single. So are you. It’s not as if you committed adultery.” She drags out a pause. Is she alluding to Benton, to the fact that I have been guilty of adultery in the past? “Jay Talley has a lot of money, doesn’t he?” She taps her felt-tip pen on the legal pad, a metronome measuring what a bad time I am having. “From his family, supposedly. I’ll check into that. And by the way, you should know I’ve talked to him, to Jay. At length.”

“I just assume you’ve talked to the entire world. What I haven’t yet figured out is how you’ve had time.”

“There was a little downtime at MCV, the medical college hospital.”

I imagine her drinking coffee with Talley. I can picture the look on his face, his demeanor. I wonder if she is attracted to him.

“I talked to both Talley and Marino while Chandonne had his various rest periods and whatnot.” Her hands are folded on top of a notepad that has the letterhead of her office on it. She has not taken a single note, not one word the entire time we have been inside this room. Already, she is planning for the defense to huff and puff about Rosario this and that. Whatever is in writing, the defense is entitled to see it. So don’t write anything down. Now and then she doodles. She has filled two pages with doodles since she entered my conference room. A red flag is raised in the back of my mind. She is treating me like a witness. I shouldn’t be a witness, not in her New York case.

“I’m getting the impression that you’re wondering if Jay is somehow involved….” I start to say.

Berger interrupts me with a shrug. “No stone unturned,” she says. “Is it possible? By this point, I’m about to believe anything is possible. What a wonderful position Talley would be in if he were in collusion with the Chandonnes, true? Inter-pol, ah, that’s handy for a crime cartel. He calls you and brings you to France, perhaps for the purpose of seeing what you know about the loose cannon Jean-Baptiste. Suddenly, Talley’s in Richmond for the manhunt.” She crosses her arms and penetrates me with that gaze again. “I don’t like him. I’m surprised you did.”

“Look,” I say with a hint of defeat in my voice, “Jay and I were intimate in Paris over a twenty-four-hour period, at most.”

“You initiated sex. Quarreled in a restaurant that evening and you stormed out, jealous because he was looking at an­other woman….”

“What?” I blurt out. “He said that?”

She regards me silently. Her tone is no different from the one she was using with Chandonne, a terrible monster. Now she is interviewing me, a terrible person. That is how I feel. “It had nothing to do with another woman,” I answer her. “What other woman? I certainly wasn’t jealous. He was coming on too strong and acting petulant and I’d had enough.”

“The Cafe Runtz on rue Favard. You made quite a scene.” She continues my story, or at least Talley’s version of it.

“I didn’t make a scene. I got up from the table and walked out, period.”

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