‘Marino’s on his way here,’ she went on. ‘They’re sending a helicopter. To the helipad at MCV. USAMRIID’s in the air right now, heading here. They’ve let the Baltimore Medical Examiner’s office know a special team’s going to have to handle this, that the body will have to be autopsied in Frederick.’
I gave her my eyes as my blood seemed to freeze. ‘Body?’
‘Apparently there’s some campground where the FBI traced a call.’
‘I know about that.’ I had no patience. ‘In Maryland.’
‘They think they’ve found the killer’s camper. I’m not clear on all the details. But it has what might be a lab of some type. And there’s a body inside.’
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ‘Whose body?’
‘They think, his. A possible suicide. Shot.’ She peered at me over the top of her glasses, and shook her head. ‘You should be home in bed with a cup of my chicken soup.’
Marino picked me up in front of my office as wind gusted through downtown and whipped state flags on tops of buildings. I knew instantly that he was angry when he pulled out before I’ d barely shut the door. Then he had nothing to say.
‘Thanks,’ I said, unwrapping a cough drop.
‘You’re still sick.’ He turned onto Franklin Street.
‘I certainly am. Thank you for asking.’
‘I don’t know why I’m doing this,’ he said, and he was not in uniform. ‘Last thing I want to do is get near some goddamn lab where someone’s been making viruses.’
‘You’ll have special protection,’ I replied.
‘I should probably have it now, being around you.’
‘I have the flu and am no longer infectious. Trust me. I know these things. And don’t be mad at me, because I have no intention of putting up with it.’
‘You’d better hope the flu’s what you got.’
‘If I had something worse, I would be getting worse and my fever would be higher. I would have a rash.’
‘Yeah, but if you’re already sick, don’t that mean you’re more likely to catch something else? Like, I don’t know why you want to be making this trip. ‘Cause I sure the fuck don’t. And I don’t appreciate being dragged into it.’
‘Then drop me off and be on your way,’ I said. ‘Don’t even think about whining to me right now. Not when the entire world’s going to hell.’
‘How’s Wingo?’ he asked in a more conciliatory tone.
‘I’m frankly scared to death for him,’ I replied.
We drove through MCV, turning into a helipad behind a fence where patients and organs arrived when they were medflighted to the hospital. USAMRIID had not arrived yet, but in moments we could hear the powerful Blackhawk, and people in cars and walking along sidewalks stopped and stared. Several drivers pulled off the road to watch the magnificent machine darken the sky as it hammered in, blasting grass and debris as it landed.
The door slid open and Marino and I climbed inside, where crew seats were already occupied by scientists from USAMRIID. We were surrounded by rescue gear, and another portable isolator that was collapsed like an accordion. I was handed a helmet with a microphone, and I put this on and fastened my five-point harness. Then I helped Marino with his as he perched primly on a fold-down seat not built for people his size.
‘God knows I hope reporters don’t get wind of this,’ someone said as the heavy door shut.
I plugged the cord of my microphone into a port in the ceiling. ‘They will. Probably already have.’
Deadoc liked attention. I could not believe he would leave this world silently, or without his presidential apology. No, there was something else in store for us, and I did not want to imagine what that might be. The trip to Janes Island State Park was less than an hour, but complicated by the fact that the campground was densely wooded with pines. There was nowhere to land.
Our pilots set us down at the Coast Guard station in Crisfield, in a marina called Somer’s Cove, where sailboats and yachts battened down for winter bobbed on the dark blue ruffled water of the Little Annemessex River. We went inside the tidy brick station long enough to put on exposure suits and life vests while Chief Martinez briefed us.