I interrupted him, ‘My God, Keith. I have never heard so much bullshit in my life. If I said even one of those things, I would be fired for incompetence.’
‘That’s the other thing,’ Pleasants jumped in again, fire in his eyes. ‘He’s been talking with everyone I work with! They’re all wondering if I’m some kind of axe murderer. I can tell by the way they look at me.’
He dissolved in tears as doors opened and several state troopers walked in. They paid us no mind as they were buzzed inside, on their way down to the morgue, where Fielding was working on a pedestrian death. Pleasants was too upset for me to discuss this with him any further, and I was so incensed with Ring that I did not know what else to say.
‘Do you have a lawyer?’ I asked him.
He shook his head.
‘I think you’d better get one.’
‘I don’t know any.’
‘I can give you some names,’ I said as Wingo opened the door and was startled by the sight of Pleasants crying on the couch.
‘Uh, Dr Scarpetta?’ Wingo said. ‘Dr Fielding wants to know if he can go ahead and receipt the personal effects to the funeral home.’
I stepped closer to Wingo, because I did not want Pleasants further upset by the business of this place.
‘The troopers are on their way down,’ I said in a low voice. ‘If they don’t want the personal effects, then yes. Receipt them to the funeral home.’
He was staring hard at Pleasants, as if he knew him from somewhere.
‘Listen,’ I said to Wingo. ‘Get him the names and numbers of Jameson and Higgins.’
They were two very fine lawyers in town whom I considered friends.
‘Then please see Mr Pleasants out.’
Wingo was still staring, as if transfixed by him.
‘Wingo?’ I gave him a questioning look, because he did not seem to have heard me.
‘Yes, ma’am.’ He glanced at me.
I went past him, heading downstairs. I needed to talk to Wesley, but maybe I should get hold of Marino first. As I rode the elevator down, I debated if I should call the C.A. in Sussex and warn her about Ring. At the same time all of this was going through my mind, I felt dreadfully sorry for Pleasants. I was scared for him. As far-fetched as it might seem, I knew he could end up charged with murder.
In the morgue, Fielding and the troopers were looking at the pedestrian on table one, and there wasn’t the usual banter because the victim was the nine-year-old daughter of a city councilman. She had been walking to the bus stop early this morning when someone had swerved off the road at a high rate of speed. Based on the absence of skid marks, the driver had hit the girl from the rear and not even slowed.
‘How are we doing?’ I asked when I got to them.
‘We got us a real tough one here,’ said one of the troopers, his expression grave.
‘The father’s going ape shit,’ Fielding told me as he went over the clothed body with a lens, collecting trace evidence.
‘Any paint?’ I asked, for a chip of it could identify the make and model of the car.
‘Not so far.’ My deputy chief was in a foul mood. He hated working on children.
I scanned torn, bloody jeans and a partial grille mark imprinted in fabric at the level of the buttocks. The front bumper had struck the back of the knees, and the head had hit the windshield. She had been wearing a small red knapsack. The bagged lunch, and books, papers and pens that had been taken out of it pricked my heart. I felt heavy inside.
‘The grille mark seems pretty high,’ I remarked.
‘That’s what I’m thinking, too,’ another trooper spoke. ‘Like you associate with pickup trucks and recreational vehicles. About the time it happened, a black Jeep Cherokee was observed in the area traveling at a high rate of speed.’
‘Her father’s been calling every half hour.’ Fielding glanced up at me. ‘Thinks this was more than an accident.’