She went on, trying to make me feel better, “The fluids I separated out from the killer’s fluids are consistent with Lori’s blood samples. I don’t think you have a worry. There’s no doubt in my mind about the first file sent in . . .”
“The question has been raised,” I said, miserable.
Lawyers would love it. Good God, would they love it. They’d have a jury doubting any of the samples were Lori’s, including the tubes of blood. They’d have a jury wondering if the samples sent to New York for DNA testing were the right ones. Who was to say that they weren’t from some other dead body? My voice was on the verge of trembling when I told her, “We had six cases that day, Betty. Three of them merited PERKs, were potential sexual assaults.”
“All female?”
“Yes,” I muttered. “All of them women.”
What Bill said Wednesday night when he was stressed, his tongue lubricated by liquor, was branded in my mind. What would happen to these cases should my credibility be compromised? Not only would Lori’s case come into question, all of them would. I was cornered, absolutely and with no way out. I couldn’t pretend this file didn’t exist. It did exist and what it meant was I couldn’t honestly swear in court the chain of evidence was intact.
There was no second chance. I couldn’t collect the samples again, start from scratch. Lori’s samples had already been handdelivered to the New York lab. Her embalmed body had been buried Tuesday. An exhumation, forget it. It wouldn’t be profitable. It would be, however, a sensational event sparking enormous public curiosity. Everyone would want to know why.
Betty and I both glanced toward the door at the same time as Marino casually walked in.
“I just had a freaky little thought, Doc.”
He paused, his face hard as his eyes wandered to the slides and filter paper on the countertop.
I stared numbly at him.
“Me, I’d take this PERK here over to Vander. Maybe you left it in the fridge. Then again, maybe you didn’t.”
A sense of alarm fluttered through my blood before the jolt of comprehension.
“What?” I asked, as if he were crazy. “Someone else put it there?”
He shrugged. “I’m just suggesting you consider every possibility.”
“Who?”
“Got no idea.”
“How? How could that be possible? Someone would have to have gotten inside the autopsy suite, had access to the refrigerator. And the file is labeled . . .”
The labels: it was coming to me. The computer-generated labels left over from Lori’s autopsy. They were inside her case file. No one had been inside her file except me – and Amburgey, Tanner and Bill.
When the three men left my office early Monday evening, the front doors were chained. All of them went out through the morgue. Amburgey and Tanner had left first, and Bill a little later.
The autopsy suite was locked, but the walk-in refrigerator was not. We had to leave the refrigerator unlocked so funeral homes and rescue squads could deliver bodies after hours. The walk-in refrigerator had two doors, one opening onto the hallway, another leading into the autopsy suite. Had one of the men gone through the refrigerator and into the suite? On a shelf near the first table were stacks of evidence kits, including dozens of PERKS. Wingo always kept the shelves fully stocked.
I reached for the phone and instructed Rose to unlock my desk drawer and open Lori Petersen’s case file.
“There should be some evidence labels inside,” I told her.
While she checked, I tried to remember. There were six, maybe seven labels left over, not because I didn’t collect a lot of samples but because I collected so many of them-almost twice as many as usual, resulting in my generating not one, but two runs of computerized labels. Left over should be labels for heart, lung, kidneys and other organs, and an extra one for a PERK.
“Dr. Scarpetta?”
Rose was back. “The labels are here.”
“How many?”
“Let me see. Five.”
“For what?”
She replied, “Heart, lung, spleen, bile and liver.”
“And that’s all.”
“Yes. ”
“You’re sure there isn’t one for a PERK?”