I asked Jon one last question.
“I don’t want to put you on the spot, but did Lucy seem intoxicated when you waited on her?”
“If she had, I never would have sold her anything.”
“What was her demeanor?”
“She was in a hurry but joking around and very nice.” If Lucy had been drinking as much as I suspected she had for months or longer, she could have had a .12 and seemed to function fine. But her judgment and reflexes would have been impaired. She would not have reacted as well to what happened on the road. I hung up and got the number for the Asheville-Citizen Times, and was told by the city desk that the name of the person who had written about the accident was Linda Mayfair. Fortunately, she was in, and momentarily I had her on the line.
“This is Dr. Kay Scarpetta,” I said.
“Oh! Gosh, what can I do for you?” She sounded very young.
“I wanted to ask about a story you wrote. It was about an accident involving my car in Virginia. Are you aware that you were incorrect to say that I was driving and subsequently arrested for DUI?” I was very calm but firm.
“Oh, yes, ma’am. I’m really sorry, but let me tell you what happened. Something brief about the wreck came over the wire very late the night of the accident. All it said was that the car, a Mercedes, was identified as yours and it was suspected the driver was you and alcohol was involved. I happened to be working late finishing up something else when the editor came over with the printout. He told me to run it if I could confirm that the driver was you. Well, by now we’re on deadline and I didn’t think there was a chance.
“Then out of the blue, a call gets rolled over to my desk. And it’s this lady who says she’s a friend of yours and is calling from a hospital in Virginia. She wants us to know that you were not badly injured in the accident. She thought we should know since Dr. Scarpetta–you–have colleagues still in our area working on the Steiner case. She says she doesn’t want us hearing about the accident some other way and printing something that would alarm your colleagues when they pick up the paper. ”
“And you took the word of a stranger and ran a story like that?”
“She gave her name and number and both of them checked out. And if she wasn’t someone familiar with you, how could she have known about the accident and that you have been here working on the Steiner case?” She could have known all of that if she were Denesa Steiner and were in a phone booth in Virginia after attempting to kill me. I asked, “How did you check her out?”
“I called the number right back and she answered, and it was a Virginia area code.”
“Do you still have the number?”
“Gosh, I think so. It should be in my notepad.”
“Will you look for it now?”
I heard pages flipping and a lot of shuffling around. A long minute passed, and she gave me the number.
“Thank you very much. I hope you’ve gotten around to printing a retraction,” I said, and I could tell she was intimidated. I felt sorry for her and did not believe she had intended harm. She was just young and inexperienced, and was certainly no match for a psychopath determined to play games with me.
“We ran a We Were Wrong the next day. I can send you a copy.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I said as I recalled the reporters turning up at the exhumation. I knew who had tipped them off. Mrs. Steiner. She couldn’t resist more attention. The phone rang for a long time when I dialed the number the reporter had given me. Finally, it was answered by a man.
“Excuse me,” I said.
“Hello?”
“Yes, I need to know where this phone is.”
“Which phone. Yours or mine?” The man laughed. “” Cause if you don’t know where yours is, you’re in trouble. “