The Hornet’s Nest. Patricia Cornwell

being an issue.

“Now what?” Hammer railed on.

“Four businessmen four weeks in a row.

Carjackings, in which the killer changes his mind, leaves the cars?

Robberies? A weird hourglass symbol spray-painted on the victims’ groins? Make and

model, names, professions. Everything but the damn crime-scene photos right there for

all the world to see! ”

The headline was huge:

BLACK WIDOW KILLER CLAIMS FOURTH VICTIM

“What was I supposed to do?” West said.

“Keep him out of trouble.”

“I’m not a babysitter.”

“A businessman from Orlando, a salesman from Atlanta, a banker from South Carolina, a

Baptist minister. From Tennessee. Welcome to our lovely city.” Hammer tossed the

paper on a couch.

“What do we do?”

“Letting him ride wasn’t my idea,” West reminded her.

“What’s done is done.” Hammer sat behind her desk. She picked up the phone and

dialed.

“We can’t get rid of him. Got any idea how that would look? On top of all the rest of it?”

Her eyes glazed as the mayor’s secretary answered.

“Listen, Ruth, get him now. I don’t care what he’s doing.” Hammer started drumming

polished nails on the blotter.

West was in a worse mood when she left her boss’s office. It wasn’t fair. Life was hard

enough, and she was beginning to wonder about Hammer. What did West know about

her, anyway, except that she had come

to Charlotte from Chicago, a huge city where people froze their asses off half the year and the mob had its way with public officials. Next thing, Hammer sailed here, that

housewife husband of hers tagging along.

T^ Brazil wasn’t pleased with his circumstances, either. He was punishing himself again

this morning, pounding up bleacher steps in the stadium where the Davidson Wildcats

lost every football game, even some they hadn’t played, it seemed. He was going at it

and didn’t care if he had a heart attack or was sore tomorrow. Deputy Chief West was a

lowlife cowboy, and as insensitive as shit, and Chief Hammer wasn’t at all what he had

fantasized. Hammer could have at least smiled or glanced at him, and made him feel

welcome last night. Brazil headed back up the steps again, sweat leaving gray spots on

cement.

^/^ Vft Hammer wanted to hang up on the mayor. She had had just about enough of his

unimaginative way of solving problems.

“I understand the medical examiner believes these murders have a homosexual

connection,” he was saying over the phone.

“That’s one opinion,” Hammer answered.

“The fact is that we don’t know. All the victims were married with children.”

“Exactly,” he slyly said.

“For God’s sake, Chuck, don’t pile this on me so early in the morning.” Hammer looked

out the window and could almost see the bastard’s office from where she sat.

“Point is, the theory is helpful,” he went on in his South Carolina drawl.

Mayor Charles Search was from Charleston. He was

Hammer’s age and often considered what it might be like to bed her. If nothing else, it

would remind her of things she seemed to have forgotten. Her place, for starters. If she

wasn’t married, he would swear-she was a lesbian. He sat in his leather judge’s chair,

headset on, and doodled on a legal pad.

“The city, out of town businesses, won’t be as bothered by this …”

he was trying to say.

“Where are you so I can break your neck,” Hammer said over the phone.

“When was your lobotomy? I would have sent flowers.”

“Judy.” This doodle was really good. He focused on it, putting his glasses on.

“Calm down. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Of course you don’t.”

Maybe she was a lesbian, or bisexual, anyway, with a grating Midwestern accent. He

reached for a red pen, getting excited over his art. It was an atom with orbits of little

molecules that looked weirdly like eggs. Birth. This was seminal.

V> To make matters ever so much worse this morning, West had to go to the morgue.

North Carolina didn’t have the best system, it was West’s opinion. Some cases were taken

care of locally, by Dr. Odom and the police forensic labs. Other bodies were sent to the

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