'Gault,' he said, incredulous. He raised his voice. 'The son of a bitch must've got his pager number after he blew his brains all over the subway. You understand what that means?' He glared at us. 'It means he's watching us! He knows we're here doing this.'
Maier looked around.
'We don't know who sent the message,' said the doctor, who was completely disconcerted.
But I knew. I had no doubt.
'Even if Gault did it, he didn't have to see what was going on this morning to know what's going on,' Maier said. 'He would know the body was here, that we would be here.'
Gault would know that I would be here, I thought. He wouldn't have necessarily known the others would.
'He's somewhere where he just used a phone.' Marino glanced wildly around. He could not stand still.
Commander Penn ordered Maier, 'Put it on the air, an all-units broadcast. Send a teletype, too.'
Maier pulled his gloves off and angrily slammed them into a trash can as he ran from the room.
'Put the pager in an evidence bag. It needs to be processed for prints,' I said. 'I know we've touched it, but we can still try. That's why his coat was unzipped.
That's why his coat was unzipped.'
'Huh?' Marino looked stunned.
'Davila's coat was unzipped and there was no reason for that'
'Yeah, there was a reason. Gault wanted Davila's gun.'
'It wasn't necessary to unzip his coat to get his gun,' I said. 'There's a slit in the jacket's side where the holster is. I think Gault unzipped Davila's coat to find the pager. Then he got the number off it.'
The doctors had returned their efforts to the body. They pulled off boots and socks and unfastened an ankle holster holding a Walther.380 that Davila shouldn't have been carrying and had never had a chance to use. They took off his Kevlar vest, a navy police T-shirt, and a silver crucifix on a long chain. On his right shoulder was a small tattoo of a rose entwining a cross. In his wallet was a dollar.
9
I left New York that afternoon on a US Air shuttle and got into Washington National at three. Lucy could not meet me at the airport because she had not driven since her accident, and there was no appropriate reason for me to find Wesley waiting at my gate.
Outside the airport I suddenly felt sorry for myself as I struggled alone with briefcase and bag. I was tired and my clothes felt dirty. I was hopelessly overwhelmed and ashamed to admit it. I couldn't even seem to get a taxi.
Eventually, I arrived at Quantico in a dented cab painted robin's-egg blue with glass tinted purple. My window in back would not roll down, and it was impossible for my Vietnamese driver to communicate who I was to the guard at the FBI Academy entrance.
'Lady doctor,' the driver said again, and I could tell he was unnerved by the security, the tire shredders, the many antennae on tops of buildings. 'She okay.'
'No,' I said to the back of his head. 'My name is Kay. Kay Scarpetta.'
I tried to get out, but doors were locked, the buttons removed. The guard reached for his radio.
'Please let me out,' I said to the driver, who was staring at the nine-millimeter pistol on the guard's belt. 'I need for you to let me out.'
He turned around, frightened. 'Out here?'
'No,' I said as the guard emerged from the booth.
The driver's eyes widened.
'I mean, I do want out here, but just for a minute. So I can explain to the guard.' I pointed and spoke very slowly. 'He doesn't know who I am because I can't open the window and he can't see through the glass.'
The driver nodded some more.
'I must get out,' I said firmly and with emphasis. 'You must open the doors.'
The locks went up.
I got out and squinted in the sun. I showed my identification to the guard, who was young and militaristic.
'The glass is tinted and I couldn't see you,' he said. 'Next time just roll your window down.'
The driver had started taking my luggage out of the trunk and setting it on the road. He glanced about frantically as artillery fire cracked and gunshots popped from Marine Corps and FBI firing ranges.
'No, no, no.' I motioned him to put the luggage back in the trunk. 'Drive me there, please.' I pointed toward Jefferson, a tall tan brick building on the other side of a parking lot.
It was clear he did not want to drive me anywhere, but I got back in the car before he could get away. The trunk slammed and the guard waved us through. The air was cold, the sky bright blue.
Inside Jefferson's lobby a video display above the reception desk welcomed me to Quantico and wished me a happy and safe holiday. A young woman with freckles signed me in and gave me a magnetic card to open doors around the Academy.
'Was Santa good to you, Dr.
'Was Santa good to you, Dr. Scarpetta?' she cheerfully asked, sorting through room keys.
'I must have been bad this year,' I said. 'I mostly got switches.'
'I can't imagine that. You're always so sweet,' she said. 'We've got you on the security floor, as usual.'
'Thank you.' I could not recall her name and had a feeling she knew it.
'How many nights will you be with us?'
'Just one.' I thought her name might be Sarah, and for some reason it seemed very important that I remember it.
She handed me two keys, one plastic, one metal.
'You're Sarah, aren't you?' I took a risk and asked.
'No, I'm Sally.' She looked hurt.
'I meant Sally,' I said, dismayed. 'Of course. I'm sorry. You always take such good care of me, and I thank you.'
She gave me an uncertain look. 'By the way. Your niece walked through maybe thirty minutes ago,'
'Which way was she headed?'
She pointed toward glass doors leading from the lobby into the heart of the building and clicked the lock free before I had a chance to insert my card. Lucy could have been en route to the PX, post office, Boardroom, ERF. She could have been heading toward her dormitory room, which was in this building but on a different wing.
I tried to imagine where my niece might be at this hour of the afternoon, but where I found her was the last place I would have looked. She was in my suite.
'Lucy!' I exclaimed when I opened the door and she was standing on the other side. 'How did you get in?'
'The same way you did,' she said none too warmly. 'I have a key.'
I carried my bags into the living room and set them down. 'Why?' I studied her face.
'My room's on this side, yours is on that.'
The security floor was for protected witnesses, spies or any other person the Department of Justice decided needed extra protection. To get into rooms, one had to pass through two sets of doors, the first requiring a code entered on a digital keypad that was reconfigured each time it was used. The second needed a magnetized card that was also often changed. I'd always suspected the telephones were monitored.
