'Because it's not safe when you're loose. I want to look around your house before I leave,' he said.
'It's not necessary.'
'I'm not asking. I'm telling you I'm going to look,' he said.
'All right. Help yourself.'
He followed me inside, and I went straight to the living room and turned on the gas fire. Next I opened the front door and brought in the mail and several newspapers that one of my neighbors had forgotten I to pick up. To anybody watching my gracious brick house, it would have been obvious that I was gone over Christmas.
I glanced around as I returned to the living room, looking for anything even slightly out of order. I wondered if anyone had thought about breaking in. I wondered what eyes had turned this way, what dark thoughts had enveloped this place where I lived.
My neighborhood was one of the wealthiest in Richmond, and certainly there had been problems before, mostly with gypsies who tended to walk in during the day when people were home. I was not as worried about them, for I never left doors unlocked, and the alarm was activated constantly. It was an entirely different breed of criminal I feared, and he was not as interested in what I owned as in who and what I was. I kept many guns in the house in places where I could get to them easily.
I seated myself on the couch, the shadow from flames moving on oil paintings on the walls. My furniture was contemporary European, and during the day the house was filled with light. As I sorted mail, I came across a pink envelope similar to several I had seen before. It was note size and not a good grade of paper, the stationery the sort one might buy in a drugstore. The postmark this time was Charlottesville, December 23. I slit it open with a scalpel. The note, like the others, was handwritten in black fountain ink.
Dear Dr. Scarpetta,
I hope you have a very special Christmas!
CAIN
I carefully set the letter on my coffee table.
'Marino?' I called out.
Gault had written the note before he had murdered Jane.
But the mail was slow. I was just getting it now.
'Marino!' I got up.
I heard his feet moving loudly and quickly on stairs. He rushed into the living room, gun in hand.
'What?' he said, breathing hard as he looked around. 'Are you all right?'
I pointed to the note. His eyes fell to the pink envelope and matching paper.
'Who's it from?'
'Look,' I said.
He sat beside me, then got right back up. 'I'm going to set the alarm first.'
'Good idea.'
He came back and sat down again. 'Let me have a couple pens. Thanks.'
He used the pens to keep the notepaper unfolded so he could read without jeopardizing any fingerprints I hadn't already destroyed. When he was finished, he studied the handwriting and postmark on the envelope.
'Is this the first time you've gotten one of these?' he asked.
'No.'
He looked accusingly at me. 'And you didn't say nothing?'
'It's not the first note, but it's the first one signed
cain; I said.
'What have the rest of them been signed?'
'There's only been two others on this pink stationery, and they weren't signed.'
'Do you have them?'
'No. I didn't think they were important. The postmarks were Richmond, the notes kooky but not alarming. I frequently get peculiar mail.'
'Sent to your house?'
'Generally to the office. My home address isn't listed.'
'Shit, Doc!' Marino got up and started pacing. 'Didn't it disturb you when you got notes delivered to your home address when it's not listed?'
'The location of my home certainly isn't a secret. You know how often we've asked the media not to film or photograph it, and they do it anyway.'
'Tell me what the other notes said.'
'Like this one, they were short. One asked me how I was and if I was still working too hard. It seems to me the other was more along the lines of missing me.'
'Missing you?'
I searched my memory. 'Something like, «It's been too long. We really must see each other.»'
'You're certain it's the same person.' He glanced down at the pink note on the table.
'I think so. Obviously, Gault has my address, as you predicted he would.'
'He's probably been by your crib.' He stopped pacing and looked at me. 'You realize that?'
I did not answer.
'I'm telling you that Gault has seen where you live.' Marino ran his fingers through his hair. 'You understand what I'm saying?' he demanded.
'This needs to go to the lab first thing in the morning,' I said.
I thought of the first two notes. If they, too, were from Gault, he had mailed them in Richmond. He had been here.
'You can't stay here, Doc.'
'They can analyze the postage stamp. If he licked it, he left saliva on it. We can use PCR and get DNA.'
'You can't stay here,' he said again.
'Of course I can.'
'I'm telling you, you can't.'
'I have to, Marino,' I said stubbornly. 'This is where I live.'
He was shaking his head. 'No. It's out of the question. Or else I'm moving in.'
I was devoted to Marino but could not bear the thought of him in my house. I could see him wiping his feet on my oriental rugs and leaving rings on yew wood and mahogany. He would watch wrestling in front of the fire and drink Budweiser out of the can.
'I'm going to call Benton right now,' he went on. 'He's going to tell you the same thing.' He walked toward the phone.
' He walked toward the phone.
'Marino,' I said. 'Leave Benton out of this.'
He walked over to the fire and sat on the sandstone hearth instead. He put his head in his hands, and when he looked up at me his face was exhausted. 'You know how I'll feel if something happens to you?'
'Not very good,' I said, ill at ease.
'It will kill me. It will, I swear.'
'You're getting maudlin.'
'I don't know what that word means. But I do know Gault's going to have to waste my ass first, you hear me?' He stared intensely at me.
I looked away. I felt the blood rise to my cheeks.
'You know, you can get whacked like anybody else. Like Eddie, like Susan, like Jane, like Jimmy Davila. Gault's fixed on you, goddam it. And he's probably the worst killer in this friggin' century.' He paused, watching me. 'Are you listening?'
I lifted my eyes to his. 'Yes,' I said. 'I'm listening. I'm hearing every word.'
'You got to leave for Lucy's sake, too. She can't come see you here ever. And if something happens to you, just what do you think is going to happen to her?'
I shut my eyes. I loved my home. I had worked so hard for it. I had labored intensely and tried to be a good businesswoman. What Wesley had predicted was happening. Protection was to be at the expense of who I was and all that I had.
