Flesh and Blood. Patricia Cornwell
Чтение книги онлайн.
Читать онлайн книгу Flesh and Blood - Patricia Cornwell страница 15
Название: Flesh and Blood
Автор: Patricia Cornwell
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Приключения: прочее
isbn: 9780007552443
isbn:
“I’m calling her at home,” I reply.
I need her to use IBIS software to image the marks on the frag and run them through the National Integrated Ballistic Information Network, NIBIN. If the firearm in question has been used in other crimes we could get a hit in a matter of hours. I peel off my gloves.
“Hello?” she says stuffily.
“Liz? It’s Doctor Scarpetta.”
“I heard about the shooting on the news.”
“Apparently everybody has.” I look around as I talk.
Some of the neighbors are outside loitering on the sidewalks, in the street, and every car that passes slows to a crawl as people gawk. The sound of the news choppers is constant, and I notice a third one in the distance.
“The case is maybe two hours old. The media got here before I did,” I say to Liz.
“I saw it on Twitter,” she replies. “Let me see, I’m looking. Boston-dot-com says there was a shooting homicide in Cambridge, victim Jamal Nari. And another tweet reminds us who he is, you know, his pulled pork powwow with Obama. And I’m quoting. No disrespect on my part.”
“Can you come in? I’m really sorry. But this is important. How are you feeling?”
“Congested as hell but not contagious. I’m actually at CVS buying more drugs.” She coughs several times. “I can be there in forty-five.”
I look at Machado and nod that he can head to the CFC, and he walks swiftly to his SUV. Next I get my radiologic expert Anne on the phone. I tell her she has a case coming in that I want scanned immediately.
“I’m especially interested to see if he has a hangman’s fracture,” I explain.
A pause, then, “Okay. I’m confused. I thought this was a shooting.”
“Based on the position of the wound at the back of his neck and his lack of a vital response after being shot, I have a hunch we’re going to find a fracture involving both pars interarticularis of C-two. On CT we should be able to see the extent of his cervical spine injury. I’m betting his cord was severed.”
“I’ll do it as soon as the body arrives.”
“It should be there in half an hour. If I’m not back by the time you’re done, see if Luke can get started on the autopsy.”
“I guess no Florida,” Anne says.
“Not today,” I reply, and I end the call and crouch back inside the shelter of the privacy screens.
I tape small paper bags over the hands and a larger one over the head to preserve possible trace evidence. But I don’t expect anything significant beyond copper frag. I don’t think the killer came anywhere near his victim, and I stand up and look at Rusty and Harold still holding back at the CFC van. I motion to them.
They head in this direction as I pack up my scene case. Wheels rattle toward me as they roll the stretcher. Piled on top of it are white sheets and a neatly folded black body bag.
“You want to take a look inside his apartment?” Marino asks me. “Because that’s where I’m headed. I mean if you want to do your usual thing with the medicine cabinet, the fridge, the cupboards, the trash.”
He wants my company. He usually does.
“Sure. Let’s see what kind of meds he was taking,” I reply as a uniformed officer approaches him with paperwork I recognize as a warrant.
It’s a few minutes past one when Marino walks me around to the back of the Victorian house.
The first floor of it is clapboard, the upper stories and gables shingled. Up close I see the dark green paint is peeling and drainpipes are rusting. What’s left of the yard has been sutured by an ugly wooden fence, and the trunks of old trees crowd against it like something massive and lumbering trying to escape. I can imagine what an estate this must have been in an earlier era. What’s left of the subdivided property is no more than a sliver of land crowded by recently built bright brick town houses on three sides.
The windows of the corner first-floor apartment are small. The curtains are drawn, and the door they used to access their apartment has no patio or overhang. It must have been unpleasant hurrying inside when the weather was bad, especially if one was carrying groceries. It would have been awful in the ice and snow, treacherous in fact.
“So this is the exact way he came after he got out of his car,” Marino says as we walk through unbroken shade, chilly and still beneath leafy canopies, the earth pungent and spongy under my booted feet. “He carried three bags, walked around to the back of the house and let himself in with keys that are on the kitchen counter. There’s a knob lock and a dead bolt.”
“What about an alarm system?”
“He probably disarmed it when he went in unless it hadn’t been set, and I’ve got a call to the alarm company to find out the history for earlier today.” He glances at his phone. “Hopefully I’ll be getting that any minute.”
“Machado certainly handed off a lot of detail considering how much the two of you don’t seem to like each other at the moment.” I’m going to make him talk about it. “There’s no room in a homicide investigation for personal problems.”
“I’m a hundred percent focused.”
“If you were I wouldn’t have noticed that anything is wrong. I thought you were friends.”
His gloved hand turns a modern satin chrome knob that is an insult to the vintage oak front door.
“It’s completely closed now but when the first responding officers got here it was ajar.” He continues to ignore my questions.
I follow him in and stop just beyond the jamb, pulling the door shut. Opening my scene case I retrieve shoe covers for both of us as I glance around before stepping farther inside. The apartment is tiny, the kitchen and living area combined, the oak paneling painted chocolate brown. The wide board flooring is heavily varnished and scattered with colorful throw rugs. One bedroom, one bath, two windows across from me and two to my left, the drapes drawn, and I take my time near the door. I’m not done with him.
He and Machado are fighting and I wonder if it’s over a woman, and my thoughts dart back to Liz Wrighton. I’m rather startled but probably shouldn’t be. Single, in her late thirties, attractive, and I recall that when Marino worked for me, the two of them sometimes went shooting together or grabbed a few drinks after work. She’s been out sick since Monday and for some reason Machado knew about it.
“Did you mention to Machado that Liz has been out sick?” I ask.
“I didn’t know about it.”
“Is that a yes?”
СКАЧАТЬ