From Potter's Field ks-6

by Patricia Cornwell

  I could see him behind a showcase, rearranging a tray of what looked like bracelets. He looked up when I rang the bell. He shook his head and mouthed that he was not open. I removed hat and sunglasses and knocked on the glass. He stared blankly until I pulled out my credentials and showed him my shield.

  He was startled, then confused when he realized it was me. James, who insisted the world call him James because his first name was Elmer, came to the door. He took another look at my face and bells rattled against glass as he turned a key.

  'What in the world?' he said, letting me in.

  'You and I must talk,' I said, unzipping my coat.

  'I'm all out of lab coats.'

  'I'm delighted to hear it.'

  'Me too,' he said in his petty way. 'Sold every one of them for Christmas. I sell more of those silly lab coats than anything in the gallery. We're thinking of silk-screened scrubs next, the same style you folks wear when you're doing autopsies.'

  'You're not disrespectful of me,' I said. 'You're disrespectful of the dead. You will never be me, but you will someday be dead. Maybe you should think about that.'

  'The problem with you is you don't have a sense of humor.'

  'I'm not here to talk about what you perceive the problem with me is,' I calmly said.

  A tall, fussy man with short gray hair and a mustache, he specialized in minimalist paintings, bronzes and furniture, and unusual jewelry and kaleidoscopes. Of course, he had a penchant for the irreverent and bizarre, and nothing was a bargain. He treated customers as if they were lucky to be spending money in his gallery. I wasn't sure James treated anyone well.

  'What are you doing here?' he asked me. 'I know what happened around the corner, at your office.'

  'I'm sure you do,' I said. 1 can't imagine how anybody could not know.'

  'Is it true that one of the cops was put in…'

  I gave him a stony stare.

  He returned behind the counter, where I could now see he had been tying tiny price tags on gold and silver bracelets fashioned to look like serpents, soda can flip tops, braided hair, even handcuffs.

  'Special, aren't they?' He smiled.

  'They are different.'

  'This is my favorite.' He held up one. It was a chain wrought of rose-gold hands.

  'Several days ago someone came into your gallery and used my charge card,' I said.

  'Yes. Your son.' He returned the bracelet to the tray.

  'My what?' I said.

  He looked up at me. 'Your son. Let's see. I believe his name is Kirk.'

  'I do not have a son,' I told him. 'I have no children. And my American Express gold card was stolen several months ago.'

  James chided me, 'Well, for crummy sake, why haven't you canceled it?'

  'I didn't realize it was stolen until very recently. And I'm not here to talk to you about that,' I said. 'I need you to tell me exactly what happened.'

  James pulled out a stool and sat down. He did not offer me a chair. 'He came in the Friday before Christmas,' he said. 'I guess about four o'clock in the afternoon.'

  'This was a man?'

  James gave me a disgusted look. 'I do know the difference. Yes. He was a man.'

  'Please describe him.'

  'Five-ten, thin, sharp features. His cheeks were a little sunken. But I actually found him rather striking.'

  'What about his hair?'

  'He was wearing a baseball cap, so I didn't see much of it. But I got the impression it was a really terrible red. A Raggedy Andy red. I can't imagine who got hold of him, but he ought to sue for malpractice.'

  'And his eyes?'

  He was wearing dark-tinted glasses. Sort of Armani-ish.' He got amused. 'I was so surprised you had a son like that. I would have figured your boy wore khakis, skinny ties and went to MIT…'

  'James, there is nothing lighthearted about this conversation,' I abruptly said.

  His face lit up and his eyes got wide as the meaning became clear. 'Oh my God. The man I've been reading about? That's who… My God. He was in my gallery?'

  I made no comment.

  James was ecstatic. 'Do you realize what this will do?' he said. 'When people find out he shopped here?'

  I said nothing.

  'It will be fabulous for my business. People from all over will come here. My gallery will be on the tour routes.'

  'That's right. Be certain to advertise something like that,' I said. 'And character disorders from everywhere will stand in line. They'll touch your expensive paintings, bronzes, tapestries, and ask you endless questions. And they won't buy a thing.'

  He got quiet.

  'When he came in,' I said, 'what did he do?'

  'He looked around. He said he was looking for a last-minute gift.'

  'What was his voice like?'

  'Quiet. Kind of high-pitched. I asked who the present was for, and he said his mother. He said she was a doctor. That's when I showed him the pin he ended up buying. It's a caduceus. Two white gold serpents twined around a yellow gold winged staff. The serpents have ruby eyes. It's handmade and absolutely spectacular.'

  'That's what he bought for two hundred and fifty dollars?' I asked.

  'Yes.' He was appraising me, crooked finger under his chin. 'Actually, it's you. The pin is really you. Would you like for me to have the artist make another one?'

  'What happened after he bought the pin?'

  'I asked if he wanted it gift wrapped, and he didn't. He pulled out the charge card. And I said, "Well, small, small world. Your mother works right around the corner." He didn't say anything. So I asked if he was home for the holidays, and he smiled.'

  'He didn't talk,' I said.

  'Not at all. It was like pulling hens' teeth. I wouldn't call him friendly. But he was polite.'

  'Do you remember how he was dressed?'

  'A long black leather coat. It was belted, so I don't know what he had on under it. But I thought he looked sharp.'

  'Shoes?'

  'It seems he had on boots.'

  'Did you notice anything else about him?'

  He thought for a while, looking past me at the door. He said, 'Now that you mention it, he had what looked like burns on his fingers. I thought that was a little scary.'

  'What about his hygiene?' I then asked, for the more addicted a crack user got, the less he cared about clothing or cleanliness.

  'He seemed clean to me. But I really didn't get close to him.'

  'And he bought nothing else while he was here?'

  'Unfortunately not.'

  Elmer James propped an elbow on the showcase and rested his cheek on his fist. He sighed. 'I wonder how he found me.'

  I walked back, avoiding slushy puddles on streets and the cars that drove through them heedlessly. I got splashed once. I returned to my office, where Janet was in the library watching a teaching videotape of an autopsy while Lucy worked in the computer room. I left them alone and went down to the morgue to check on my staff.

  Fielding was at the first table, working on a young woman found dead in the snow below her bedroom window. I noted the pinkness of the body and could smell alcohol in the blood. On her right arm was a cast scribbled with messages and autographs.

  'How are we doing?' I asked.

  'She's got a STAT alcohol of.23,' he replied, examining a section of aorta. 'So that didn't get her. I think she's going to be an exposure death.'

  'What are the circumstances?' I could not help but think of Jane.

  'Apparently, she was out drinking with friends and by the time they took her home around eleven p.m. it was snowing pretty hard. They let her out and didn't wait to see her in. The police think her keys fell in the snow and she was too drunk to find them.'

  He dropped the section of aorta into a jar of formalin. 'So she tried to get in a window by breaking it with her cast.'

  He lifted the brain out of the scale. 'But that didn't work. The window was too high up, and with one arm she couldn't have climbed in it anyway. Eventually she passed out.'


  'Nice friends,' I said, walking off.

  Dr. Anderson, who was new, was photographing a ninety-one-year-old woman with a hip fracture. I collected paperwork from a nearby desk and quickly reviewed the case.

  'Is this an autopsy?' I asked.

  'Yes,' Dr. Anderson said.

  'Why?'

  She stopped what she was doing and looked at me through her face shield. I could see intimidation in her eyes. 'The fracture was two weeks ago. The medical examiner in Albemarle was concerned her death could be due to complications of that accident.'

  'What are the circumstances of her death?'

  'She presented with pleural effusion and shortness of breath.'

  'I don't see any direct relationship between that and a hip fracture,' I said.

  Dr. Anderson rested her gloved hands on the edge of the steel table.

  'An act of God can take you at any time,' I said. 'You can release her. She's not a medical examiner's case.'

  'Dr. Scarpetta,' Fielding spoke above the whining of the Stryker saw. 'Did you know that the Transplant Council meeting is Thursday?'

  'I've got jury duty.' I turned to Dr. Anderson. 'Do you have court on Thursday?'

  'Well, it's been continued. They keep sending me subpoenas even though they've stipulated my testimony.'

  'Ask Rose to take care of it. If you're free and we don't have a full house on Thursday, you can go with Fielding to the council meeting.'

  I checked carts and cupboards, wondering if any other boxes of gloves were gone. But it seemed Gault had taken only those that were in the van. I wondered what else he might find in my office, and my thoughts darkened.

  I went directly to my office without speaking to anyone I passed and opened a cabinet door beneath my microscope. In back I had tucked a very fine set of dissecting knives Lucy had given to me for Christmas. German made, they were stainless steel with smooth light handles. They were expensive and incredibly sharp. I moved aside cardboard files of slides, journals, microscope lightbulbs and batteries and reams of printer paper. The knives were gone.

  Rose was on the phone in her office adjoining mine, and I walked in and stood by her desk.

  'But you've already stipulated her testimony,' she was saying. 'If you've stipulated her testimony, then you obviously don't need to subpoena her to appear so she can give you her testimony…'

  She looked at me and rolled her eyes. Rose was getting on in years, but she was ever vigilant and forceful. Snow or shine she was always here, the headmistress of Les Miserables.

  'Yes, yes. Now we're getting somewhere.' She scribbled something on a message pad. 'I can promise you Dr. Anderson will be very grateful. Of course. Good day.'

  My secretary hung up and looked at me. 'You're gone entirely too much.'

  'Tell me about it,' I said.

  'You'd better watch out. One of these days you may find me with someone else.'

  I was too worn out to joke. 'I wouldn't blame you,' I said.

  She regarded me like a shrewd mother who knew I had been drinking or making out or sneaking cigarettes. 'What is it, Dr. Scarpetta?' she said.

  'Have you seen my dissecting knives?'

  She did not know what I was talking about.

  'The ones Lucy gave me. A set of three in a hard plastic box. Three different sizes.'

  Recognition registered on her face. 'Oh yes. I remember now. I thought you kept them in your cabinet.'

  'They're not there.'

  'Shoot. Not the cleaning crew, I hope. When was the last time you saw them?'

  'Probably right after Lucy gave them to me, which was actually before Christmas because she didn't want to take them down to Miami. I showed the set to you, remember? And then I put them in my cabinet because I didn't want to keep them downstairs.'

  Rose was grim. 'I know what you must be thinking. Uh.' She shivered. 'What a gruesome thought.'

  I pulled up a chair and sat. 'The thought of him doing something like that with my-'

  'You can't think about it,' she interrupted me. 'You have no control over what he does.'

  I stared off.

  'I'm worried about Jennifer,' my secretary then said.

  Jennifer was one of the clerks in the front office. Her major responsibility was sorting photographs, answering the phones, and entering cases into our database.

  'She's traumatized.'

  'By what's just happened,' I assumed.

  Rose nodded. 'She's been in the bathroom crying quite a lot today. Needless to say, what happened is awful and there are many tales circulating. But she's so much more upset than anyone else. I've tried to talk to her. I'm afraid she's going to quit.' She pointed the mouse at the WordPerfect icon and clicked a button. 'I'll print out the autopsy protocols for your review.'

  'You've already typed both of them?'

  'I came in early this morning. I've got four-wheel drive.'

  'I'll talk to Jennifer,' I said.

  I walked down the corridor and glanced into the computer room. Lucy was mesmerized by the monitor, and I did not bother her. Up front, Tamara was answering one line while two others rang and someone else was unhappily flashing on hold. Cleta made photocopies while Jo entered death certificates at a workstation.

  I walked back down the hall and pushed open the door to the ladies' room. Jennifer was at one of the sinks, splashing cold water on her face.

  'Oh!' she exclaimed when she saw me in the mirror. 'Hello, Dr. Scarpetta,' she said, unnerved and embarrassed.

  She was a homely young woman who would forever struggle with calories and the clothes that might hide them. Her eyes were puffy and she had protruding teeth and flyaway hair. She wore too much makeup even at times like this when her appearance should not matter.

  'Please sit down,' I said kindly, motioning to a red plastic chair near lockers.

  'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I know I've not done right today.'

  I pulled up another chair and sat so I would not tower over her.

  'You're upset,' I said.

  She bit her bottom lip to stop it from quivering as her eyes filled with tears.

  'What can I do to help you?' I asked.

  She shook her head and began to sob.

  'I can't stop,' she said. 'I can't stop crying. And if someone even scrapes their chair across the floor I jump.' She wiped tears with a paper towel, hands shaking. 'I feel like I'm going crazy.'

  'When did this all start?'

  She blew her nose. 'Yesterday. After the sheriff and the policeman were found. I heard about the one downstairs. They said even his boots was on fire.'

  'Jennifer, do you remember the pamphlets I passed out about Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome?'

  'Yes, ma'am.'

  'It's something everybody's got to worry about in a place like this. Every single one of us. I have to worry about it, too.'

  'You do?' Her mouth fell open.

  'Certainly. I have to worry about it more than anyone.'

  'I just thought you was used to it.'

  'God forbid that any of us should get used to it.'

  'I mean' - she lowered her voice as if we were talking about sex - 'do you get like I am right now?' She quickly added, 'I mean, I'm sure you don't.'

  'I'm sure I do,' I said. 'I get very upset sometimes.'

  Her eyes brimmed with tears again and she took a deep breath. 'That makes me feel a whole lot better. You know, when I was little my daddy always was telling me how stupid and fat I was. I didn't figure someone like you would ever feel like I do.'

  'No one should have ever said such a thing to you,' I replied with feeling. 'You are a lovely person, Jennifer, and we are very fortunate to have you here.'

  'Thank you,' she said quietly, eyes cast down.

  I got up. 'I think you should go home for the rest of the day and have a nice long weekend. How about it?'

  She continued looking down at the floor. 'I think I saw him,' she said, biting her bottom lip.

  'Who did you see?'

  'I saw
that man.' She glanced at my eyes. 'When I saw the pictures on TV, I couldn't believe it. I keep thinking if only I had told somebody.'

  'Where is it you think you saw him?'

  'Rumors.'

  'The bar?' I asked.

  She nodded.

  'When was this?'

  'Tuesday.'

  I looked closely at her. "This past Tuesday? The day after Christmas?'

  That night Gault had been in New York. I had seen him in the subway tunnel, or at least I thought I had.

  'Yes, ma'am,' Jennifer said. 'I guess it was about ten. I was dancing with Tommy.'

  I did not know who Tommy was.

  'I seen him hanging back from everyone. I couldn't help but notice because of his white hair. I'm not used to seeing anybody his age with hair that white. He was in a real cool black suit with a black T-shirt under it. I remember that. I figured he was from out of town. Maybe from a big place like Los Angeles or something.'

  'Did he dance with anyone?'

  'Yes, ma'am, he danced with a girl or two. You know, he'd buy them a drink. Then next thing I know he was gone.'

  'Did he leave alone?'

  'It looked to me like one girl went with him.'

  'Do you know who?' I asked with dread. I hoped the woman, whoever she was, had lived.

  'It wasn't anybody I knew,' Jennifer said. 'I just remember he was dancing with this one girl. He must've danced with her three times and then they walked off the floor together, holding hands.'

  'Describe her,' I said.

  'She was black. She was real pretty in this little red dress. It was low cut and kind of short. I remember she had bright red lipstick and all these little braids with little lights winking in them.' She paused.

  'And you're certain they left the club together?' I asked.

  'As far as I could tell. I never saw either one of them again that night, and me and Tommy stayed till two.'

  I said to her, 'I want you to call Captain Marino and tell him what you just told me.'

  Jennifer got out of the chair and felt important. 'I'll get started right this minute.'