From Potter's Field

by Patricia Cornwell

  'I didn't know you had all this,' Marino went on, half inside my large, heavy safe. 'When the hell did you get all this? I wasn't with you.'

  'I do shop alone now and then,' I said sharply. 'Believe it or not, I am perfectly capable of buying groceries, clothing and guns all by myself. And I'm very tired, Marino. Let's wind this up.'

  'Where are your shotguns?'

  'What do you want?'

  'What do you have?'

  'Remingtons. A Marine Magnum. An 870 Express Security.'

  'That'll do.'

  'Would you like me to see if I can round up some plastic explosives?' I said. 'Maybe I can put my hands on a grenade launcher.'

  He pulled out a Glock nine-millimeter. 'So you're into combat Tupperware, too.'

  'I've used it in the indoor range for test fires,' I said. That's what I've used most of these guns for. I've got several papers to present at various meetings. This is making me crazy. Are you going into my dresser drawers next?'

  Marino tucked the Glock in the back of his pants. 'Let's see. And I'm gonna swipe your stainless steel Smith and Wesson nine-mil and your Colt. Janet likes Colts.'

  I closed the safe and angrily spun the dial. Marino and I returned to the house and I went upstairs because I did not want to see him pass out ammunition and guns. I could not cope with the thought of Lucy downstairs with a pump shotgun, and I wondered if anything would faze or frighten Gault. I was to the point of thinking he was the living dead and no weapon known to us could stop him. In my bedroom I turned out lights and stood before the window. My breath condensed on glass as I stared at a night lit up by snow. I remembered occasions when I had not been in Richmond long and woke up to a world quiet and white like this. Several times, the city was paralyzed and I could not go to work. I remembered walking my neighborhood, kicking snow up in the air and throwing snowballs at trees. I remembered watching children pull sleds along streets.

  I wiped fog off the glass and was too sad to tell anyone my feelings. Across the street, holiday candles glowed in every window of every house but mine. The street was bright but empty. Not a single car went by. I knew Marino would stay up half the night with his female SWAT team. They would be disappointed. Gault would not come here. I was beginning to have an instinct about him. What Anna had said about him was probably right.

  In bed I read until I fell to sleep, and I woke up at five. Quietly, I went downstairs, thinking it would be my luck to die from a shotgun blast inside my own home. But the door to one guest bedroom was shut, and Marino was snoring on the couch. I sneaked into the garage and backed my Mercedes out. It did wonderfully on the soft, dry snow. I felt like a bird and I flew.

  I drove fast on Gary Street and thought it was fun when I fishtailed. No one else was out. I shifted the car into low gear and plowed through drifts in International Safeway's parking lot. The grocery store was always open, and I went in for fresh orange juice, cream cheese, bacon and eggs. I was wearing a hat and no one paid me any mind.

  By the time I returned to my car, I was the happiest I had been in weeks. I sang with the radio all the way home and skidded when I safely could. I drove into the garage, and Marino was there with his flat black Benelli shotgun.

  'What the hell do you think you're doing!' he exclaimed as I shut the garage door.

  'I'm getting groceries.' My euphoria fled.

  'Je-sus Christ. I can't believe you just did that,' he yelled at me.

  'What do you think this is?' I lost my temper. Tatty Hearst? Am I kidnapped now? Should we just lock me inside a closet?'

  'Get in the house.' Marino was very upset.

  I stared coldly at him. 'This is my house. Not your house. Not Tucker's house. Not Benton's house. This, goddam it, is my house. And I will get in it when I please.'

  'Good. And you can die in it just like you can die anywhere else.'

  I followed him into the kitchen. I yanked items out of the grocery bag and slammed them on the counter. I cracked eggs into a bowl and shoved shells down the disposal. I snapped on the gas burner and beat the hell out of omelets with onions and fontina cheese. I made coffee and swore because I had forgotten low-fat Cremora. I tore off squares of paper towel because I had no napkins, either.

  'You can set the table in the living room and start the fire,' I said, grinding fresh pepper into frothy eggs.

  'The fire's been started since last night.'

  'Are Lucy and Janet awake?' I was beginning to feel better.

  'I got no idea.'

  I rubbed olive oil into a frying pan. 'Then go knock on their door.'

  'They're in the same bedroom,' he said.

  'Oh for God's sake, Marino.' I turned around and looked at him in exasperation.

  We ate breakfast at seven-thirty and read the newspaper, which was wet.

  'What are you going to do today?' Lucy asked me as if we were on vacation, perhaps at some lovely resort in the Alps.

  She was dressed in her same fatigues, sitting on an ottoman before the fire. The nickel-plated Remington was nearby on the floor. It was loaded with seven rounds.

  'I have errands to run and phone calls to make,' I said.

  Marino had put on blue jeans and a sweatshirt. He watched me suspiciously as he slurped coffee.

  I met his eyes. 'I'm going downtown.'

  He did not respond. 'Benton's already headed out.'

  I felt my cheeks get hot.

  'I already tried to call him and he already checked out of the hotel.' Marino glanced at his watch. 'That would have been about two hours ago, around six.'

  'When I mentioned downtown,' I said evenly, 'I was referring to my office.'

  'What you need to do, Doc, is drive north to Quantico and check into their security floor for a while. Seriously. At least for the weekend.'

  'I agree,' I said. 'But not until I've taken care of a few matters here.'

  'Then take Lucy and Janet with you.'

  Lucy was looking out the sliding glass doors now, and Janet was still reading the paper.

  'No,' I said. 'They can stay here until we head out to Quantico.'

  'It's not a good idea.'

  'Marino, unless I've been arrested for something I know nothing about, I'm leaving here in less than thirty minutes and going to my office. And I'm going there alone.'

  Janet lowered the paper and said to Marino, 'There comes a point when you've got to go on with your life.'

  'This is a security matter,' Marino dismissed her.

  Janet's expression did not change. 'No, it isn't. This is a matter of your acting like a man.'

  Marino looked puzzled.

  'You're being overly protective,' she added reasonably. 'And you want to be in charge and control everything.'

  Marino did not seem angry because she was soft-spoken. 'You got a better idea?' he asked.

  'Dr. Scarpetta can take care of herself,' Janet said. 'But she shouldn't be alone in this house at night.'

  'He won't come here,' I said.

  Janet got up and stretched. 'He probably won't,' she said. 'But Carrie would.'

  Lucy turned away from the glass doors. Outside, the morning was blinding, and water dripped from eaves.

  'Why can't I go into the office with you?' my niece wanted to know.

  'There's nothing for you to do,' I said. 'You'd be bored.'

  'I can work on the computer,'

  Later, I drove Lucy and Janet to work with me and left them at the office with Fielding, my deputy chief. At eleven a.m., roads were slushy in the Slip, and businesses were opening late. Dressed in waterproof boots and a long jacket, I waited on a sidewalk to cross Franklin Street. Road crews were spreading salt, and traffic was sporadic this Friday before New Year's Eve.

  James Galleries occupied the upper floor in a former tobacco warehouse near Laura Ashley and a record store. I entered a side door, followed a dim hallway and got on an elevator too small to carry more than three people my size. I pushed the button for the third floor, and soon the elevator opened onto anoth
er dimly lit hallway, at the end of which were glass doors with the name of the gallery painted on them in black calligraphy.

  James had opened his gallery after moving to Richmond from New York. I had purchased a mono-print and a carved bird from him once, and the art glass in my dining room had come from him as well. Then I quit shopping here about a year ago after a local artist came up with inappropriate silk-screened lab coats in honor of me. They included blood and bones, cartoons and crime scenes, and when I asked James not to carry them, he increased his order.

  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.'