The Last Precinct

"You knew I would be." He has a pained expression on his face. "Don't let the bastards get you, Doc. Don't give up."

I pick up my briefcase and open the office door. "I'm doing anything but give up. In fact, I've got a lot to do."

His expression asks, what"? I've just been ordered by the governor to do nothing. "Mike's a good guy," Marino says. "But don't push him. Don't give him a reason to fire you. Why don't you go somewhere for a few days? Maybe go see Lucy in New York. Didn't she head on up to New York? Her and Teun? Just get the hell out of here until the hearing. I wish you would so I don't have to worry about you every other minute. I don't even like you being out there in A

I take a deep breath and try to tuck in my fury and hurt. Marino is right. There is no point in pissing off the governor and making matters worse. But now I feel run out of town on top of everything else, and I have not heard a word from A

"Hey," he says, "you got every right not to feel good. All of this sucks, Doc."

I cross the hallway and cut through the ladies' room, on my way to the morgue. Turk is sewing up Be

"All you got to do is read the paper," he says, putting down his pen. "That should tell you why my hair's falling out." His eyes are heavy.

I nod as I get his meaning. It is what I expect. Jack has known for a while that I am in serious trouble. Maybe Righter contacted him weeks ago and started fishing, just as he did with A

"You make me look good," he says. "You always have, Dr. Scarpetta. They might think I should be appointed chief. Then what do I do? I don't know." He runs his fingers through his hair and loses more. "I just wish everything could go back to normal."

"Believe me, so do I," I say as the phone rings and Turk answers it.

"That reminds me," Jack says. "We're getting weird phone calls down here. I tell you about that?"

"I was down here when we got one," I reply. "Someone claiming to be Benton."

"Sick," he says in disgust.

"That's the only one I'm aware of," I add.

"Dr. Scarpetta?" Turk calls out. "Can you take it? It's Paul."

I go to the phone. "How are you, Paul?" I ask Paul Monty, the statewide director of the forensic labs.

"First, I just want you to know everybody in this damn building is pulling for you, Kay," he says. "Bullshit. I read all that bullshit and practically spit my coffee out. And we're working our fa

A scenario forms. Chando

"What about the dental floss I found in the toilet?" I ask Paul. "In the room where Matos was killed?"

"No hit on that. The DNA's not Chando

I return to the counter, where Jack resumes telling me about the strange phone calls. He says there have been several of them.

"One I happened to answer and the person, a guy, asked for you, says he's Benton and then hangs up," Jack reports. "Turk answered the second time. The guy says to tell you he called and will be an hour late to di

"Why didn't you tell me?" I absently pick up Polaroid photographs of Be

"Thought you had enough shit going on. I should have told you. I was wrong."

The sight of this young boy dressed in his Sunday best and inside an unzipped body pouch on top of a steel gurney is so incongruous. I feel deeply saddened as I notice his pants are a little short and his socks don't quite match, one blue, one black. I feel worse. "You find anything unexpected with him?" I have talked enough about my problems. My problems, as a matter of fact, do not seem very important when I look at photographs of Be

"Yeah, one thing puzzled me," Jack says. "The story I got is he came home from church and never went inside the house. He gets out of the car and heads out to the barn, saying he'll be right in and is trying to find his pocket knife_thinks it might be in his tackle box and he forgot to take it out when he came home from fishing the other day. He never comes back to the house. In other words, he never ate Sunday di

"Could you tell what he might have eaten?" I ask.

"Yeah. Popcorn, for one thing. And looks like he ate hot-dogs. So I call his house and talk to his stepdad. I ask if Be

"That's very odd," I comment. "So he comes home from church and goes out to hang himself, but stops off someplace to eat popcorn and hotdogs first?" I get up from the counter. "Something's wrong with that picture."

"If it wasn't for the gastric contents, I'd say it's a straightforward suicide." Jack remains seated, looking up at me. "I could kill Stanfield for cutting through the knot. The fuck-head."

"Maybe we should take a look at where Be

"They live on a farm in James City County," Jack says. "Right on the river, and apparently the woods where he was hanged are at the edge of the field, not even a mile from the house."

"Let's go," I tell him. "Maybe Lucy can give us a ride."

IT IS A TWO-HOUR FLIGHT FROM THE HANGAR IN

New York to HeloAir in Richmond, and Lucy was more than happy to show off her new company vehicle. The plan is simple. She will pick up Jack and me and land us at the farm, then the three of us will check out where Be

"What for?" are the first words out of his mouth. "What you need to go there for?"

I almost mention the gastric contents that don't make sense. I come close to inquiring as to whether there was anything Stanfield observed that made him suspicious. But I catch myself. Something stops me. "If you can just give me directions to their place," I tell him.