Cruel & Unusual by Cornwell Patricia

Author:Cornwell, Patricia [Cornwell, Patricia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Crime, thriller, Suspense, Adult
ISBN: 9780380718344
Amazon: 0380718340
Goodreads: 85379
Publisher: Avon
Published: 1993-06-10T07:00:00+00:00

Kay Scarpetta 4 - Cruel and Unusual

9

After much debate, we came up with what seemed a reasonable plan. Lucy would stay at the Homestead with the Wesleys until Wednesday, allowing me a brief period to grapple with my problems without worrying about her welfare. After breakfast, I drove off in a gentle snow that by the time I reached Richmond had turned to rain.

By late afternoon, I had been to the office and the labs. I had conferred with Fielding and several of the forensic scientists, and had avoided Ben Stevens. I returned not a single reporters call and ignored my electronic mail, for if the health commissioner had sent me a communication, I did not want to know what it said. At half past four I was filling my car with gas at an Exxon station on Grove Avenue when a white Ford LTD pulled in behind me. I watched Marino get out, hitch up his trousers, and head to the men’s room. When he returned a moment later, he covertly glanced around as if worried that someone might have observed his trip to the toilet. Then he strolled over to me.

“I saw you as I was driving past,” he said; jamming his hands into the pockets of his blue blazer.

“Where’s your coat?” I began cleaning the front windshield.

“In the car. It gets in my way.” He hunched his shoulders against the cold, raw air. “If you ain’t thinking about stopping these rumors, then you’d better start thinking about it.”

I irritably returned the squeegee to its container of cleaning solution. “And just what do you suggest I do, Marino? Call Jason Story and tell him I’m sorry his wife and unborn child are dead but I would certainly appreciate it if he would vent his grief and rage elsewhere?”

“Doc, he blames you.”

“After reading his quotes in the Post, I suspect any number of people are blaming me. He’s managed to portray me as a Machiavellian bitch.”

“You hungry?”

“No.”

“Well, you look hungry.”

I looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.

“And if something looks a certain way to me, it’s my duty to check it out. So I’m giving you a choice, Doc. I can get us some Nabs and sodas from the machines over there, and we can stand out here freezing our asses off and inhaling fumes while we prevent other poor bastards from using the self-service pumps. Or we can zip over to Phil’s. I’m buying either way.”

Ten minutes later we were sitting in a corner booth perusing glossy illustrated menus offering everything from spaghetti to fried fish. Marino faced the dark-tinted front door and I had a perfect view of the rest rooms. He was smoking, as were most of the people around us, and I was reminded that it is hell to quit. He actually could not have selected a more ideal restaurant, considering the circumstances. Philip’s Continental Lounge was an old, neighborhood establishment where patrons who had known each other all their lives continued to meet regularly for hearty food and bottled beer.

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