Scarpetta 12 by Blow Fly

Author:Blow Fly [Fly, Blow]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-09-18T12:01:10+00:00

JUST PLAIN-JANE COPYING PAPER," Polunsky's public information officer, Wayne Reeve, explains to Scarpetta over the phone.

"We buy it by the ream and sell it to the inmates for a penny a sheet. Envelopes are cheap white dime-store variety, three for a quarter," he adds. "If you don't mind my asking, why are you interested?"

"Research."

"Oh." His curiosity lingers.

"Forensic paper analysis. I'm a scientist. What if the inmate doesn't have commissary privileges?" Scarpetta inquires from her office in Delray Beach.

She was rushing out of the house with her suitcase when the phone rang. Rose answered it. Scarpetta eagerly took the call. She will miss her flight to New York.

"He—or she—can get writing paper, envelopes, stamps and so on. No one is denied that privilege, no matter what. You can understand it. Lawyers," Reeve says.

Scarpetta doesn't ask him if Jean-Baptiste Chandonne is still on death row. She doesn't hint that she's gotten a letter from him and is no longer certain Chandonne is safely locked up.

Enough, you son of a bitch.

I've had enough, you son of a bitch.

You want to see me, you'll see me, you son of a bitch.

You want to talk, we'll talk all right, you son of a bitch.

If you've escaped, I'm going to find out, you son of a bitch.

If you did or didn't write this letter, I'm going to find out, you son of a bitch.

You're not going to hurt anybody else, you son of a bitch.

I want you dead, you son of a bitch.

"Can you send me samples of commissary paper?" she asks Reeve.

"You'll get them tomorrow," he promises.

Chapter 57

TURKEY BUZZARDS SWOOP LOW in the blue sky, the smell of death and decay drawing them to the marsh beyond the gray, weathered pier.

"What'd you do, throw meat in the saw grass?" Bev complains to Jay as she loops a rope over a piling. "You know how much I hate those damn buzzards."

Jay smiles, his attention on the lamb cowering in the stern of the boat. She rubs her wrists and ankles, her clothing partially unbuttoned and in disarray. For an instant, relief passes through her terrified eyes, as if the handsome blond man on the dock couldn't possibly be evil. Jay wears nothing but threadbare cutoff jeans, the muscles in his sculpted, tan body popping out with every move he makes. He lightly steps down into the boat.

"Get inside," he orders Bev. "Hi," he says to the woman. "I'm Jay. You can relax now."

Her wide, glassy eyes are riveted to him. She keeps rubbing her wrists and wetting her lips.

"Where am I?" she asks. "I don't understand ..."

Jay reaches out to help her up, and her legs won't work, so he grabs her around the waist.

"There we go. A little stiff, are we?" He touches the dried bloody clumps of hair matted to the back of her head and his eyes burn. "She wasn't supposed to hurt you. You're hurt, aren't you? Okay. Hold on. I'm going to pick you up, just like this." He lifts her as if she weighs nothing.

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