Scarpetta 18 by Port Mortuary

Author:Port Mortuary [Mortuary, Port]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-09-18T12:01:11+00:00

13

I return to Fielding’s desk and sit back down in his chair as I finger something slick and filmy inside one of his lab coat pockets. I pull out a square of transparent plastic that is paper-thin.

“The CFC didn’t need to make a bad first impression with the Feds, but I’m confident you’ll change it.” Benton says it as if he regrets what he’s just asked me, as if he’s sorry about what he just confronted me with in the line of duty.

I sniff what Fielding must have peeled off a eucalyptus-laced pain-relieving patch, and resentfully think, Yes, indeed, the Feds. I’m so glad I can change what the goddamn Feds must think of me.

“I don’t want you to feel negative about everything here, every thing you’ve come home to,” Benton continues. “It wouldn’t be helpful if you are. There is a lot to take care of, but we’ll get there. I know we will. I’m sorry our conversation had to move in certain directions. I’m really sorry we had to get into all this.”

“Let’s talk about Douglas and David.” I remind him of names he referred to moments earlier. “Who are they?”

“I have no doubt you’ll prevail and make this place work, make it what it was meant to be, which is stellar and unlike anything anywhere. Better than what they have in Australia, in Switzerland, even better than any place where they were doing it first, including Dover, right? I have complete confidence in you, Kay. I don’t want you to ever forget that.”

The more Benton assures me of his confidence, the less I believe it.

“Law enforcement respects you, the military does,” he adds, and I don’t believe that, either.

If it were true, he wouldn’t have to say it. So what? I then think, with hostility that seems to come from nowhere. I don’t need people to like or respect me. It isn’t a popularity contest. Isn’t that what Briggs always says? It’s not a popularity contest, Colonel, or if he’s being more personable, It’s not a popularity contest, Kay, and he smiles wryly, a steely glint of mischief in his eyes. He doesn’t give a shit if anybody likes him, and in fact thrives on people not liking him, and I’m going to start thriving on it, too. The hell with everyone. I know what I need to do, which is something. I will do something, oh, yes, I will. Thinking I’m going to come home to this and just take it, do nothing about it, let whoever it is have his way? No. Hell, no. Not going to happen. Whoever would entertain an idea like that sure as hell doesn’t know me.

“Who are Douglas and David?” I again ask, and I sound snappish.

“Douglas Burke and David McMaster,” Benton says.

“I don’t know them, and who are they to you?” Now I’m the one doing the interrogating.

“FBI’s Boston Field Office, Metro Boston Homeland Security. You haven’t gotten to know the locals, not key ones, but you will. Including the coast guard.

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