Cruel and Unusual - Cornwell Patricia - Страница 65
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"Does he know enough about computers to break into your directory?”
"Not to my knowledge, but Susan had taken several courses and had UNIX books in her office.”
The telephone rang and I let Lucy answer it. When she came into the kitchen, her eyes were uneasy.
"It's your lawyer, Aunt Kay.”
She moved the kitchen phone within reach, and 'I picked it up without moving from my chair. Nicholas Grueman wasted no words on a greeting but went straight to his point.
"Dr. Scarpetta, on November twelfth you wrote a money market account check to the tune of ten thousand dollars cash. And I find no records in any of your bank statements that might indicate this money was deposited in any of your various accounts.”
"I didn't deposit the money.”
"You walked out of the bank with ten thousand dollars.”
"No, I did not. I wrote the check at Signet Bank, downtown, and with it purchased a cashier's check in British sterling.”
"To whom was the cashier's check made out?” My former professor asked as Benton Wesley stared tensely at me.
"Mr. Grueman, the transaction was of a private nature and in no way has any bearing on my profession.”
"Come now, Dr. Scarpetta. You know that's not good enough.”
I took a deep breath.
"Certainly, you know we're going to be asked about this. Certainly, you must realize it doesn't look good that "within weeks of your morgue assistant's depositing an unexplained amount of cash, you wrote a check for a large amount of cash.”
I shut my eyes and ran my fingers through my hair as Wesley got up from the table and came around behind me.
"Kay" - I felt Wesley's hands on my shoulders - "for God's sake, you've got to tell him.”
13
Had Grueman never been a practitioner of the law, I would not have entrusted my welfare to him. But before teaching he had been a litigator of renown, and he had done civil rights work and prosecuted mobsters for the Justice Department during the Robert Kennedy era. Now he represented clients who had no money and were condemned to die. I appreciated Grueman's seriousness and needed his cynicism.
He was not interested in trying to negotiate or protest my innocence. He refused to present the slightest shred of evidence to Marino or anyone. He told no one of the ten-thousand-dollar check, which was, he said, the worst piece of evidence against me. I was reminded of what he had taught his students on the first day of criminal law. Just say no. Just say no. Just say no. My former professor, abided by these rules to the letter, and frustrated Roy Patterson's every effort.
Then on Thursday, January 6, Patterson called me at home and requested that I come downtown to his office to talk.
"I'm sure we can dear all this up," he said amicably. "I just need to ask you a few questions.”
The implication was that if I cooperated, then something worse might be derailed, and I marveled that Patterson would consider, for even a moment, that such a shopworn maneuver would work with me. When the Commonwealth's Attorney wants to chat, he's on a fishing expedition that does not involve letting anything go. The same is true of the police. In good Gruemanian fashion, I told Patterson no, and the next morning was subpoenaed to appear before the special grand jury on January 20. This was followed by a subpoena duces tecum for my financial records. First Grueman claimed the Fifth, then filed a motion to quash the subpoena. A week later, we had no choice but to comply unless I wished to be held in contempt of court. About this same time, Governor Norring appointed Fielding acting chief medical examiner of Virginia.
"There's another TV van I just saw it go by," Lucy said from the dining room, where she stood staring out the window.
"Come on in and eat lunch," I called out to her from the kitchen. "Your soup is getting cold.”
Silence.
"Aunt Kay?”
She sounded excited.
"What is it?”
'You'll never guess who just pulled up."
From the window over the sink; I watched the white Ford LTD park in front. The driver's door opened, and Marino climbed out. He hitched up his trousers and adjusted his tie, his eyes taking in everything around him. As I watched him follow the sidewalk to my porch, I was so powerfully touched that it startled me.
"I'm not sure if I should be glad to see you or not," I said when I opened the door.
"Hey, don't worry. I'm not here to arrest you, Doc.’
"Please come in.”
"Hi, Pete," Lucy said cheerfully.
"Aren't you supposed to be in school or something?”
“No.?”
“What? Down there in South America they give you January off?”
"That's right. Because of the bad weather," my niece said. "When it drops below seventy degrees, everything shuts down.”
Marino smiled. He looked about the worst I had ever seen him.
Moments later I had built a fire in the living room, and Lucy had left to run errands.
"How have you been?” I asked.
"Are you going to make me smoke outside?”
I slid an ashtray closer to him.
"Marino, you have suitcases under your eyes, your face is flushed, and it's not warm enough in here for you to be perspiring.”
"I can tell you've missed me.”
He pulled a dingy handkerchief from his back pocket and mopped his brow. Then he lit a cigarette and stated into the fire. "Patterson's being an asshole, Doc. He wants to scorch you.”
"Let him try.”
"He will, and you'd better be ready.”
"He has no case against me, Marino.”
"He has a fingerprint found on an envelope inside Susan's house.”
“I can explain that:" "But you can't prove it, and then there's his little trump card. And I swear I shouldn't be telling you this, but I'm going to.
“What trump card?”
"You remember Tom Lucero?”
"1 know who he is," I said. "I don't know him.”
"Well, he can be a charmer and he's a pretty damn good cop, to be honest. Turns out he's been snooping around Signet Bank and talked up one of the tellers until she slipped him information about you. Now, he wasn't supposed to ask and she wasn't supposed to tell. But she told him she remembered you writing a big deck for cash sometime before Thanksgiving. According to her, it was for ten grand.”
I stared stonily at him.
"I mean, you can't really blame Lucero. He's just doing his job. But Patterson knows what to look for as he ages through your financial. He's going to hammer you hard when you get before the special grand jury.”
I did not say a word.
"Doc.” He leaned forward and met my eyes. "Don't you think you ought to tally about it?”
"No.”
Getting up, he went to the fireplace and nudged the curtain open far enough to flick the cigarette inside.
"Shit, Doc, “ he said quietly. "I don't want you indicted.”
"I shouldn't drink coffee and I know you shouldn't, but I feel like having something. Do you like hot chocolate?”
“I'll drink some coffee.”
I got up to fix it. My thoughts buzzed sluggishly like a housefly in the fall. My rage had nowhere to go. I made a pot of decaf and hoped Marino would not know the difference.
"How is your blood pressure?” I asked him.
"You want to know the truth? Some days if I was a kettle I’d be whistling.”
"I don't know what I'm going to do with you.”
He perched on the edge of the hearth. The fire sounded like the wind, and reflected flames danced in brass.
"For one thing," I went on, "you probably shouldn't even be here. I don't want you having any problems.”
"Hey, fuck the CA, the city, the governor, and all of them, " he said with sudden anger.
"Marino; we can't give in. Someone knows who this killer is. Have you talked to the officer who showed us around the penitentiary? Officer Roberts?”
"Yo. The conversation went exactly nowhere.”
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