Kay Scarpet - Cruel And Unusual Part 23

"I have to admit, itas eerie as h.e.l.l," Wesley remarked. "Itas almost as if Eddie Heathas scene is a mirror image of this one."

He touched the photograph of Robyn Naismith."

Bodies positioned like rag dolls, propped against boxlike objects. A big console TV. A brown Dumpster."

Spreading more photographs oh the table like playing cards, he drew another from the deck. This one was a close-up of her body at the morgue, the ragged tangential circles of human bite marks apparent on her left breast and left inner thigh.

"Again, a striking similarity," he said. "Bite marks here and here corresponding closely with the areas of missing flesh on Eddie Heathas shoulder and thigh. In other words" - he slipped off his gla.s.ses and looked up at me - "Eddie Heath was probably bitten, the flesh excised to eradicate evidence."

"Then his killer is at least somewhat familiar with forensic evidence," I said.

"Almost any felon who has spent time in prison is familiar with forensic evidence. If Waddell didnat know about bite mark identification when he murdered Robyn Naismith, he would know about it now."

"Youare talking like heas the killer again," I pointed out. "A moment ago you said he doesnat profile right."

"Ten years ago, he didnat profile right. Thatas all Iam a.s.serting."

"Youave got his a.s.sessment Protocol. Can we talk about it?"

"Of course."

The Protocol was actually a forty-page FBI questionnaire filled in during a face-to-face prison interview with a violent offender.

"Flip through this yourself," Wesley said, sliding Waddellas Protocol in front of me. "Iad like to hear your thoughts without further input from me."

Wesleyas interview of Ronnie Joe Waddell had taken place six years ago at death row in Mecklenburg 'County. The Protocol began with the expected descriptive data. Waddellas demeanor, emotional state, mannerisms, and style of conversation indicated that he was agitated and confused. Then, when Wesley had given him opportunity to ask questions, Waddell asked only one: "I saw little white flakes when we pa.s.sed a window. Is it snowing or are they ashes from the incinerator?"

The date on the Protocol, I noted, was August.

Questions about how the murder might have been prevented went nowhere. Would Waddell have killed his victim in a populated area? Would he have killed her if witnesses had been present? Would anything have stopped him from killing her? Did he think that capital punishment was a deterrent? Waddell said he could not remember killing "the lady on TV."

He did not know what would have stopped him from committing an act he could not recall. His only memory was of being "sticky."

He said it was like waking up from a wet dream. The stickiness Ronnie Waddell experienced was not s.e.m.e.n. It was Robyn Naismithas blood.

"His problem list sounds rather mundane," I thought out loud. "Headaches, extreme shyness, marked daydreaming, and leaving home at the age of nineteen. I donat see anything here that one might consider the usual red flags. No cruelty to animals, fire setting, a.s.saults, et cetera."

"Keep going," Wesley said.

I scanned several more pages. "Drugs and alcohol," I said.

"If he hadnat been locked up, he would have died a junkie or gotten shot on the street," Wesley said. "And whatas interesting is the substance abuse did not begin until early adulthood. I remember Waddell told me he had never tasted alcohol until he was twenty and away from home."

"He was raised on a farm?"

"In Suffolk. A fairly big farm that grew peanuts, corn, Bans. His entire family lived on it and worked for owners. There were four children, Ronnie Joe the youngest. Their mother was very religious and took the children to church every Sunday. No alcohol, swearing, cigarettes. His background was very sheltered. Head really never been off the farm until his father died and he decided to leave. He took the bus to Richmond had little trouble getting work because of his physical strength. Breaking up asphalt with a jackhammer, lifting heavy loads, that sort of thing. My theory is he could not handle temptation when he was finally faced with it. First it was beer and wine, then marijuana. Within a year he was into cocaine and heroin, buying and selling, and stealing whatever he could get his hands on."

"When I asked him how many criminal acts he had committed that he had never been arrested for, he said he was doing burglaries, breaking into cars - property crimes, in other words. Then he broke into Robyn Naismithas house and she had the misfortune of coming home while he was there."

"He wasnat described as violent, Benton," I pointed out.

"Yes. He never profiled as your typical violent offender. The defense claimed that he was made temporarily insane by drugs and alcohol. To be honest, I think this was the case. Not long before he murdered Robyn Naismith he had started getting into PCP. It is quite possible that when Waddell encountered Robyn Naismith he was completely deranged and later had little or no recollection of what he did to her."

"Do you remember what he stole, if anything?" I asked. "I wonder if there was clear evidence when he broke into her house that his intent was to commit burglary."

"The place was ransacked. We know her jewelry was missing. The medicine cabinet was cleaned out and her billfold was empty. Itas hard to know what else was stolen because she lived alone."

"No significant relations.h.i.+p?"

"A fascinating point."

Wesley stared off at an old couple dancing soporifically to the husky tones of a saxophone. "s.e.m.e.n stains were recovered from a bed sheet and the mattress cover. The stain on the sheet had to be fresh unless Robyn didnat change her bed linens very often, and we know that Waddell was not the origin of the stains. They didnat match his blood type."

"No one who knew her ever made reference to a lover?"

"No one ever did. Obviously, there was keen interest in who this person was, and since he never contacted the police, it was suspected that she had been having an affair, possibly with one of her married colleagues or sources:a "Maybe she was," I said."

But he wasnat her killer."

"No. Ronnie Joe Waddell was her killer. Letas take a look."

I opened Waddellas file and showed Wesley the photographs of the executed inmate I had autopsied on me night of December thirteenth. "aCan you tell if this is the man you interviewed six years ago?"

Wesley impa.s.sively studied the photographs, going through them one by one. He looked at close-ups of me face and back of the head, and glanced over shots of the upper body and hands. He detached a mug shot from Waddellas a.s.sessment Protocol and began comparing as I looked on.

"I see a resemblance," I said.

"Thatas about as much as we can say," Wesley replied. "The mug shotas ten years old. Waddell had a beard and mustache, was very muscular but lean. His face was lean. This guy"-he pointed to one of the morgue photographs - "is shaven and much heavier. His face is much fuller. I canat say these are the same man, based on these photos."

I couldnat confirm it, either. In fact, I could think of old pictures of me that no one else would recognize.

"Do you have any suggestions about how weare going to resolve this problem?" I asked Wesley.

"Iall toss out a few things," he said, stacking the photographs and straightening the edges against the tabletop. "Your old friend Nick Gruemanas some kind of player in all this, and Iave been thinking about the best way to deal with him without tipping our hand. If Marino or I talk to him, heall know instantly that somethingas up."

I knew where this was going and I tried to interrupt, but Wesley would not let me. "Marinoas mentioned your difficulties with Grueman, that he calls and in general jerks you around. And then, of course, there is the past, your years at Georgetown. Maybe you should talk with him."

"I donat want to talk with him, Benton."

"He may have photographs of Waddell, letters, other doc.u.ments. Something with Waddellas prints. Or maybe thereas something he might say in the course of conversation that would be revealing. The point is, you have access to him, if you wish, through your normal activities, when the rest of us donat. And youare going to D.C. anyway to see Downey."

"No," I said.

"Itas just a thought."

He looked away from me and motioned for the waitress to bring the check. "How long will Lucy be visiting you?" he asked.

"She doesnat have to be back at school until January seventh."

"I remember sheas pretty good with computers."

"Sheas more than pretty good."

Wesley smiled a little. "So Marinoas told me. He says she thinks she can help with AFIS."

"Iam sure shead like to try."

I suddenly felt protective again, and torn. I wanted to send her back to Miami, and yet I didnat.

"You may or may not remember, but Michele works for the Department of Criminal justice Services, which a.s.sists the State Police in running AFIS," Wesley said.

"I should think that might worry you a little right now." I finished my brandy.

"There isnat a day of my life that I donat worry," he said.

The next morning a light snow began to fall as Lucy and I dressed in ski clothes that could be spotted from here to the Eiger.

"I look like a traffic cone," she said, staring at her blaze orange reflection in the mirror.

"Thatas right If you get lost on a trail. It wonat be hard to find you."

I swallowed vitamins and two aspirin with the sparkling water from the minibar.

My niece eyed my outfit, which was almost as electric as hers, and shook her head. "For someone so conservative, you certainly dress like a neon peac.o.c.k for sports."

"I try not to be a stickin-the-mud all of the time. Are you hungry?"

"Starved."

"Bentonas supposed to meet us in the dining-room at eight-thirty. We can go down now if you donat want to wait."

"Iam ready. Isnat Connie going to eat with us?"

"Weare going to meet her on the slopes. Benton wants talk shop first."

"I would think it must bother her to be left out," Lucy said. "Whenever he talks with anyone, it seems she isnat invited."

I locked the room door and we headed down the quiet corridor.

"I suspect Connie doesnat wish to be involved," I said in a low voice. "For her to know every detail of her husbandas work would only be a burden for her."

"So he talks to you instead."

"About cases, yes."

"About work. And work is what matters most to both of you."

"Work certainly seems to dominate our lives."

"Are you and Mr. Wesley about to have an affair?"

"Weare about to have breakfast."

I smiled.

The Homesteadas buffet was typically overwhelming. Long cloth-covered tables were laden with Virginia cured bacon and ham, every concoction of eggs imaginable, pastries, breads, and griddle cakes. Lucy seemed immune to the temptations, and headed straight for the cereals and fresh fruit. Shamed into good behavior by her example and by my recent lecture to Marino about his health, I avoided everything I wanted, including coffee.

"People are staring at you, Aunt Kay," Lucy said under her breath.

I a.s.sumed the attention was due to our vibrant attire until I opened the morningas Was.h.i.+ngton Post and was shocked to discover myself on the front page. The headline read, "MURDER IN THE MORGUE," the story a lengthy account of Susanas homicide, which was accompanied by a prominently placed photograph of me arriving at the scene and looking very tense. Clearly, the reporteras major source was Susanas distraught husband, Jason, whose information painted a picture of his wife leaving her job under peculiar, if not suspicious, circ.u.mstances less than a week before her violent death.

It was a.s.serted, for example, that Susan recently confronted me when I attempted to list her as a witness in the case of a murdered young boy, even though she had not been present during his autopsy. When Susan became ill and stayed out of work "after a formalin spill," I called her home with such frequency that she was afraid to answer me phone, then I showed up on her doorstep the night before her murder" with a poinsettia and vague offers of favors.

"I walked into my house after Christmas shopping and there was the Chief Medical Examiner inside my living room," Susanas husband was quoted. "She [Dr. Scarpetta] left right away, and as soon as the door shut Susan started crying. She was terrified of something but wouldnat tell me what."

As unsettling as I found Jason Storyas public disparagement of me, worse was the revelation of Susanas recent financial transactions. Supposedly, two weeks before her death she paid off more than three thousand dollars in credit card bills after having deposited thirty five hundred dollars into her checking account. The sudden windfall could not be explained. Her husband had been laid off from his sales job during the fall and Susan earned less than twenty thousand dollars a year.

"Mr. Wesleyas here," Lucy said, taking the paper from me.

Wesley was dressed in black ski pants and turtleneck, a bright red jacket tucked under his arm. I could tell by the expression on his face, the firm set of his jaw, that he was aware of the news.

"Did the Post try to talk to you?"

He pulled out a chair. "I canat believe they ran the d.a.m.n thing without giving you a chance for comment."

"A reporter from the Post called as I was leaving the office yesterday, "I replied. "He wanted to question me about Susanas homicide and I chose not to talk to him. I guess that was my chance."

"So you didnat know anything, had no forwarning about the slant of this thing."

"I was in the dark until I picked up the paper."

"Itas all over the news, Kay."

He met my eyes. "I heard it on television this morning. Marino called. The press in Richmond is having a field day. The implication is that Susanas murder may be connected to the medical examineras office - that you may be involved and have suddenly left town."

"Thatas insane."

"How much of the article is true?" he asked.

"The facts have been completely distorted. I did call Susanas house when she didnat show up at work. I wanted to make certain she was all right, and then I needed to find out if she remembered printing Waddell at the morgue. I did go see her on Christmas Eve to give her a gift and the poinsettia. I suppose my promise of favors was when she told me she was quitting and I said for her to let me know if she needed a reference, or if there was anything I could do for her."

"What about the business of her not wanting to be listed as a witness in Eddie Heathas case?"

"That was the afternoon she broke several jars of formalin and retreated upstairs to my office. Itas routine to list autopsy a.s.sistants or techs as witnesses when they a.s.sist in the posts. In this instance, Susan was present for only the external examination and was adamant about not wanting her name on Eddie Heathas autopsy report.

I thought her request and demeanor were weird, but there was no confrontation."

"This article makes it look as if you were paying her off," Lucy said. "Thatas what I would wonder if I read this and didnat know."