Free Five Scarpetta Novels by Patricia Cornwell Page A

Marino walked into the living room—“some things you just live with.”
    â€œWell, I got news for you,” Marino announced, “the weather forecast is that this crap is going to melt. So come tomorrow morning, all of us should be able to get out of here.”
    â€œTomorrow’s New Year’s Day,” Lucy said. “For the sake of argument, why should we get out of here?”
    â€œBecause I need to take your aunt to Eddings’ crib.” He paused before adding, “And Benton needs to get his ass there, too.”
    I did not visibly react. Benton Wesley was the unit chief of the Bureau’s Criminal Investigative Analysis program, and I had hoped I would not have to see him during the holidays.
    â€œWhat are you telling me?” I quietly said.
    He sat down on the sofa and regarded me thoughtfully for a pause. Then he answered my question with one of his own, “I’m curious about something, Doc. How would you poison someone underwater?”
    â€œMaybe it didn’t happen underwater,” Lucy suggested. “Maybe he swallowed cyanide before he went diving.”
    â€œNo. That’s not what happened,” I said. “Cyanide is very corrosive, and had he taken it orally, I would have seen extensive damage to his stomach. Probably to his esophagus and mouth, as well.”
    â€œSo what could have happened?” Marino asked.
    â€œI think he inhaled cyanide gas.”
    He looked baffled. “How? Through the compressor?”
    â€œIt draws air through an intake valve that’s covered with a filter,” I reminded him. “What someone could have done was simply mix a little hydrochloric acid with a cyanide tablet and hold the vial close enough to the intake valve for the gas to be drawn in.”
    â€œIf Eddings inhaled cyanide gas while he was down there,” Lucy said, “what would have happened?”
    â€œA seizure, then death. In seconds.”
    I thought of the snagged air hose and wondered if Eddings had been close to the Exploiter ’s screw when he suddenly inhaled cyanide gas through his regulator. That might explain the position he was in when I found him.
    â€œCan you test the hookah for cyanide?” Lucy asked.
    â€œWell, we can try,” I said, “but I don’t expect to find anything unless the cyanide tablet was placed directly on the valve’s filter. Even so, things may have been tampered with by the time I got there. We might have better luck with the section of hose that was closest to the body. I’ll start tox testing tomorrow, if I can get anybody to come into the lab on a holiday.”
    My niece walked over to a window to look out. “It’s still coming down hard. It’s amazing how it lights up the night. I can see the ocean. It’s this black wall,” she said in a pensive tone.
    â€œWhat you’re seeing is a wall,” Marino said. “The brick wall at the back of the yard.”
    She did not speak for a while, and I thought of how much I missed her. Although I had seen little of her during her undergraduate years at UVA, now we saw each other less, for even when a case brought me to Quantico there was never a guarantee we would find time to visit. It saddened me that her childhood was gone, and a part of me wishedshe had chosen a life and a career less harsh than what hers must be.
    Then she mused as she still gazed out the glass, “So we’ve got a reporter who’s into survivalist weaponry. Somehow he’s poisoned with cyanide gas while diving around decommissioned ships in a restricted area at night.”
    â€œThat’s just a possibility,” I reminded her. “His case is pending. We should be careful not to forget that.”
    She turned around. “Where would you get cyanide if you wanted to poison someone? Would that be hard?”
    â€œYou could get it from a variety of industrial settings,” I said.
    â€œSuch