violated HIPAA because Lucy was the hacker — Dr. Self’s accusation — and that means outsiders knew Dr. Self was a patient at McLean. How did Lucy get blamed, by the way? I wonder.”
“Curious she would, without hesitation, be blamed. I agree.”
“Have you seen what Dr. Self posted on her website? Supposedly a confessional by Lucy, talking freely about her brain tumor. It’s everywhere.”
“Lucy did that?” Dr. Maroni is surprised. This he didn’t know.
“She most assuredly didn’t. I can only assume Dr. Self somehow discovered that Lucy comes to McLean for regular scans, and as part of her insatiable appetite to harass, she contrived this confessional on her website.”
“How is Lucy?”
“How do you think?”
“What else did Dr. Self say about this second image? The woman in the copper tub. We have no idea who she is?”
“So someone must have planted in Dr. Self’s mind that Lucy got into her e-mail. Very strange.”
“The woman in the copper tub,” Dr. Maroni says again. “What did Dr. Self say when you confronted her on the steps in the dark? That must have been something.” He waits. Relights his pipe.
“I never said she was on the steps.”
Dr. Maroni smiles and puffs smoke as the tobacco in the pipe’s bowl glows. “Again, when you showed this to her, what did she say?”
“She asked if the image is real. I said we can’t know without seeing the files on the computer of the person who sent it. But it looks genuine. I don’t see the telltale signs of something that’s been tampered with. A missing shadow. An error in perspective. Lighting or weather that doesn’t make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t look tampered with,” Dr. Maroni says, studying it on his screen as the rain falls beyond his shutters and canal water splashes against stucco. “As much as I know about such a thing.”
“She insisted it could be a sick ruse. A sick joke. I said Drew Martin’s photo is real, and it was more than a sick joke. She’s dead. I voiced my concern that the woman in this second photo is also dead. It seems someone is talking to Dr. Self indiscriminately, and not just about this case. I wonder who.”
“And she said?”
“And she said it wasn’t her fault,” Benton says.
“And now that Lucy has gotten us this information, she might know…” Dr. Maroni starts to say, but Benton gets there first.
“Where they’re sent from. Lucy’s explained it. Having access to Dr. Self’s e-mail made it possible to trace the IP address of the Sandman. Just more proof she doesn’t care. She could have traced the IP address herself or gotten someone else to do it. But she didn’t. It probably never entered her mind. It traces to a domain in Charleston, specifically, the port.”
“This is most interesting.”
“You’re so wide open and effusive, Paulo.”
“I’m not sure what you mean by that. ‘Wide open and effusive’?”
“Lucy talked to the port’s IT, the guy who manages all of the computers, the wireless network, and so on,” Benton says. “What’s important, according to her, is the Sandman’s IP doesn’t correspond to any MAC at the port. That’s the Machine Address Code. Whatever computer the Sandman is using to send his e-mails, it doesn’t seem to be one at the port, meaning it’s unlikely he’s an employee there. Lucy has pointed out several possible scenarios. He could be someone in and out of the port — on a cruise ship, a cargo ship — and when he docks, he hijacks the port’s network. If that’s the case, he must work for a cruise ship or cargo vessel that’s been in Charleston at the port whenever he’s sent Dr. Self e-mails. Every one of his e-mails — all twenty-seven that Lucy found in Dr. Self’s inbox — were sent from the port’s wireless network. Including this one she just got. The woman in the copper tub.”
“Then he must be in Charleston now,” Dr. Maroni says. “I hope you have the port under surveillance. This may be the way to catch him.”
“We must be careful, whatever we do. Can’t involve the police right now. He’ll be scared off.”
“There must be calendars for cruises, for cargo ships. Is there an overlapping of those dates and when he sent e-mails to Dr. Self?”
“Yes and no. Some dates of a particular cruise ship — and I’m talking schedules for embarking and debarking — do correspond with date stamps on the e-mails he sent. But some don’t. Which makes me fairly certain he has some reason to be in Charleston, possibly even lives there, and gets access to the port’s network by perhaps parking very close to it and hijacking it.”
“Now you’re leaving me,” Dr. Maroni says. “I live in a very old world.” He lights his pipe again, and one reason he enjoys a pipe is the pleasure of lighting it.
“Analogous to driving around with a scanner and monitoring people on cell phones,” Benton explains.
“I suppose this isn’t Dr. Self’s fault, either,” Dr. Maroni ruefully says. “This killer has been sending e-mails from Charleston since last fall, and she could have known it and told someone.”
“She could have told you, Paulo, when she referred the Sandman to you.”
“And she knows about this Charleston connection?”
“I told her. I hoped it might prompt her to recall something or divulge other information that might help us.”
“And what did she say when you told her that the Sandman has been e-mailing her from Charleston all this time?”
“She said it wasn’t her fault,” Benton replies. “Then took her limousine to the airport and got on her private plane.”
Chapter 16
Applause and music and Dr. Self’s voice. Her website.
Scarpetta can’t hide her extreme distress as she reads Lucy’s bogus confessional article about her brain scans at McLean and why she has them and what it’s like to live with it. Scarpetta reads the blogs until it’s too much, and Lucy can’t help but think her aunt’s upset is easier than what she ought to be feeling.
“There’s nothing I can do. What’s done is done,” Lucy says as she scans partial fingerprints into a digital imaging system. “Even I can’t un-send things, un-post things, un-anything. One way to look at it is once it’s out there, I don’t have to dread being outed because of it anymore.”
“Outed? That’s a telling way to describe it.”
“By my definition, having a physical liability is worse than anything else I’ve been outed for. So maybe it’s better to have people finally know and get it over with. Truth is a relief. Better not to hide something, don’t you think? Funny thing about people knowing is it opens up the possibility of unexpected gifts. People reaching out when you didn’t know they cared. Voices from the past talking to you again. Other voices finally shutting up. Some people finally getting out of your life.”
“Who are you referring to?”
“Let’s just say I’ve not been surprised.”
“Gift or not. Dr. Self had no right,” Scarpetta says.
“You should listen to what you’re saying.”
Scarpetta doesn’t answer her.
“You want to consider how it might be your fault. You know, if I weren’t the niece of the infamous Dr. Scarpetta, there wouldn’t be the interest. You have this unrelenting need to make everything your fault and try to fix it,” Lucy says.
“I can’t look at this anymore.” Scarpetta logs out.
“That’s your flaw,” Lucy says. “One I have a hard time with, if you must know.”
“We need to find a lawyer who specializes in things like this. Internet libel. Defamation of character on the Internet, which is so unregulated, it’s like a society with no laws.”
“Try proving I didn’t write it. Try making a case for any of it. Don’t focus on me because you don’t want to
