maggots, crabs.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. I never met the child.”
“Such compassion you have, Paulo. Where’s your son?”
“I don’t know.”
“You must realize how serious this is. Do you want to go to prison?”
“The last time he was here, I walked him out, and on the street, where it was safe for me to say it, I told him I never wanted to see him again. There were tourists at the construction site where Drew’s body was found. There were piles of flowers and stuffed animals. I saw all this as I told him to go away and never come back, and if he didn’t honor my wishes, I would go to the police. Then I had my apartment very thoroughly cleaned. And I got rid of my car. And I called Otto to offer my assistance in the case, because it was important for me to know what the police knew.”
“I don’t believe you don’t know where he is,” Benton says. “I don’t believe you don’t know where he stays or lives or — more likely right now — hides. I don’t want to go to your wife. I’m assuming she hasn’t a clue.”
“Please leave my wife out of this. She knows nothing.”
“Maybe you know this,” Benton says. “Your dead grandson’s mother. Is she still with your son?”
“It is like what I had with Marilyn. We sometimes pay a lifelong price for enjoying sex with someone. These women? They get pregnant on purpose, you know. To keep you on a tether. It’s a strange thing. They do it and then don’t want the child because what they really wanted was you.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I’ve never met her. Marilyn tells me her name is Shandy or Sandy and she’s a whore. And stupid.”
“Is your son still with her? That’s what I asked.”
“They had the child in common. But that’s it. The same story again. The sins of the father. Events repeating themselves. Now I truly say, I wish my son had never been born.”
“Marilyn knows Shandy, obviously,” Benton says. “That brings me to Marino.”
“I wouldn’t know him or what he has to do with this.”
Benton tells him. He informs Dr. Maroni of everything except what Marino did to Scarpetta.
“So you’d like me to analyze it for you,” Dr. Maroni says. “Based on my knowing Marilyn, based on what you’ve just said. I would venture a guess that Marino made a very big mistake by sending an e-mail to Marilyn. It woke her up to possibilities, you see, that had nothing to do with why she was at McLean. Now she can get back at the one person she truly hates. Kay, of course. What better way than to torment the people she loves.”
“She’s the reason Marino met Shandy?”
“My guess. But not the entire reason for why Shandy got so interested in him. There is the boy. Marilyn doesn’t know. Or she didn’t. She would have told me. For someone to do such a thing would not appeal to Marilyn.”
“She has about as much compassion as you do,” Benton says. “She’s here, by the way.”
“You mean New York.”
“I mean Charleston. I got an anonymous e-mail with information I won’t discuss, and I traced the IP to the Charleston Place Hotel, recognized the Machine Access Code. Guess who’s staying there.”
“I warn you to be careful what you say to her. She doesn’t know about Will.”
“Will?”
“Will Rambo. When Marilyn started becoming famous, he changed his name from Willard Self to Will Rambo. He picked Rambo, a nice enough Swedish name. He’s anything but a Rambo, and that’s at least some of his problem. Will is quite small. He’s a good-looking boy but small.”
“When she got e-mails from the Sandman, she had no idea it was her son?” Benton says, and it is jarring to hear the Sandman referred to as a boy.
“She didn’t. Not consciously. As far as I know, she still doesn’t. Not consciously, but what can I say about what she knows in the deep caves of her mind? When she was admitted at McLean and told me about the e-mail, the image of Drew Martin…”
“She told you?”
“Of course.”
Benton would like to leap through the phone and grab him around the throat. He should go to prison. He should go to hell.
“As I look back, it’s tragically clear. Of course, I had a suspicion all along but never mentioned it to her. I mean, from the beginning when she called me with the referral, and Will knew she would do exactly that. He set her up for it. Of course, he had her e-mail address. Marilyn is very generous about an occasional e-mail to people she doesn’t have time to see. He started sending these rather bizarre e-mails that he knew would captivate her, because he’s just sick enough to understand her perfectly well. I’m sure he was amused when she referred him to me, and then when he called my office in Rome to make an appointment, that, of course, resulted in our having dinner, not a clinical interview. I was concerned about his mental health, but it never occurred to me he might kill someone. When I heard about the murdered tourist in Bari, I was in denial.”
“He raped a woman in Venice, too. Another tourist.”
“I’m not surprised. Let me guess. After the war began. Each time he was deployed, he got worse.”
“Then the case notes weren’t really from appointments you had with him. Obviously, he’s your son and was never a patient.”
“I fabricated the notes. I expected you to guess it.”
“Why?”
“So you would do this. Find him yourself, because I could never turn him in. I needed you to ask the questions so I could answer them, and now I have.”
“If we don’t find him quickly, Paulo, he’ll kill again. There must be something else you know. You must have a picture of him?”
“Not a recent one.”
“E-mail what you’ve got.”
“The Air Force should have what you need. Perhaps his fingerprints and his DNA. Certainly a photograph. It’s better you get such things from them.”
“And by the time I go through all those hoops,” Benton says, “it will be too goddamn late.”
“I won’t be back, by the way,” Dr. Maroni says. “I’m certain you won’t try to bring me back but will leave me alone because I have shown you respect, so you will show me some. It would be futile, anyway, Benton,” he says. “I have many friends over here.”
Chapter 22
Lucy goes through her pre-start checklist.
Landing lights, Nr switch, OEI limit, fuel valves. She checks the flight instrument indications, sets the altimeter, turns on the battery. She starts the first engine as Scarpetta emerges from the FBO and walks across the tarmac. She slides open the helicopter’s back door and sets her crime scene case and camera equipment on the floor, then opens the left front door. She steps up on the skid and climbs in.
Engine one locked into ground idle position, and Lucy fires up engine number two. The whining turbines and
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Lucy says into her mike. “Hey!” As if the linesman can hear her. “We don’t need your help. He’s gonna be standing there for a while.” Lucy opens her door, tries to motion for him to go away. “We’re not a plane.” She says more things he can’t hear. “Don’t need your help to take off. Go on now.”
“You’re awfully tense.” Scarpetta’s voice sounds inside Lucy’s headset. “Any word from other people searching?”
“Nothing. No helicopter up in the Hilton Head area yet, still too foggy there. No luck with the search on the ground. FLIR on standby.” Lucy turns on the overhead power switch. “Need about eight minutes for it to cool. Then we’re on the go. Hey!” As if the linesman has on a headset, too, and can hear her. “Go away. We’re busy. Damn, he
