corroborate your story. I didn’t ask for references. Because I trusted you.”
“He’s tried. He’s tried harder than anyone I know. That should be obvious to you. You’re around him. You need to ask him about him. Let him tell you what he did,” Benton said.
“For the record, you lied to me.”
She was looking for a taxi.
“For the record, I didn’t lie. And he didn’t rape her.”
“Were you there?”
“She said it didn’t go that far. She never pressed charges. To her it’s a private matter. It’s not my place to talk about it with you or anyone. She didn’t even tell me at first. Yes, fair enough. Delusion, my head in the sand. Poor judgment, probably. But what was in the gossip column this morning is distorted. Go ahead and ask Marino. I assume he’s seen it. Or he will soon enough.”
“And Lucy? Just so I know what to expect.”
“She’s seen the column, of course,” he said. “She’s the one who called me about it.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t kill him on the spot, as much as she adores her Aunt Kay.”
“She almost did.”
“Good to know. Not so long ago, she would have. You owe me a favor.”
A taxi perilously swerved toward her and lurched to a halt.
“I need Kay to drop by the morgue tonight,” she said. “And you’re just the person to ask her.”
She climbed inside the taxi.
“The phone call I got a few minutes ago?” She looked up at him and said, “I need Kay to examine the body, if she’s willing. I’m afraid Dr. Lester’s playing her usual games with me. We’re tracking her down. She’s getting her ass back to the morgue asap and will cooperate if I have to call the goddamn mayor.”
She pulled the door shut. Benton stood on the sidewalk in the cold and watched Jaime Berger’s yellow taxi speed away, cutting off two other cars to a cacophony of angry honks.
Scarpetta examined long, shallow abrasions on the left side of Oscar’s upper back as he volunteered how he got them.
“He was already inside, and he attacked me,” he was saying. “He ran off, and I found her. The police didn’t believe me. I could see it on their faces. They think I got hurt because I struggled with her. You can tell, can’t you? That I didn’t struggle with her?”
“It would be helpful if you’d describe to me what you were wearing last night,” she replied.
“You can tell these injuries aren’t from my struggling with her. They won’t find my DNA under her nails. She didn’t scratch me. She didn’t fight with me. We never fought. Maybe just an argument now and then. She was already dead.”
Scarpetta gave him a moment, he was crying so hard.
When he was quieter, she repeated the question. “Last night. What were you wearing when you got into the struggle with—?”
“I couldn’t see him.”
“You’re certain it was a him.”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember what time this was?”
“Five o’clock.”
“Exactly?”
“I’m never late. All the lights were out. Even the entrance light was out. All her windows were dark. It didn’t make sense. She was expecting me. Her car was there on the street. I parked behind it. There were empty spaces. Because it was New Year’s Eve, and a lot of people were gone. I took my coat off and left it on the passenger’s seat. I had on a T-shirt and jeans. She likes me to wear tight T-shirts, sleeveless ones. She loves my body. I work on it because she loves it and I’d do anything to please her. She loves sex. I couldn’t be with a woman who doesn’t love sex.”
“Regular sex, rough sex, creative sex?” Scarpetta asked.
“I’m very considerate and gentle. I have to be. Because of my size.”
“What about fantasies? Such as bondage. It’s important I ask.”
“Never! Never!”
“It’s not a judgment. A lot of people do a lot of things, which is fine. As long as it’s all right for both of them.”
He was silent and uncertain. Scarpetta could tell he had a different answer than the one he wanted to give.
“I promise, there’s no judgment,” she said. “I’m trying to help. It doesn’t matter what consenting adults do as long as it’s all right for both of them.”
“She liked me to dominate,” he said. “Nothing painful. Just hold her down. To wrestle her down. She liked me to be strong.”
“Hold her down how? I’m asking because any information can help us figure out what happened.”
“Just hold her arms down on the bed. But I never hurt her. I never left a mark on her.”
“Ever used any types of bindings? Handcuffs? Anything like that? I’m just making sure.”
“Maybe her lingerie. She likes lingerie, to dress in very sexy ways. If I tie her hands with her bra, it’s very loose and I never hurt her. It’s just an idea, a suggestion, never real. I never spanked her or choked her or did anything real. We pretend, that’s all.”
“What about to you? Did she do these things to you?”
“No. I do them to her. I’m strong and powerful, and that’s what she likes, to be taken advantage of, but only the idea of it, never for real. She’s very, very sexy and exciting, and tells me exactly what she wants, and I do it, and it’s always amazing. We always have amazing sex.”
“Did you have sex last night? It’s important I ask.”
“How could I have? She was gone. It was so awful when I walked in and found her. Oh, God. Oh, God!”
“I’m sorry I have to ask you these questions. Do you understand why they’re important?”
He nodded, wiping his eyes and nose with the backs of his hands.
“It was cold last night,” Scarpetta said. “Why would you leave your coat in the car? Especially if all the lights were out and you were concerned.”
“I took my coat off to surprise her.”
“Surprise her?”
“She liked me in tight T-shirts. I already told you. I even thought about taking it off as she was opening the door. It was a sleeveless T-shirt. A white undershirt. I wanted her to open the door and see me in my undershirt.”
Too much explanation. His coat was in the car for another reason. He was lying, and doing it badly.
“I have a key to her building,” he said. “I went in and rang the bell to her apartment.”
Scarpetta asked, “Do you have a key to her apartment, or only to the building’s outer door?”
“Both. But I always ring the bell. I don’t just walk in on her. I rang the bell and suddenly the door flew open and this person was all over me, attacking me, dragging me inside, and slamming the door shut. That’s who killed her. It’s the same person who’s been following me, spying on me, tormenting me. Or he’s one of them.”
An interval of twenty-four hours was consistent with the age of Oscar’s injuries. But that didn’t mean he was telling the truth.
“Where’s your coat now?” Scarpetta asked.
He was staring at the wall.
“Oscar?”
He stared at the wall.
“Oscar?”
He answered as he stared at the wall, “It’s wherever they took it. The police. I said they could take my
