“The police are calling it a homicide,” Benton said.
He didn’t open the envelope but gave it to Scarpetta, making a point.
“They aren’t the ones who make the determination,” Dr. Lester answered him. “I’m sure Mike isn’t calling it that. Or even if he is, he knows where I stand.”
“And what does Berger say?” Benton asked.
“She doesn’t make the determination, either. People have such a hard time waiting their turn in line. I always say the doomed ones who end up down here aren’t in a hurry, so why should the rest of us be? I’m pending the manner of death for now, especially in light of the DNA. If I was unsure of this case before, well, now I’m completely in limbo.”
“So you don’t foresee determining a manner of death in the near future,” Benton said.
“There’s nothing more I can do. I’m waiting on everybody else,” she said.
It was exactly what Scarpetta didn’t want to hear. Not only was there no evidence that warranted Oscar’s arrest, legally there was no crime. She might be bound to secrecy with him for a very long time.
They left her office, and Dr. Lester said, “For example, she had some sort of lubricant in her vagina. That’s unusual for a homicide.”
“This is the first anyone’s mentioned a lubricant,” Scarpetta said. “It’s not in any of the preliminary reports I’ve seen.”
Dr. Lester replied, “You realize, of course, these DNA profiles in CODIS are nothing but numbers. And I’ve always said, all you need is an error in the numbers, which would result in a totally different chromosomal position. One thing off in a marker or maybe more than one marker, and you’ve got a serious problem. I think it’s possible that what we have here is a very rare false positive due to computer error.”
“You don’t get false positives, not even very rarely,” Scarpetta said. “Not even if there is a mixture of DNA, such as in cases where more than one person sexually assaulted a victim or there’s cross-contamination from multiple people having contact with an item or a substance, such as a lubricant. A mixture of DNA profiles from different people won’t magically be identical to the profile of a woman in Palm Beach, for example.”
“Yes, the lubricant. Which raises another possible explanation,” Dr. Lester said. “Cross-contamination, such as you yourself just suggested. A prostitute who didn’t leave semen, meaning the prostitute could be male or female. What do we know about anybody’s private life until they end up here? That’s why I’m not so quick to call something a homicide, suicide, accident. Not until all the facts are in. I don’t like surprises after I’ve committed myself. I’m sure you saw in the lab report that the presence of seminal fluid was negative.”
“Not unheard of,” Scarpetta said. “Not even unusual. Nor is it unheard of for a lubricant to be used in a sexual assault, by the way. K-Y jelly, Vaseline, sunblock, even butter. I could make you a long list of what I’ve seen.”
They were following Dr. Lester through another corridor that dated back to earlier decades, when forensic pathologists were crudely called meat cutters. It wasn’t all that long ago that science and the dead had little in common beyond ABO blood-typing, fingerprints, and x-rays.
“No evidence of seminal fluid in or on her body or on the clothing found in the tub,” Dr. Lester said. “Or at the scene. Of course, they used UV light, as did I. Nothing fluoresced the distinctive bright white that seminal fluid does.”
“In sexual assaults, some perpetrators wear condoms,” Scarpetta said. “Especially these days, because everybody knows about DNA.”
Fractured data streamed across dark screens, reattaching at mind-numbing speed, as if it were fleeing and being caught.
Maybe Berger was getting acclimated to cyberspace. Her headache had mysteriously vanished. Or maybe adrenaline was the cure. She was feeling aggressive because she didn’t like being bucked. Not by Morales. Certainly not by Lucy.
“We should get started on the e-mail,” Berger said, and it wasn’t the first time she’d said it since Marino had called.
Lucy didn’t seem the least bit interested in Marino or what he was doing, and she wasn’t listening to Berger’s insistence that they turn their attention to e-mail. They had the passwords right in front of them, but Lucy refused to change her focus until she had a better idea why her aunt’s name continued to appear with alarming frequency in the fragmented revisions of the thesis Terri, or perhaps Oscar, had been writing.
“I’m afraid your interest is too personal,” Berger said. “And that’s exactly what I’m worried about. We need to look at e-mails, but you’d rather look at what’s been written about your aunt. I’m not saying it isn’t important.”
“This is where you have to trust that I’m doing things the right way,” Lucy said, not budging.
The legal pad with the passwords written on it remained where it was, on the desk, next to Lucy’s keyboard.
“Patience. One thing at a time,” Lucy added. “I don’t tell you how to run your cases.”
“Seems that’s exactly what you’re telling me. I want to get into their e-mails, and you want to keep reading this thesis or whatever the hell it is. You’re not helping me.”
“Helping you is exactly what I’m doing—by not deferring to you or allowing you to tell me how to do my job. I can’t allow you to have any influence over me and direct me, that’s the point. I know what I’m doing, and there’s a lot you don’t understand yet. You need to know exactly what we’re doing and why and how, because if this becomes the big deal I’m sure it will, you’re going to be asked and attacked. It won’t be me in front of the judge and jury explaining the forensic computer part of this investigation, and you probably won’t be able to call me in as an expert witness for at least one obvious reason.”
“We have to talk about that,” Berger said bluntly.
“The relationship issue,” Lucy said.
“You would be discredited.” Berger seized the opportunity to voice her misgivings and maybe put a stop to things.
Or maybe that’s what Lucy was about to suggest. Maybe Lucy was about to quit and put a stop to things.
“Frankly, I’m not sure what to do,” Berger added. “If you could be objective about it, I’d ask you for a suggestion. You started something not knowing it personally involved you. Now what? You probably don’t want to continue with this, either. I suspect you’re realizing it’s a bad idea and we should shake hands and walk away, and I’ll find another company.”
“Now that we know my aunt’s involved? Are you kidding? The worst idea of all would be to quit and walk away,” Lucy said. “I’m not quitting. You probably want to fire me. I warned you that you would. I also told you there is no other company. We’ve been through that.”
“You could let someone else finish running your program.”
“My proprietary software? Do you have any idea what it’s worth? That’s like letting someone else fly my helicopter with me sitting in the back or letting somebody else sleep with my lover.”
“Does your lover live with you? Do you live in this loft?” Berger had noticed stairs leading to a second level. “It’s risky working where you live. I’m assuming this person doesn’t have access to highly classified—”
“Jet Ranger doesn’t have a password to get into anything, don’t worry,” Lucy said. “What I’m saying, literally, is nobody’s touching my software. It’s mine. And I wrote the code. Nobody’s going to figure it out, and that’s deliberate on my part.”
“We have a major conflict neither you nor I anticipated,” Berger said.
“If you want to make it one. I don’t want to quit, and I won’t.”
Berger scanned data rolling by at a dizzying rate. She looked at Lucy and didn’t want her to quit.
“If you fire me,” Lucy said, “you’ll hurt yourself in a way that isn’t necessary.”
“I have no intention of hurting myself. Or you. I have no intention of hurting the case. Tell me what you want to do,” Berger said.
“I want to teach you a few things about recovering overwritten files, because as you pointed out, people don’t realize it’s possible. You can expect opposing counsel to go after you on this one. As you’ve noticed, I find analogies helpful. So here’s one. Let’s say you visited your favorite vacation spot. Sedona, for example. Let’s say you stayed in a certain hotel with a certain person. For the sake of simplicity, let’s say you stayed with Greg. Images, sounds, smells, emotions, tactile sensations are captured in your memory, much of it not conscious.”
