“Scarpetta six-twelve,” Lucy said, scrolling through text. “Someone with that username was writing to her—to Terri, I’m presuming. Can you get Jaime and Marino so we can get the password to that account?”
“Anybody could come up with some permutation of my name, and my date of birth is no big secret, if anybody cares,” her aunt said.
“Just give Jaime the username. Scarpetta appended to the numbers six one two.”
Lucy gave her the e-mail service provider and waited. She could hear Scarpetta talking to someone. It sounded like Marino.
Then Scarpetta said to Lucy, “It’s being taken care of.”
“Like right now,” Lucy said.
“Yes, right now. I was asking if either of the laptops you have might use a magnetized power supply.”
“No,” Lucy said. “USB, recessed five pin port, eighty-five-watt. What you’re talking about wouldn’t be recognized by Terri’s laptops. The IP for Scarpetta six-twelve traces to eight-ninety-nine Tenth Avenue. Isn’t that John Jay College of Criminal Justice?”
“What IP? And yes. What’s John Jay got to do with anything? Jaime and Marino are still here. They want to listen to what you’re saying. I’m putting you on speakerphone. What’s Benton doing?” she asked them.
Lucy could hear Berger’s voice in the background say something about Benton being on the phone with Morales. It bothered Lucy to hear Berger say anything about Morales, and she wasn’t sure why unless it was her sense that he was interested in Berger, that he wanted her sexually, and maybe it seemed he had a way of getting what he wanted.
“Whoever was writing to Terri and saying she was you was doing so from that IP address, from John Jay,” Lucy said.
She continued going through deleted e-mails sent by someone who was clearly impersonating her aunt.
“I’m going to forward some of these,” she said. “Everybody should look at them, then I need the password, okay? This most recent one was sent by Scarpetta six-twelve to Terri four days ago, December twenty- eighth, at close to midnight. The day after Bhutto was assassinated, and you talked about it on CNN, Aunt Kay. You were here in New York.”
“I was, but that’s not me. That’s not my e-mail address,” Scarpetta insisted.
The e-mail read:
Date: Fri, 28 December 2007 23:53:01
From: “Scarpetta”
To: “Terri”
Terri,
Again, I owe you an apology. I’m sure you understand. Such a terrible tragedy, and I had to get to CNN. I wouldn’t blame you for thinking I don’t keep my word, but I don’t have much say about my schedule when somebody dies or other inconveniences interfere. We’ll try again!—Scarpetta
P.S. Did you get the photograph?
Lucy read it over the phone and said, “Aunt Kay? When did you leave CNN that night?”
“Other inconveniences?” Berger’s voice talking to Scarpetta. “As if you would refer to an assassination or any other act of violence as an inconvenience? Who the hell is doing this? Sound like anybody you might know?”
“No.” Scarpetta’s voice answering Berger. “Nobody.”
“Marino?” Berger again.
His voice. “Got no idea. But she wouldn’t say nothing like that,” as if Scarpetta needed him to stick up for her character. “I don’t think it’s Jack, if that’s entered anybody’s head.”
He meant Jack Fielding, and it was unlikely he would have entered anybody’s head. He was a solid forensic pathologist and meant well and in the main was loyal to Scarpetta, but he was a musclebrain with ragged moods and an assortment of physical problems such as high cholesterol and skin disorders from his years of pumping iron and pumping himself full of anabolic steroids. He didn’t have the energy to parade as Scarpetta on the Internet, and he wasn’t cunning or cruel, and to give Terri Bridges the benefit of the doubt, if she wasn’t Scarpetta612, then it was cruel of somebody to lead her on. In the beginning, at least, she’d idolized Scarpetta. She’d tried hard to get in touch with her. If she finally thought Scarpetta was responding to her, that had to be a thrill until her hero started to diss her.
Lucy said, “Aunt Kay? You left CNN on the night of December twenty-eighth and were within two blocks of John Jay. And you walked back to the apartment, just like you always do?”
The apartment was on Central Park West, and very close to CNN and John Jay.
“Yes,” Scarpetta said.
Another e-mail, this one dated yesterday. Again, the IP traced to John Jay.
Date: Mon, 31 December 2007 03:14:31
From: “Scarpetta”
To: “Terri”
Terri,
I’m sure you realize my time in NY is unpredictable and I have so little control over the OCME because I’m certainly not the chief, just a low-level consultant there.
I was thinking, why not meet in Watertown where I make the rules? I’ll give you a tour of my office, and no problem about seeing an autopsy or anything else you need. Happy New Year and look forward to seeing you soon.—Scarpetta
Lucy forwarded it to all of them as she read it out loud.
“I wasn’t in New York yesterday afternoon,” Scarpetta said. “I couldn’t have e-mailed this from John Jay. Not that I would have. And I don’t give tours of the morgue.”
“The emphasis about your not being the chief here in New York,” Berger said. “Someone is belittling you with your own lips, so to speak. Of course, I’m wondering about Terri being Scarpetta six-twelve and sending the e-mails to herself as if they’re from Scarpetta. Think what a coup that would be for her thesis. My question, Lucy, is do you see any reason we should completely dismiss the possibility that the imposter was Terri?”
As Lucy listened to Berger’s voice, she thought she heard a special warmth in it.
It had happened so swiftly, and Berger had been surprisingly sure of what she wanted. She had been surprisingly bold. Then the bitter wind had rushed in as Berger had opened the door and left.
Lucy said over the phone to her aunt, “These e-mails to Terri, allegedly from you, would explain why she quoted you in her thesis and seemed to think she knew you.”
“Kay? Did you get any indication of this from Oscar?” Berger asked.
“I can’t tell you what he said to me. But I won’t deny that I got such an indication.”
“So you did.” Berger’s reply. “So he definitely knew about this correspondence. Whether he saw it or not is another matter.”
“If Terri’s not the imposter,” Marino said, “who deleted all of the e-mails? And what for?”
“Exactly,” Berger said. “Right before she was murdered. Right before Oscar was supposed to come over for dinner. Or did someone else make the deletions and put the laptops in the closet?”
Lucy said, “If Terri made the deletions because she was worried about someone seeing them, she should have emptied the damn trash. Even an idiot knows you can recover deleted files from the trash, especially if the deletions are recent.”
“This much I think we can be sure of,” Scarpetta said. “No matter why she or someone else deleted the e-mails, Terri Bridges wasn’t expecting to be murdered last night.”
Lucy said, “No. She couldn’t have been expecting her own death. Unless she planned to commit suicide.”
“And then removed the ligature from her neck after the fact? I don’t think so,” said Marino, as if he’d taken Lucy literally.
“There was no ligature to remove,” Scarpetta said. “She was garroted. Nothing was tied or locked around her neck.”
Lucy said, “I have to find out who Scarpetta six-twelve is, and which photograph this person supposedly
