cpatricia.unnaturalexposure-第2部分

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　'What　the　Son　of　Sam　did　had　a　sexual　element；'　I　said；　looking　around　for　my　pathologist　friend。　'Do　you　know　how　much　longer　she　might　be？　I'm　afraid　I'm　in　a　bit　of　a　hurry。'
　Shaw　glanced　at　his　watch　again。　'You　can　check。　Or　I　suppose　she　may　have　gone　on　to　the　morgue。　We　have　a　case　ing　in。　A　young　male；　suspected　suicide。'
　'I'll　see　if　I　can　find　her。'　I　got　up。
　Off　the　hallway　near　the　entrance　was　the　coroner's　court；　where　inquests　for　unnatural　deaths　were　held　before　a　jury。　This　included　industrial　and　traffic　accidents；　homicides　and　suicides；　the　proceedings　in　camera；　for　the　press　in　Ireland　was　not　allowed　to　print　many　details。　I　ducked　inside　a　stark；　chilly　room　of　varnished　benches　and　naked　walls；　and　found　several　men　inside；　tucking　paperwork　into　briefcases。
　'I'm　looking　for　the　coroner；'　I　said。
　'She　slipped　out　about　twenty　minutes　ago。　Believe　she　had　a　viewing；'　one　of　them　said。
　I　left　the　building　through　the　back　door。　Crossing　a　small　parking　lot；　I　headed　to　the　morgue　as　an　old　man　came　out　of　it。　He　seemed　disoriented；　almost　stumbling　as　he　looked　about；　dazed。　For　an　instant；　he　stared　at　me　as　if　I　held　some　answer；　and　my　heart　hurt　for　him。　No　business　that　had　brought　him　here　could　possibly　be　kind。　I　watched　him　hurry　toward　the　gate　as　Dr　Margaret　Foley　suddenly　emerged　after　him；　harried；　her　graying　hair　disarrayed。
　'My　God！'　She　almost　ran　into　me。　'I　turn　my　back　for　a　minute　and　he's　gone。'
　The　man　let　himself　out；　the　gate　flung　open　wide　as　he　fled。　Foley　trotted　across　the　parking　lot　to　shut　and　latch　it　again。　When　she　got　back　to　me；　she　was　out　of　breath　and　almost　tripped　over　a　bump　in　the　pavement。
　'Kay；　you're　out　and　about　early；'　she　said。
　'A　relative？'　I　asked。
　'The　father。　Left　without　identifying　him；　before　I　could　even　pull　back　the　sheet。　That　will　foul　me　up　the　rest　of　the　day。'
　She　led　me　inside　the　small　brick　morgue　with　its　white　porcelain　autopsy　tables　that　probably　belonged　in　a　medical　museum　and　old　iron　stove　that　heated　nothing　anymore。　The　air　was　refrigerated…chilly；　modern　equipment　nonexistent　except　for　electric　autopsy　saws。　Thin　gray　light　seeped　through　opaque　skylights；　barely　illuminating　the　white　paper　sheet　covering　a　body　that　a　father　could　not　bear　to　see。
　'It's　always　the　hardest　part；'　she　was　saying。　'No　one　should　ever　have　to　look　at　anyone　in　here。'
　I　followed　her　into　a　small　storeroom　and　helped　carry　out　boxes　of　new　syringes；　masks　and　gloves。
　'Strung　himself　up　from　the　rafters　in　the　barn；'　she　went　on　as　we　worked。　'Was　being　treated　for　a　drink　problem　and　depression。　More　of　the　same。　Unemployment；　women；　drugs。　They　hang　themselves　or　jump　off　bridges。'　She　glanced　at　me　as　we　restocked　a　surgical　cart。　'Thank　God　we　don't　have　guns。　Especially　since　I　don't　have　an　X…ray　machine。'
　Foley　was　a　slight　woman　with　old…fashioned　thick　glasses　and　a　penchant　for　tweed。　We　had　met　years　ago　at　an　international　forensic　science　conference　in　Vienna；　when　female　forensic　pathologists　were　a　rare　breed；　especially　overseas。　We　quickly　had　bee　friends。
　'Margaret；　I'm　going　to　have　to　head　back　to　the　States　sooner　than　I　thought；'　I　said；　taking　a　deep　breath；　looking　about；　distracted。　'I　didn't　sleep　worth　a　damn　last　night。'
　She　lit　a　cigarette；　scrutinizing　me。　'I　can　get　you　copies　of　whatever　you　want。　How　fast　do　you　need　them？　Photographs　may　take　a　few　days；　but　they　can　be　sent。'
　'I　think　there　is　always　a　sense　of　urgency　when　someone　like　this　is　on　the　loose；'　I　said。
　'I'm　not　happy　if　he's　now　your　problem。　And　I'd　hoped　after　all　these　years　he　had　bloody　quit。'　She　irritably　tapped　an　ash；　exhaling　the　strong　smoke　of　British　tobacco。　'Let's　take　a　load　off　for　a　minute。　My　shoes　are　already　getting　tight　from　the　swelling。　It's　hell　getting　old　on　these　bloody　hard　floors。'
　The　lounge　was　two　squat　wooden　chairs　in　a　corner；　where　Foley　kept　an　ashtray　on　a　gurney。　She　put　her　feet　up　on　a　box　and　indulged　her　vice。
　'I　can　never　forget　those　poor　people。'　She　started　talking　about　her　serial　cases　again。　'When　the　first　one　came　to　me；　I　thought　it　was　the　IRA。　Never　seen　people　torn　asunder　like　that　except　in　bombings。'
　I　was　reminded　of　Mark　in　a　way　I　did　not　want　to　be；　and　my　thoughts　drifted　to　him　when　he　was　alive　and　we　were　in　love。　Suddenly　he　was　in　my　mind；　smiling　with　eyes　full　of　a　mischievous　light　that　became　electric　when　he　laughed　and　teased。　There　had　been　a　lot　of　that　in　law　school　at　Georgetown；　fun　and　fights　and　staying　up　all　night；　our　hunger　for　each　other　impossible　to　appease。　Over　time　we　married　other　people；　divorced　and　tried　again。　He　was　my　leitmotif；　here；　gone；　then　back　on　the　phone　or　at　my　door　to　break　my　heart　and　wreck　my　bed。
　I　could　not　banish　him。　It　still　did　not　seem　possible　that　a　bombing　in　a　London　train　station　would　finally　bring　the　tempest　of　our　relationship　to　an　end。　I　did　not　imagine　him　dead。　I　could　not　envision　it；　for　there　was　no　last　image　that　might　grant　peace。　I　had　never　seen　his　body；　had　fled　from　any　chance；　just　like　the　old　Dubliner　who　could　not　view　his　son。　I　realized　Foley　was　saying　something　to　me。
　'I'm　sorry；'　she　repeated；　her　eyes　sad；　for　she　knew　my　history　well。　'I　didn't　mean　to　bring　up　something　painful。　You　seem　blue　enough　this　morning。'
　'You　made　an　interesting　point。'　I　tried　to　be　brave。　'I　suspect　the　killer　we're　looking　for　is　rather　much　like　a　bomber。　He　doesn't　care　who　he　kills。　His　victims　are　people　with　no　faces　or　names。　They　are　nothing　but　symbols　of　his　private；　evil　credo。'
　'Would　it　bother　you　terribly　if　I　asked　a　question　about　Mark？'　she　said。
　'Ask　anything　you　want。'　I　smiled。　'You　will　anyway。'
　'Have　you　ever　gone　to　where　it　happened；　visited　that　place　where　he　died？'
　'I　don't　know　where　it　happened；'　I　quickly　replied。
　She　looked　at　me　as　she　smoked。
　'What　I　mean　is；　I　don't　know　where；　exactly；　in　the　train　station。'　I　was　evasive；　almost　stuttering。
　Still　she　said　nothing；　crushing　the　cigarette　beneath　her　foot。
　'Actually；'　I　went　on；　'I　don't　know　that　I've　been　in　Victoria　at　all；　not　that　particular　station；　since　he　died。　I　don't　think　I've　had　reason　to　take　a　train　from　there。　Or　arrive　there。　Waterloo　was　the　last　one　I　was　in；　I　think。'
　'The　one　crime　scene　the　great　Dr　Kay　Scarpetta　will　not　visit。'　She　tapped　another　Consulate　out　of　the　pack。　'Would　you　like　one？'
　'God　knows　I　would。　But　I　can't。'
　She　sighed。　'I　remember　Vienna。　All　those　men　and　the　two　of　us　smoking　more　than　they　did。'
　'Probably　the　reason　we　smoked　so　much　was　all　those　men；'　I　said。
　'That　may　be　the　cause；　but　for　me；　there　seems　to　be　no　cure。　It　just　goes　to　show　that　what　we　do　is　unrelated　to　what　we　know；　and　our　feelings　don't　have　a　brain。'　She　shook　out　a　match。　'I've　seen　smokers'　lungs。　And　I've　seen　my　share　of　fatty　livers。'
　'My　lungs　are　better　since　I　quit。　I　can't　vouch　for　my　liver；'　I　said。　'I　haven't　given　up　whiskey　yet。'
　'Don't；　for　God's　sake。　You'd　be　no　fun。'　She　paused；　adding　pointedly；　'Course；　feelings　can　be　directed；　educated；　so　they　don't　conspire　against　us。'
　'I　will　probably　leave　tomorrow。'　I　got　back　to　that。
　'You　have　to　go　to　London　first　to　change　planes。'　She　met　my　eyes。　'Linger　there。　A　day。'
　'Pardon？'
　'It's　unfinished　business；　Kay。　I　have　felt　this　for　a　long　time。　You　need　to　bury　Mark　James。'
　'Margaret；　what　has　suddenly　prompted　this？'　I　was　tripping　over　words　again。
　'I　know　when　someone　is　on　the　run。　And　you　are；　just　as　much　as　this　killer　is。'
　'Now；　that's　a　forting　thing　to　say；'　I　replied；　and　I　did　not　want　to　have　this　conversation。
　But　she　was　not　going　to　let　me　escape　this　time。　'For　very　different　reasons　and　very　similar　reasons。　He's　evil；　you're　not。　But　neither　of　you　wants　to　be　caught。'
　She　had　gotten　to　me　and　could　tell。
　'And　just　who　or　what　is　trying　to　catch　me；　in　your　opinion？'　My　tone　was　light　but　I　felt　the　threat　of　tears。
　'At　this　stage；　I　expect　it's　Benton　Wesley。'
　I　stared　off；　past　the　gurney　and　its　protruding　pale　foot　tied　with　a　tag。　Light　from　above　shifted　by　degrees　as　clouds　moved　over　the　sun；　and　the　smell　of　death　in　tile　and　stone　went　back　a　hundred　years。
　'Kay；　what　do　you　want　to　do？'　she　asked　kindly　as　I　wiped　my　eyes。
　'He　wants　to　marry　me；'　I　said。
　
　I　flew　home　to　Richmond　and　days　became　weeks　with　the　weather　getting　cold。　Mornings　were　glazed　with　frost　and　evenings　I　spent　in　front　of　the　fire；　thinking　and　fretting。　So　much　was　unresolved　and　silent；　and　I　coped　the　way　I　always　did；　working　my　way　deeper　into　the　labyrinth　of　my　profession　until　I　could　not　find　a　way　out。　It　was　making　my　secretary　crazy。
　'Dr　Scarpetta？'　She　called　out　my　name；　her　footsteps　loud　and　brisk　along　the　tile　floor　in　the　autopsy　suite。
　'In　here；'　I　answered　over　running　water。
　It　was　October　30。　I　was　in　the　morgue　locker　room；　washing　up　with　antibacterial　soap。
　'Where　have　you　been？'　Rose　asked　as　she　walked　in。　'Working　on　a　brain。　The　sudden　death　from　the　other　day。'
　She　was　holding　my　calendar　and　flipping　pages。　Her　gray　hair　was　neatly　pinned　back；　and　she　was　dressed　in　a　dark　red　suit　that　seemed　appropriate　for　her　mood。　Rose　was　deeply　angry　with　me　and　had　been　since　I'　d　left　for　Dublin　without　saying　good…bye。　Then　I　forgot　her　birthday　when　I　got　back。　I　turned　off　the　water　and　dried　my　hands。
　'Swelling；　with　widening　of　the　gyri；　narrowing　of　the　sulci；　all　good　for　ischemic　encephalopathy　brought　on　by　his　profound　systemic　hypotension；'　I　cited。
　'I've　been　trying　to　find　you；'　she　said　with　strained　patience。
　'What　did　I　do　this　time？'　I　threw　up　my　hands。
　'You　were　supposed　to　have　lunch　at　the　Skull　and　Bones　with　Jon。'
　'Oh；　God；'　I　groaned　as　I　thought　of　him　and　other　medical　school　advisees　I　had　so　little　time　to　see。
　'I　reminded　you　this　morning。　You　forgot　him　last　week；　too。　He　really　needs　to　talk　to　you　about　his　residency；　about　the　Cleveland　Clinic。'
　'I　know；　I　know。'　I　felt　awful　about　it　as　I　looked　at　my　watch。　'It's　one…thirty。　Maybe　he　can　e　by　my　office　for　coffee？'
　'You　have　a　deposit