Read Online Book of the Dead by Patricia Cornwell - Free Book Online Page A

child, Aunt Kay. And you’re going to have to fire him one of these days.”
         “And manage how? I can barely manage now. I’m already short-staffed, without a single eligible person on the horizon to hire.”
         “This is just the beginning. He’s going to get worse,” Lucy says. “He’s not the person you once knew.”
         “I don’t believe that, and I could never fire him.”
         “You’re right,” Lucy says. “You couldn’t. It would be a divorce. He’s your husband. God knows you’ve spent a hell of a lot more time with him than you have with Benton.”
         “He most assuredly isn’t my husband. Don’t goad me, please.”
         Lucy picks up the envelope from the steps and hands it to her. “Six of them, all from her. Coincidentally, starting on this past Monday, your first day back at work from Rome. The same day we saw your ring and, great sleuths that we are, figured out it wasn’t from Cracker Jacks.”
         “Any e-mails from Marino to Dr. Self?”
         “He must not want you to see whatever he wrote. I recommend you bite on a stick.” Indicating the envelope and what’s inside it. “How is he? She misses him. Thinks about him. You’re a tyrant, a has-been, and he must be miserable working for you, and what can she do to help him?”
         “Will he never learn?” Mostly, it’s depressing.
         “You should have kept the news from him. How could you not know what it would do to him?”
         Scarpetta notices the purple Mexican petunias climbing the north garden wall. She notices the lavender lantana. They look a bit parched.
         “Well, aren’t you going to read the damn things?” Lucy indicates the envelope again.
         “I’m not going to give them that power right now,” Scarpetta says. “I have more important things to deal with. That’s why I’m dressed in a damn suit and going into the damn office on a damn Sunday when I could be working in my garden or even going for a damn walk.”
         “I ran a background check on the guy you’re meeting with this afternoon. Recently, he was the victim of an assault. No suspect. And related to this, he was charged with a misdemeanor for possession of marijuana. The charge was dropped. Beyond that, not even a speeding ticket. But I don’t think you should be alone with him.”
         “What about the brutalized little boy all alone in my morgue? Since you haven’t said anything, I assume your computer searches are still coming up empty-handed.”
         “It’s like he didn’t exist.”
         “Well, he did. And what was done to him is one of the worst things I’ve ever seen. Maybe it’s time we go out on a limb.”
         “And do what?”
         “I’ve been thinking about statistical genetics.”
         “I still can’t believe no one’s doing it,” Lucy says. “The technology’s there. It’s been there. It’s all so stupid. Alleles are shared among relatives, and, as is true of any other database, it’s all a function of probability.”
         “A father, mother, sibling would have a higher score. And we’d see it and focus on it. I think we should try it.”
         “If we do, what happens if it turns out this little kid was killed by a relative? We use statistical genetics in a criminal case, and what happens in court?” Lucy says.

     “If we figure out who he is, then we’ll worry about court.”
          
         Belmont, Massachusetts. Dr. Marilyn Self sits before a window in her room with a view.
         Sloping lawns, forests and fruit trees, and old brick buildings harken back to a genteel era when the wealthy and famous could disappear from their lives, briefly or for as long as needed, or in some hopeless cases, forever, and be treated with the respect and pampering they deserved. At McLean Hospital, it’s perfectly normal to spot famous actors, musicians, athletes, and