Barclay continues to nail Marino with a stare, and Marino continues talking to the twins as if he’s oblivious. But he’s not. The sophomoric jokes, the juvenile behavior are a special skill set of his, and he has the acumen of a hawk. He doesn’t miss Barclay’s slightest twitch, and it’s a good thing I didn’t call him Clay. Marino would have thought that was hilarious, and it may very well be that he’s the only one who’s ever called him that.

But chances are good that Marino won’t be the last. Unfortunately when he comes up with a nickname or new “handle” for someone, there’s no undoing it. I wouldn’t be surprised if soon enough everyone in the Cambridge Police Department was talking to and about Clay Barclay, as if the lame redundancy really is his name.

“How you doing, Doctor Scarpetta?” He’s boisterous and too friendly as if we’ve just run into each other at a reception or in a crowded bar.

“Thanks for doing a good job keeping things quiet out here …” I start to say.

“If this was in daylight can you imagine a more exposed spot?” He watches me dig in my bag for a notepad and a pen. “Not to mention working a scene when it’s over a hundred degrees. At least it’s a cool eighty-eight now.”

I’m methodical and not in a hurry as I pull out Marino’s package of coveralls and the box of gloves. I set them on top of his nearby scene case. Then I walk back to Barclay, my tactical light pointed down at the grass with each step.

“I’ll take the ambient temperature as soon as the truck is here,” I let him know, and the real point I’m making is he needs to be careful about throwing around information the way he’s been doing.

I’m mindful that he’s already gone out on a limb by deciding the victim is Elisa Vandersteel when identity hasn’t been confirmed by DNA, dental records or any other legitimate means. And an ID found on the fitness path in a public park isn’t a confirmation. Not even close.

He’s also said she’s an assault, a murder, and I can’t know any such thing when I’ve not so much as looked at her yet. Possibly most dangerous is what he’s also passed along to at least one person—Marino—that the body is as stiff as a mannequin. In other words, it’s in an advanced stage of rigor mortis. That directly impacts the estimated time of death, and I wish Barclay had kept his opinion to himself.