Cruel and Unusual

Patricia Cornwell

Kay Scarpetta 4 - Cruel and Unusual

The Monday I carried Ronnie Joe Waddells meditation in my pocketbook, I never saw the sun. It was dark out when I drove to work that morning. It was dark again when I drove home: Small raindrops spun in my headlights, the night gloomy with fog and bitterly cold. I built a fire in my living room and envisioned Virginia farmland and tomatoes ripening in the sun. I imagined a young black man in the hot cab of a pickup truck and wondered if his head had been full of murder back then. Waddell’s meditation had been published in the Richmond Times-Dispatch and I had taken the clipping to work to add to his growing file. But the business of the day distracted me and his meditation had remained in my pocketbook. I had read it several times. I supposed it would always intrigue me that poetry and cruelty could reside in the same heart.

For the next few hours I paid bills and wrote Christmas cards while the television played mutely. Like the rest of Virginia’s citizens, whenever an execution was scheduled I found out from the media whether appeals had been exhausted or the governor had Bran clemency. The news determined whether I went on bed or drove downtown to the morgue.

At almost ten P.M. my telephone rang. I answered it expecting my deputy chief or some other member of my staff whose evening, like mine, was on hold.

“Hello?” asked a male voice I did not recognize. “I’ trying to reach Kay Scarpetta? Uh, the chief medic examiner, Dr. Scarpetta?”

“Speaking,” I said.

“Oh, good. Detective Joe Trent with Henrico County. Found your number in the book. Sorry to bother you at home.”

He sounded keyed up. “But we’ve got a situation we really need your help with.”

“What’s the problem?” I asked, staring tensely at the TV. A commercial was playing. I hoped I wasn’t needed at a scene.

“Earlier this evening, a thirteen-year- old white male was abducted after leaving a convenience store in Northside. He was shot in the head and there may be some sexual components involved.”

My heart sank as I reached for paper and pen.

“Where is the body?” I asked.

“He was found behind a grocery store on Patter Avenue in the county. I mean, he’s not dead. He hasn’t regained consciousness but no one’s saying right now whether he’ll make it. I realize it’s not your case since he’s not dead. But he’s got some injuries that are real odd. They’re not like anything I’ve ever come across. I know you see a lot of different types of injuries. I’m hoping you might have some idea how these were inflicted and why.”

“Describe them for me,” I said.

“We’re talking about two areas. One on his inner right thigh, you know, up high near the groin. The other’s in the area of his right shoulder. Chunks of flesh are missing - cut out. And there’s weird cuts and scratches around the edges of the wounds. He’s at Henrico Doctor’s.”