“Two for the price of one,” Marino said bitterly over the phone later in the day.

“I know,” I said, digging a bottle of aspirin out of my pocketbook.

“In court the damn jurors won’t be told she was pregnant. It won’t be admissible, don’t count he murdered a pregnant woman.”

“I know,” I said again. ‘Wright’s about done. Nothing significant turned up during her external exam. No trace to speak of, nothing that jumped out. What’s going on at your end?”

“Susan was definitely going through something, Marino said.

“Problems with her husband?”

“According to him, her problem was with you. He claims you were doing weird shit like calling her a lot at home, hassling her. And sometimes she’d come home from work acting half crazy, like. she was scared shitless about something.”

“Susan and I did not have a problem.”

I swallowed three aspirin with a mouthful of cold coffee.

“I’m just telling you what the guy’s saying. Other thing is - and I think you’ll find this interesting - looks like we got us another feather. Not that I’m saying it links Deighton and this one, Doc, or that I’m necessarily thinking that way. But damn. Maybe we’re dealing with some squirrel who wears down-filled gloves, a jacket. I don’t know. It’s just not typical. Only other time I’ve ever found feathers was when this drone broke into a crib by smashing out a window and cut his down jacket on broken glass.”

My head hurt so much I felt sick to my stomach.

“What we found in Susan’s car is real small - a little piece of white down,” he went on. “It was clinging to the upholstery of the passenger’s door. On the inside, near the floor, a couple inches below the armrest”

“Can you get that to me?” I asked.

“Yeah. What are you going to do?”

“Call Benton.”

“I’ve been trying, dammit. I think he and the wife went out of town.”

“I need to ask him if Minor Downey can help us.”

“You talking about a person or a fabric softener?”

“Minor Downey with hairs and fibers at the FBI labs. His specialty is feather analysis.”

“And his name’s Downey, it really is?” Marino was incredulous.

“It really is,” I said.

8

Kay Scarpetta 4 - Cruel and Unusual

8

The telephone rang for a long time at the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit, located in the subterranean reaches of the Academy at Quantico. I could envision its bleak, confusing hallways and offices cluttered with the mementos of polished warriors like Benton Wesley, who had gone skiing, I was told.

“In fact, I’m the only one here at the moment,” said the courteous agent who answered the phone.

“This is Dr. Kay Scarpetta and it’s urgent that I reach him.

Benton Wesley returned my call almost immediately.

“Benton, where are you?”