“He is the one,” I said. “He is a colleague of mine. He was also the best friend of a friend of mine, Mark James, who also was a special agent for the FBI.”

“Dr. Scarpetta, let’s get the record straight here,” Patterson said impatiently. “Mark James was more than a quote, friend of yours.”

“Are you asking me a question Mr. Patterson?”

“Aside from the obvious conflict of interest involved in the chief medical examiner’s sleeping with an FBI agent, the subject is non-germane. So I won’t ask-.”

I interrupted him. “My relationship with Mark James began in law school. There was no conflict of interest, and for the record, I object to the Commonwealth’s Attorney’s reference to whom I allegedly was sleeping with.”

The court reporter typed on.

My hands were clasped so tightly my knuckles were white.

Patterson asked again, “Who is Charles Hale and why would you give him the equivalent of ten thousand dollars?”

Pink scars flashed in my mind, and I envisioned two tigers attached to a stump shiny with scar tissue.

“He was a ticket agent at Victoria Station in London,” I said.

“Was?”

“He was on Monday, February eighteenth, when the bomb went off.”

No one told me. I heard reporters on the news all day and had no idea until my phone rang on February 19 at two-fourty- one A.M. It was six-forty- one in the morning in London, and Mark had been dead for almost a day. I was so stunned as Benton Wesley tried to explain, that none of it made any sense.

“That was yesterday, I read about that yesterday. You mean it happened again?”

“The bombing happened yesterday morning during rush hour. But I just found out about Mark. Our legal in London just notified me.”

“You’re sure? You’re absolutely sure?”

“Jesus, I’m sorry, Kay.”

“They’ve identified him with certainty?”

“With certainty.’

“You’re sure. I mean . . “

“Kay. I’m at home. I can be there in an hour.”

“No, no.”

“I was shivering all over but could not cry. I wandered through my house, moaning quietly and wringing my hands.

“But you did not know this Charles Hale prior to his being injured in the bombing, Dr. Scarpetta. Why would you give him ten thousand dollars?”

Patterson dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief.

“He and his wife have wanted children and could not have them.”

“And how would you know such an intimate detail about strangers?”

“Benton Wesley told me, and I responded by suggesting Bourne Hall, the leading research facility for in vitro fertilization. IVF is not covered by national health insurance.”

“Bur you said the bombing was way back in February. You just wrote the check in November.”