“Waddell’s so-called reformation, him turning into such a sweetheart. Sometime let me tell you about that, Dr. Scarpetta, about the way he used to brag to other inmates about what he did to that poor Naismith girl. Thought he was a real cock of the walk because he did a celebrity.”

The room was airless and too warm. I could feel his eyes crawl over my body.

“Of course, I don’t guess much surprises you, either,” he said.

“No, Mr. Donahue. There isn’t much that surprises me.”

“To be honest, I don’t know how you look at what you do every day. Especially this time of year, people killing each other and themselves, like that poor lady who committed suicide in her garage the other night after opening her Christmas presents early.”

His remark caught me like an elbow in the ribs. There had been a brief story in the morning paper about Jennifer’s Deighton’s death, and a police source had been quoted as saying that it appeared she had opened her Christmas presents early. This might imply she had committed suicide, but there had been no statement to that effect.

“Which lady are you referring to?”

I asked.

“Don’t recall the name.”

Donahue sipped his drink, his face flushed, eyes bright and constantly moving. “Sad, real sad. Well, you’ll have to visit us at our new digs in Greensville one of these days.”

He smiled broadly, then left me for a bosomy matron in black. He kissed her on the mouth and both of them started laughing.

I went home at the earliest opportunity, to find a fire blazing and my niece stretched out on the couch, reading. I noted several new presents under the tree.

“How was it?” she asked with a yawn.

“You were wise to stay home,” I said. “Has Marino called?”

“Nope.”

I tried him again, and after four rings he answered irritably.

“I hope I didn’t get you too late,” I apologized.

“I hope not, either. What’s wrong now?”

“A lot of things are wrong. I met your friend Mr. Donahue at a party this evening.”

“What a thrill.”

“I wasn’t impressed, and maybe I’m just paranoid, but I thought it odd he brought up Jennifer Deighton’s death.”

Silence.

“The other little twist,” I went on, “is it appears Jennifer Deighton faxed a note to Nicholas Grueman less than two days before her murder. In it she sounded upset, and I got the impression he wanted to meet with her. She suggested he come to Richmond.”

Still Marino said nothing.

“Are you there?” I asked.

“I’m thinking”

“Glad to hear it. But maybe we should think together. Sure I can’t change your mind about dinner tomorrow?”

He took a deep breath. “I’d like to, Doc. But I.. ” A female voice in the background said, “Which drawer’s it in?”