Chapters (55)
- Cover
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43
- Chapter 44
- Chapter 45
- Chapter 46
- Chapter 47
- Chapter 48
- One Week Later
- About the Author
- Also by Patricia Cornwell
- About the Publisher
Their relationship was sexual. At least to her.
“See these?” I point at the photographs.
“Yeah I think you’re right.” Marino is looking over my shoulder. “It’s Chanel Gilbert. Obviously she was a big diver.”
“She doesn’t seem to be afraid of much.”
“Or else she was stupid. Anybody who tries to get the hook out of a shark’s mouth is stupid if you ask me.”
“I doubt she was stupid and we need to seriously question who she really was.” I look at my watch and it’s close to four.
“Her dental records …,” he starts to say.
“Yes they seem to confirm she’s Chanel Gilbert but I think it’s like everything else we’re seeing, Marino. Nothing is what it appears to be. Including her.”
I walk out of the library before he can answer. I don’t wait for him to pack up his scene case.
“Hey! Wait up!” he yells but I’m not waiting for him or anyone.
He hurries after me, clutching the scene case, his Tyvek-covered feet thudding and sliding along the wooden hallway. It dead-ends at the master wing, an addition with oak floors and paneling that are different from what I’ve seen in other rooms. The stylistic elements are Gothic Revival, possibly mid-nineteenth century, the doorway an elaborate pointed arch. Inside are cluster columns and decorative molding. The drapes are drawn.
I flip on the lights and I’m a specter, a quiet vengeful presence working my fingers into a pair of black nitrile gloves. I don’t move from the doorway as I look inside at the messy antique bed ornately carved with animals that watch over the room like gargoyles.
Chapter 38
CHAPTER 38
THE COVERS ARE PULLED BACK AS IF CHANEL GILBERT just got up and will return any second. That’s assuming she was the one sleeping in here. That’s assuming she was sleeping alone.
She—or someone—didn’t bother to make the bed or even straighten it. She didn’t get dressed. What happened? Did someone unexpected appear at the door? Was her killer already inside the house? The questions are landing fast, one after another, and I wonder if it was Chanel’s habit to sleep nude. Did she get up and put on the black silk robe she was wearing when her body was found? Was she naked for some other reason?