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
I unscrew the cap and pull out the dropper. The tincture inside is thick and golden. It smells sweetly herbal and is nothing like some of the home-brewed extracts I’ve seen, black tarry pastes that are too bitter to hold under your tongue or mix with food or drink, and the memory of why I researched all this is jolting. It catches me by surprise swiftly, sadly, powerfully.
Not that long ago I learned more about medical marijuana than I ever thought I needed to know, talking to experts, scouring the Internet and ordering what legal products I could when I learned that Janet’s sister was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer. I talked to physicians who specialize in alternative medicine. I read every journal article I could find. Nothing I could procure legally was going to help Natalie, and I felt absolutely awful about it. I still do when I remember the late-night discussions, the unfairness, the distress, and Lucy’s combative language when I said we’d done as much as we could. Legally we had.
Fuck ’em. Watch what’s next, was her answer, and I remember when she said it she and Janet were sitting on the circular bench around the big magnolia tree in my backyard. The sun was going down and we were drinking a small batch bourbon, and they were talking about the chemotherapy. Natalie couldn’t eat. She could scarcely hold down water. She was in pain, anxious and depressed, and what she needed was medical marijuana. It isn’t legal in Virginia. It is here in Massachusetts, but to date there’s no appropriate product available. Just bud, which is riskier to bootleg according to Lucy.
Weed is harder to hide from drug dogs and disapproving people, she pointed out.
We were having dinner at my house when she said this after the conversation had turned angry. Lucy made threats and I don’t want to be asked about it under oath. I can imagine the likes of a Jill Donoghue ripping into me:
Doctor Scarpetta, does your niece ever make statements to you about having no respect for the law?
Only when they’re stupid laws.
That’s a yes?
Partly.
What has she said exactly?
Which time?
How about recently?
She said that she doesn’t obey stupid laws made by stupid corrupt people. That wasn’t very long ago.
And a red flag didn’t go up?
Not literally.