I watched him for a moment. He was dressed in dark blue FBI National Academy sweats and high-top leather cross-training shoes. I wondered if he had been working out in the gym when someone had called him about me. It suddenly struck me that we were neighbors. He and his wife lived in Windsor Farms just a few blocks from me.

‘Marino’s told me to evacuate my house,’ I said in an almost accusatory tone. ‘Are you aware of that?’

‘I’m aware.’

‘How much of a hand have you had in his suggestion to me?’

‘Why would you think I’ve had anything to do with what Marino suggests to you?’ he asked calmly.

‘You and I are neighbors. You probably drive past my house every day.’

‘I don’t. But I know where you live, Kay.’

‘Please don’t call me Kay.’

‘If I were white would you let me call you Kay?’ he said with ease.

‘No, I would not.’

He did not seem offended. He knew I did not trust him. He knew I was slightly afraid of him and probably of most people right now. I was getting paranoid.

‘Dr. Scarpetta.’ He got up. ‘I’ve had your house under surveillance for weeks.’ He paused, looking down at me.

‘Why?’ I asked.

‘Sheriff Brown.’

‘What are you talking about?’ My mouth was getting dry.

‘He was very involved in an intricate drug network that stretches from New York to Miami. Some of your patients were involved in it. At least eight that we know of at this time.’

‘Drug shootings.’

He nodded, staring toward the window. ‘Brown hated you.’

‘That was clear. The reason was not.’

‘Let’s just say that you did your job too well. Several of his comrades were locked up for a very long time because of you.’ He paused. ‘We had reason to fear he planned to have you taken care of.’

I stared at him, stunned. ‘What? What reason?’

‘Snitches.’

‘More than one?’

Tucker said, ‘Brown had already offered money to somebody we had-to take very seriously.’

I reached for my water glass.

‘This was earlier in the month. Maybe three weeks ago.’ His eyes wandered around the room.

‘Who did he hire?’ I asked.

‘Anthony Jones.’ Tucker looked at me.

My astonishment grew and I was shocked by what he told me next.

‘The person who was supposed to get shot Christmas Eve was not Anthony Jones but you.’

I was speechless.

‘That entire scenario of going to the wrong apartment in Whitcomb Court was for the purpose of taking you out. But when the sheriff went through the kitchen and into the backyard, he and Jones got into an argument. You know what happened.’

He got up. ‘Now the sheriff is dead too and, frankly, you’re lucky.’

‘Colonel Tucker,’ I said.

He stood by my bed.

‘Did you know about this before it happened?’