I could not remember if I had returned the Glock to a drawer of the kitchen desk. That certainly would be closer than my office or bedroom, which were on the other side of the house. Stone walls and windows were buffeted by the wind and lashed by rain, and I strained to hear any other sounds, such as the creaking of an upstairs floor or feet on carpet. In a burst of panic, I suddenly dropped my briefcase and pocketbook from my hands and ran through the dining room and into the kitchen, my wet feet almost going out from under me. I yanked open the bottom right drawer in the desk and almost cried out in relief when I grabbed my Glock.

For a while I searched my house again, flipping on lights in every room. Satisfied that I had no unwanted guests, I checked the fuse box in the garbage and flipped on the breakers that had tripped. Order was restored, the alarm reset, and I poured a tumbler of Black Bush Irish whiskey on the rocks and waited for my nerves to tuck themselves back inside their sheaths. Then I called Johnson’s Motel in Warrenton, but Lucy was not there. So I tried her apartment in D.C. and Janet answered the phone.

“Hi, it’s Kay,” I said. “I hope I didn’t wake anyone.”

“Oh, hello, Dr. Scarpetta,” said Janet, who could not call me by my first name no matter how many times I had told her to. “No, I’m just sitting here having a beer and waiting for Lucy.”

“I see,” I said, very disappointed. “She’s on her way home from Warrenton?”

“Not for long. You ought to see this place. Boxes everywhere. It’s a wreck.”

“How are you holding up through all this, Janet?”

“I don’t know yet,” she said, and I detected a quiver in her voice. “It will be an adjustment. God knows, we’ve been through adjustments before.”

“And I’m sure you’ll get through this one with flying colors.”

I sipped my whiskey and had no faith in what I’d just said, but at the moment I was grateful to hear a warm human voice.

“When I was married—ancient years ago—Tony and I were on two totally different planes,” I said. “But we managed to find time for each other, quality time. In some ways, it was better like that.”

“And you also got divorced,” she politely pointed out.

“Not at first.”

“Lucy won’t be here for at least another hour, Dr. Scarpetta. Is there a message I can give her?”

I hesitated, not sure what to do.

“Is everything all right?” Janet then asked.

“Actually, no,” I said. “I guess you haven’t heard. I guess she hasn’t heard either, for that matter.”