She placed her hand over the receiver and blew her nose. I wanted to know the name of Lucy’s psychiatrist but was afraid to ask. I wondered if my niece were bipolar and undiagnosed.

“Dr. Scarpetta, I don’t want her . . .” She struggled, choking. “I don’t want her to die.”

“She won’t,” I said. “I can promise you that.”

We hung up and I sat for a while on my bed, still dressed and afraid to sleep because of the chaos inside my head. For a while I wept in fury and in pain. Lucy could hurt me more than anyone, and she knew it. She could bruise me to the bone and crush my heart, and what Janet had told me was, by far, the most devastating blow. I could not help but think of Teun McGovern’s inquisitive mind when we had talked in my office, and she had seemed to know so much about Lucy’s difficulties. Had Lucy told her and not me?

I waited for Lucy to call, and she didn’t. Since I had not called Benton, at midnight, he finally called me.

“Kay?”

“Have you heard?” I said with feeling. “What Carrie has done?”

“I know about her letter.”

“Damn it, Benton. Damn it all.”

“I’m in New York,” he surprised me by saying. “The Bureau’s called me in.”

“Well, okay. And they should have. You know her.”

“Unfortunately.”

“I’m glad you’re there,” I decided out loud. “Somehow it seems safer. Isn’t that an ironical thing to say? Since when is New York safer?”

“You’re very upset.”

“Do you know anything more about where she is?” I swirled melting ice in my glass.

“We know she mailed her latest letter from a 10036 zip code, which is Times Square. The postdate is June tenth, yesterday, Tuesday.”

“The day she escaped.”

“Yes.”

“And we still don’t know how she did that.”

“We still don’t know,” he said. “It’s as if she beamed herself across the river.”

“No, it’s not like that,” I said, weary and out of sorts. “Someone saw something and someone probably helped her. She’s always been skilled at getting people to do what she wants.”

“The profiling unit’s had too many calls to count,” he said. “Apparently she did a blitz mailing, all the major newspapers, including the Post and The New York Times.”

“And?”

“And this is too juicy for them to drop in a basket, Kay. The hunt for her is as big as the one for the Unabomber or Cunanan, and now she’s writing to the media. The story’s going to run. Hell, they’ll print her grocery list and broadcast her belches. To them she’s gold. She’s magazine covers and movies in the making.”

“I don’t want to hear anymore,” I said.

“I miss you.”

“You wouldn’t if you were around me right now, Benton.”