But the minute I was spotted, they hurried my way with television cameras shouldered, microphones pointed, and flashguns going off. At first I was startled, then I was angry.

“Dr. Scarpetta, what is your response to Carrie Grethen’s letter?” asked a reporter from Channel 6.

“No comment,” I said as I frantically cast about for the Commonwealth’s attorney who had summoned me here to testify in his case.

“What about the conspiracy allegation?”

“Between you and your FBI lover?”

“That would be Benton Wesley?”

“What is your niece’s reaction?”

I shoved past a cameraman, my nerves hopping like faulty wiring as my heart flew. I shut myself inside the small windowless witness room and sat in a wooden chair. I felt trapped and foolish, and wondered how I could have been so thick as to not consider that something like this might happen after what Carrie had done. I opened the accordion file and began going through various reports and diagrams, envisioning gunshot entrances and exits and which had been fatal. I stayed in my airless space for almost half an hour until the Commonwealth’s attorney found me. We spoke for several minutes before I took the stand.

What ensued brought to fruition what had happened in the hallway moments before, and I found myself disassociating from the core of myself to survive what was nothing more than a ruthless attack.

“Dr. Scarpetta,” said defense attorney Will Lampkin, who had been trying to get the best of me for years, “how many times have you testified in this court?”

“I object,” said the C.A.

“Overruled,” said Judge Bowls, my fan.

“I’ve never counted,” I replied.

“But surely you can give us an estimate. More than a dozen? More than a hundred? A million?”

“More than a hundred,” I said as I felt his lust for blood.

“And you have always told the truth to the juries and the judges?”

Lampkin slowly paced, a pious expression on his florid face, hands clamped behind his back.

“I have always told the truth,” I answered.

“And you don’t consider it somewhat dishonest, Dr. Scarpetta, to sleep with the FBI?”

“I object!” The C.A. was on his feet.

“Objection sustained,” said the judge as he stared down at Lampkin, egging him on, really. “What is your point, Mr. Lampkin?”

“My point, Your Honor, is conflict of interest. It is widely known that Dr. Scarpetta has an intimate relationship with at least one law enforcement individual she has worked cases with, and she has also influenced law enforcement—both the FBI and ATF—when it comes to her niece’s career.”

“I object!”

“Overruled. Please get to the point, Mr. Lampkin,” said the judge as he reached for his water and goaded some more.

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Lampkin said with excruciating deference. “What I’m trying to illustrate is an old pattern here.”