“What’s also interesting,” Marino said, walking toward the bathroom with the cordless phone, “the DNA from your cases are in CODIS. And the DNA from our case was just run in CODIS. So guess what that means?”

He covered the mouthpiece with his hand while he peed.

“I’m still hung up on the wheelchair,” Bacardi said.

“What it means,” he said, when it was safe to talk again, “is there’s a different mixture of DNA profiles. In other words, you didn’t get a hit on the old lady from Palm Beach, because her DNA wasn’t on your victims. For whatever reason. I think you should come up here and sit down with everyone. As soon as possible, like tomorrow morning,” Marino said. “You got a car?”

“Whenever you guys need. I can be there in a few hours.”

“It’s my belief,” Marino said, “when things are this different, they got something in common.”

15

Kay Scarpetta 16 - Scarpetta

15

“Nobody’s accusing anybody of anything,” Benton said on the phone, talking to Scarpetta’s administrative assistant, Bryce. “I was just wondering when you looked at it first thing, what might have entered your mind … Really … That’s a very good point … Well, that’s interesting. I’ll tell her.”

He hung up.

Scarpetta was only halfway paying attention to whatever he and Bryce had been discussing. She was far more interested in several photographs of Terri Bridges’s master bathroom, and had placed them in a row on a space she’d cleared on Benton’s desk. They showed a spotless white ceramic-tile floor and a white marble countertop. Next to a sink with ornate gold fixtures was a built-in vanity arranged with perfumes, a brush, and a comb. Attached to the rose-painted wall was a gold-framed oval mirror, and it was askew, but so slightly it was barely perceptible. As far as she could tell, it was the only thing in the bathroom that looked even remotely disturbed.

“Your hair,” Benton said to her as his printer woke up.

“What about it?”

“I’ll show you.”

Another close-up of the body, this one taken from a different angle after the towel had been removed. Terri’s achondroplastic features were more typical than Oscar’s. She had a somewhat flattened nose and pronounced forehead, and her arms and legs were thick and about half the length they ought to be, her fingers thick and stubby.

Benton swiveled around and removed a sheet of paper from the printer, and handed it to her.

“Do I have to look at that again?” she said.

It was the photograph from this morning’s Gotham Gotcha column.

“Bryce said for you to take a good look at your hair,” Benton said.

“It’s covered,” she said. “All I can see is a little fringe of it.”

“His point. It used to be shorter. He showed the photo to Fielding, who shares his opinion.”