They were following Dr. Lester through another corridor that dated back to earlier decades, when forensic pathologists were crudely called meat cutters. It wasn’t all that long ago that science and the dead had little in common beyond ABO blood-typing, fingerprints, and x-rays.

“No evidence of seminal fluid in or on her body or on the clothing found in the tub,” Dr. Lester said. “Or at the scene. Of course, they used UV light, as did I. Nothing fluoresced the distinctive bright white that seminal fluid does.”

“In sexual assaults, some perpetrators wear condoms,” Scarpetta said. “Especially these days, because everybody knows about DNA.”

Fractured data streamed across dark screens, reattaching at mind-numbing speed, as if it were fleeing and being caught.

Maybe Berger was getting acclimated to cyberspace. Her headache had mysteriously vanished. Or maybe adrenaline was the cure. She was feeling aggressive because she didn’t like being bucked. Not by Morales. Certainly not by Lucy.

“We should get started on the e-mail,” Berger said, and it wasn’t the first time she’d said it since Marino had called.

Lucy didn’t seem the least bit interested in Marino or what he was doing, and she wasn’t listening to Berger’s insistence that they turn their attention to e-mail. They had the passwords right in front of them, but Lucy refused to change her focus until she had a better idea why her aunt’s name continued to appear with alarming frequency in the fragmented revisions of the thesis Terri, or perhaps Oscar, had been writing.

“I’m afraid your interest is too personal,” Berger said. “And that’s exactly what I’m worried about. We need to look at e-mails, but you’d rather look at what’s been written about your aunt. I’m not saying it isn’t important.”

“This is where you have to trust that I’m doing things the right way,” Lucy said, not budging.

The legal pad with the passwords written on it remained where it was, on the desk, next to Lucy’s keyboard.

“Patience. One thing at a time,” Lucy added. “I don’t tell you how to run your cases.”

“Seems that’s exactly what you’re telling me. I want to get into their e-mails, and you want to keep reading this thesis or whatever the hell it is. You’re not helping me.”