He reached for the phone.

Scarpetta paid scant attention to Bryce as he drove her to Logan International Airport. He’d been talking nonstop about one thing or another ever since picking her up at her house.

Mainly, he’d been complaining about Dr. Jack Fielding, reminding her yet again that returning to the past was like a dog returning to its own vomit. Or Lot’s wife looking back and turning into a pillar of salt. Bryce’s biblical analogies were endless and irritating and had nothing to do with his religious beliefs, assuming he had any, but were leftover pearls from a college term paper he’d done on the Bible as literature.

Her administrative assistant’s point was you don’t hire people from your past. Fielding was from Scarpetta’s past. He’d had his problems, but then who hadn’t? When she had accepted the position up here and had started looking for a deputy chief, she wondered what Fielding was doing, tracked him down, and found out he wasn’t doing much.

Benton’s input had been unusually toothless, maybe even patronizing, which made more sense to her now. He’d said she was looking for stability, and often people move backward instead of forward when they are overwhelmed by change. Feeling the desire to hire someone she’d known since the early days of her career was understandable, Benton had said. But the danger in looking back was that we saw only what we wanted to see, he’d added. We saw what made us feel safe.

What Benton had chosen to avoid is why she didn’t feel safe to begin with. He hadn’t wanted to get within range of how she really felt about her domestic life with him, which was as chaotic and dissonant as it had ever been. Since their relationship began with an adulterous affair more than fifteen years ago, they’d never lived in the same place, didn’t know the meaning of day-to- day togetherness, until last summer. Theirs had been a very simple ceremony in the garden behind her carriage house in Charleston, South Carolina, where she’d just set up a private practice that she then was forced to close.

Afterward, they’d moved to Belmont, Massachusetts, to be near his psychiatric hospital, McLean, and her new headquarters in Watertown, where she’d accepted the position of chief medical examiner of the Commonwealth’s Northeastern District. Because of their proximity to New York, she thought it a fine idea for them to accept John Jay College of Criminal Justice’s invitation to serve as visiting lecturers there, which included offering pro bono consultation for the NYPD, the New York Medical Examiner’s office, and forensic psychiatric units such as the one at Bellevue.

“… I know it’s not the sort of thing you’d look at or maybe even be a big deal to you, but at the risk of pissing you off, I’m going to point it out.” Bryce’s voice penetrated her preoccupations.

She said, “What big deal?”

“Well, hello? Don’t mind me. I was just talking to myself.”