Southern Cross

Patricia Cornwell

Contents (37)

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

SOUTHERN CROSS

A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with the author

This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.

For information address:

The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is http://www.penguinputnam.com

ISBN: 978-1-1012-0372-9

A Berkley BOOK®

Berkley Books first published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

Berkley and the “B” design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Putnam Inc.

First edition (electronic): July 2001

Also by Patricia Cornwell

POSTMORTEM
BODY OF EVIDENCE
ALL THAT REMAINS
CRUEL AND UNUSUAL
THE BODY FARM
FROM POTTER’S FIELD
CAUSE OF DEATH
HORNET’S NEST
UNNATURAL EXPOSURE
POINT OF ORIGIN
SCARPETTA’S WINTER TABLE
LIFE’S LITTLE FABLE
BLACK NOTICE

RUTH, A PORTRAIT: THE STORY
OF RUTH BELL GRAHAM

This is a work of fiction. The events
and characters portrayed are imaginary.
Their resemblance, if any, to real-life
counterparts is entirely coincidental.

TO MARCIA H. MOREY
World champion in juvenile justice
reform and all you’ve ever done
For what you’ve taught me

1

THE LAST MONDAY morning of March began with promise in the historic city of Richmond, Virginia, where prominent family names had not changed since the war that was not forgotten. Traffic was scant on downtown streets and the Internet. Drug dealers were asleep, prostitutes tired, drunk drivers sober, pedophiles returning to work, burglar alarms silent, domestic fights on hold. Not much was going on at the morgue.

Richmond, built on seven or eight hills, depending on who counts, is a metropolitan center of unflagging pride that traces its roots back to 1607, when a small band of fortune-hunting English explorers got lost and laid claim to the region by planting a cross in the name of King James. The inevitable settlement at the fall line of the James River, predictably called “The Falls,” suffered the expected tribulations of trading posts and forts, and anti-British sentiments, revolution, hardships, floggings, scalpings, treaties that didn’t work and people dying young.

Local Indians discovered firewater and hangovers, and traded herbs, minerals and furs for hatchets, ammunition, cloth, kettles and more firewater. Slaves were shipped in from Africa. Thomas Jefferson designed Monticello, the Capitol and the state penitentiary. He founded the University of Virginia, drafted the Declaration of Independence and was accused of fathering mulatto children. Railroads were constructed. The tobacco industry flourished and nobody sued.