Chapters (48)
- also by patricia cornwell
- title page
- copyright
- dedication
- contents
- prologue
- one
- two
- three
- four
- five
- six
- seven
- eight
- nine
- ten
- eleven
- twelve
- thirteen
- fourteen
- fifteen
- sixteen
- seventeen
- eighteen
- nineteen
- twenty
- twenty-one
- twenty-two
- twenty-three
- twenty-four
- twenty-five
- twenty-six
- twenty-seven
- twenty-eight
- twenty-nine
- thirty
- thirty-one
- thirty-two
- thirty-three
- thirty-four
- thirty-five
- thirty-six
- thirty-seven
- thirty-eight
- thirty-nine
- forty
- two nights later
- credits
“A combat theater is an area of war operation, such as Afghanistan,” I reply to the jury. “Other types of cases that are the jurisdiction of the AFMEs, the Armed Forces Medical Examiners, would include deaths on military bases, the death of the president of the United States or the vice-president or members of cabinet, and also certain other individuals employed by the U.S. government, such as members of the CIA or our astronauts, should they die while on official duty.”
“Quite a daunting responsibility.” Donoghue sounds thoughtful.
One might even think she’s impressed, and I continue looking directly at the jury and refuse to look at her.
“I can certainly see why you might assume your job is more important than mine or the members of the jury’s or even the judge’s,” she says.
eighteen
eighteen
SHE PAUSES DURING A SPATTER OF LAUGHTER FROM people who are seated inside the courtroom, but the jurors aren’t amused, not one of them.
“I don’t assume any such thing,” I answer.
“Well, you were an hour and fifteen minutes late today, Dr. Scarpetta. If you include the time it took for Judge Conry to reprimand you, an hour and a half, and this courtroom won’t be adjourning before dark because of you.”
“For which I continue to be apologetic, Ms. Donoghue. It was never my intention to disrespect the court. I was out in a boat at a death scene that demanded my attention.”
“Suggesting that the dead are more important to you than the living?”
“It would be incorrect to assume that. Life always takes precedence over death.”
“But you work with the dead, do you not? Your patients are dead people, are they not?”
“As a medical examiner,” I reply slowly, calmly, as I anticipate where this is headed, “it’s my job to investigate any sudden, unexpected, or violent death, and to determine the cause and manner of that death. In other words, what actually killed the person, and was it an accident, a suicide, a homicide, for example? So, yes, most people I examine are dead.”
“Well, hopefully all of them are.”
More laughter, but the jurors are somber and listening intently. A heavy woman in a purple pantsuit sitting in the middle of the front row leans forward in her chair. She hasn’t taken her eyes off me, and on her left an older man dressed tidily in slacks and a pullover sweater has his head cocked to one side, as if trying to figure me out.
Jill Donoghue hasn’t offered any surprises yet. She’s trying to show me to be a cold-blooded peculiar woman who doesn’t give a shit about living people. Meaning I wouldn’t give a shit about her client Channing Lott.