Unnatural Exposure

Patricia Cornwell

Contents (17)

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.

UNNATURAL EXPOSURE

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.

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ISBN: 978-1-4295-4176-3

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.

Berkely 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
SOUTHERN CROSS
LIFE’S LITTLE FABLE
BLACK NOTICE

RUTH, A PORTRAIT:
THE STORY OF RUTH BELL GRAHAM

TO ESTHER NEWBERG
Vision, No Fear

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Epilogue

And there came unto
me one of the seven
angels which had the
seven vials full of the
seven last plagues . . .

REVELATION 21:9

One

Night fell clean and cold in Dublin, and wind moaned beyond my room as if a million pipes played the air. Gusts shook old windowpanes and sounded like spirits rushing past as I rearranged pillows one more time, finally resting on my back in a snarl of Irish linen. But sleep would not touch me, and images from the day returned. I saw bodies without limbs or heads, and sat up, sweating.

I switched on lamps, and the Shelbourne Hotel was suddenly around me in a warm glow of rich old woods and deep red plaids. I put on a robe, my eyes lingering on the phone by my fitfully-slept-in bed. It was almost two A.M. In Richmond, Virginia, it would be five hours earlier, and Pete Marino, commander of the city police department’s homicide squad, should be up. He was probably watching TV, smoking, eating something bad for him, unless he was on the street.

I dialed his number, and he grabbed the phone as if he were right next to it.

“Trick or treat.” He was loudly on his way to being drunk.

“You’re a little early,” I said, already regretting the call. “By a couple of weeks.”

“Doc?” He paused in confusion. “That you? You back in Richmond?”

“Still in Dublin. What’s all the commotion?”

“Just some of us guys with faces so ugly we don’t need masks. So every day is Halloween. Hey! Bubba’s bluffing,” he yelled out.

Unnatural Exposure

Table of Contents

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