"She was tense," I said. "Something was bothering her."

"What? You got any guesses?"

"I donat know what."

My hands shook as I fumbled with my medical bag and checked the contents again. Camera, gloves, and everything else were accounted for. I remembered Susan once saying that if anyone tried to abduct or rape her, theyad have to kill her first.

There had been a number of late afternoons when it was just the two of us cleaning up and filling out paperwork. We had had many personal conversations about being a woman and loving men, and what it would be like to be a like to be a mother. Once we had talked about death and Susan confessed she was afraid of it.

aIam not talking about h.e.l.l, either, the fire and brimstone my father preaches about. Iam not afraid of that,a she said adamantly. aIam just afraid of this being all there is."

aThis isnat all there is,a I said.

aHow do you know?"

aSomethingas gone. You look at their faces and you can tell: Their energy has departed. The spirit didnat die. Just the body did."

aBut how do you know?" she asked again.

Easing, up on the accelerator, Marino turned onto Strawberry Street. I glanced in my side mirror. Another police car was behind us, light bar flashing red and blue. We pa.s.sed restaurants and a small grocery store. Nothing was open, and the few cars out pulled over to let us pa.s.s. Near the Strawberry StreetCafe, the narrow street was lined with cruisers and marked units, and an ambulance was blocking the entrance of an alleyway. Two television trucks had parked a little farther down. Reporters moved restlessly along the perimeter cordoned off in yellow tape. Marino parked and our, doors opened at the same time. Instantly, cameras pointed our way.

I watched where Marino stepped and was right behind him. Shutters whirred, film advanced, and microphones were raised Marinoas long strides did not pause and he did not answer anyone. I averted my face.

Rounding the ambulance, we ducked under the tape. The old burgundy Toyota was parked head-in midway along a narrow stretch of cobblestone covered with churned-up, dirty snow. Ugly brick walls pressed in from either side and blocked out the low sunas slanted rays. Police were taking photographs, talking, and looking around. Water slowly dripped from roofs and rusting fire escapes. The smell of garbage wafted on the damp, stirring air.

it barely registered that the young Latin-looking officer talking on a portable radio was someone I had recently met. Tom Lucero watched us as he mumbled something and got off the air. From where I stood, all I could see through the Toyotaas open driveras door was a left hip and arm. A shock went through me as I recognized the black wool coat, the brush-gold wedding band, Wind black plastic watch. Wedged between the windshield and the dash was her red medical examineras Plate.

aTags come back to Jason Story. I guess thatas her husband." Lucero said to Marino. aSheas got identification on her in her purse. The name on the driveras license is Susan Dawson Story, a twenty-eight-year-old white female."

aWhat about money?"

aaEleven dollars in her billfold and a couple of credit cards. Nothing so far to suggest robbery. You recognize her?"

Marino leaned forward to get a better look His jaw muscles bunched. aYeah. I recognize her. This how the car was found?"

aWe opened the driveras door. Thatas it,a Lucero said, stuffing the portable radio in a pocket.

aThe engine was off, doors unlocked?"

They were. Like I told you on the phone, Fritz spotted the car while on routine patrol. Uh, around fifteen hundred hours, and he noticed the M.E.a's tag in the window."

He glanced at me. aIf you go around to the pa.s.sengeras side and look in, you can see blood in the area of her right ear. Someone did a real neat job."

Marino backed away and scanned the messy snow. Donat look like weall have much luck with footprints."

aYou got that right. Itas melting like ice cream. Was when we got here."

aAnd cartridge cases?"

"Zip."

aHer family know?"

aNot yet: I thought you might want to handle this one,a Lucero said.

aJust make d.a.m.n sure who she is and where she worked donat leak out to the media before the family knows. Jesus."

Marino turned his attention to me: aWhat do you want to do here?"

aI donat want to touch anything inside the car,a I muttered, surveying the surroundings as I got out my camera. I was alert and thinking clearly but my hands would not stop shaking. aGive me a minute to look, then letas get her on a stretcher."

aYou guys ready for the doc?"

Marino asked Lucero. aWeare ready."

Susan was dressed in faded blue jeans and scuffed lace-up boots, her black wool coat b.u.t.toned to her chin. My heart constricted as I noticed the red silk scarf peeking out of her collar. She wore sungla.s.ses and leaned back in the driveras seat as if she had gotten comfortable and dozed off: On the light gray upholstery behind her neck was a reddish stain. I moved around to the other side of the car and saw the blood Lucero had mentioned. As I began taking photographs, I paused then leaned closer to her face, detecting the faint fragrance of a distinctive masculine cologne. Her seat belt, I noted, was unfastened.

I did not touch her head until the squad had arrived and Susanas body was on a stretcher inside the back of an ambulance. I climbed in and spent several minutes looking for bullet wounds. I found one in the right temple, another in the hollow at the back of the neck, just below the hairline. I ran my gloved fingers through her chestnut hair, looking for more blood and not finding it.

Marino climbed into the back of the ambulance. aHow many times was she shot?"

he asked me.

aIave found two entrances. No exits; though I can feel one bullet beneath the skin over her left temporal bone."

He glanced tensely at his watch. aThe Dawsons donat live too far from here. In Glenburnie."

aThe Dawsons?"

I peeled off my gloves.

aHer parents. Iave got to talk to them. Now. Before some toad leaks something and they end up hearing about this on the d.a.m.n radio or TV. Iall get a marked unit to take you home."

"No," I said."

Iall go with you. I think I should."

Streetlights were coming on as we drove away. Marino stared hard at the road, his face dangerously red.

"d.a.m.n!" he blurted, pounding his fit on the steering wheel. "G.o.ddam! Shooting her in the head. Shooting a pregnant woman."

I stared out the side window, my shattered thoughts filled with fragmented images and distortion.

I cleared my throat. "Has her husband been located?"

"No answer at their crib. Maybe heas with her parents. G.o.d, I hate this job. Christ, I donat want to do this. Merry friggina Christmas. I knock on your door and youare screwed because Iam going to tell you something that will ruin your life."

"You have not ruined anybodyas life"

"Yeah, well, get ready, acause Iam about to."

He turned onto Albemarle. Supercans had been rolled to the edge of the street and were surrounded by leaf bags bulging with Christmas trash. Windows glowed warmly, multi-colored tree lights filling some of them. A young father was pulling his small son along the sidewalk on a fishtailing sled. They smiled and waved at us as we pa.s.sed. Glenburnie was the neighborhood of middle-cla.s.s families, of young professionals, single, married, and gay. In the warm months, people sat on their porches and cooked out in their yards. They had parries and hailed each other from the sheet.

The Dawsonsa modest house was Tudor style, comfortably weathered with neatly pruned evergreens in front. Windows upstairs and down were lit up, an old station wagon parked by the curb.

The bell was answered by a womanas voice on the other side of the door. "Who is it?"

"Mrs. Dawson?"

"Yes?"

"Detective Marino, Richmond RD. I need to talk with you," he said loudly, holding his badge up to the peephole.

Locks clicked free as my pulse raced. During my various medical rotations, I had experienced patients screaming in pain as they begged me not to let them die. I had rea.s.sured them falsely, "Youare going to be just fine," as they died gripping my hand. I had said "Iam sorry" to loved ones desperate in small, airless rooms where even chaplains felt lost. But I had never delivered death to someoneas door on Christmas Day.

The only resemblance I could see between Mrs. Dawson and her daughter was the strong curve of their jaws. Mrs. Dawson was sharp-featured, with short, frosted hair. She could not have weighed more than a hundred pounds and reminded me of a frightened bird. When Marino introduced me, panic filled her eyes.

"Whatas happened?" she barely said.

"Iam afraid I have very bad news for you, Mrs. Dawson," Marino said. "Itas your daughter, Susan. Iam afraid sheas been killed."

Small feet sounded in a nearby room, and a little girl appeared in a doorway to the right of us. She stopped and regarded us with wide blue eyes.

"Hailey, whereas Grandpa?" Mrs. Dawsonas voice quavered, her face ashen now.

"Upstairs."

Hailey was a tiny tomboy in blue jeans and leather sneakers that looked brand-new. Her blond hair shone like gold and she wore gla.s.ses to straighten a lazy left eye. I guessed she was, at the most, eight.

"You go tell him to come downstairs," Mrs. Dawson said. "And you and Charlie stay up there until I come get you."

The child hesitated in the doorway, inserting two fingers into her mouth. She stared wary at Marino and me.

"Hailey, go on now!"

Hailey left with an abrupt burst of energy.

We sat in the kitchen with Susanas mother. Her back did not touch the chair. She did not weep until her husband walked in minutes later.

"Oh, Mack," she said in a weak voice. "Oh, Mack." She began to sob.

He put his arm around her, pulling her close. His face blanched and he pressed his lips together as Marino explained what had happened.

"Yes, I know where Strawberry Street is," Susanas father said. "I donat know why she would have gone there. To my knowledge, itas not an area where she normally went. Nothing would have been open today. I donat know."

"Do you know where her husband, Jason Story, is?" Marino asked.

"Heas here."

"Here?"

Marino glanced around.

"Upstairs, asleep Jasonas not feeling well."

"The children are whose?"

"Tom and Marieas. Tomas our son. Theyare visiting for the holidays and left early this afternoon. For Tidewater. To visit friends. They should be home anytime."

He reached for his wifeas hand. "Millie, these people have a lot of questions to ask. Youad better get Jason."

"I tell you what," Marino said. "Iad rather talk to him alone for a minute. Maybe you could take me to him?"

Mrs. Dawson nodded, hiding her face in her hands.

"I think you best check on Charlie and Hailey," her husband said to her. "See if you can get your sister on the phone. Maybe she can come."

His pale blue eyes followed his wife and Marino out of the kitchen. Susanas father was tall, with fine bones, his dark brown hair thick, with very little gray. His gestures were economical, his emotions well contained. Susan had gotten her looks from him and perhaps her disposition.

"Her car is old. She has nothing of value to steal, and I know she would not have been involved. Not in drugs or anything." He searched my face.

"We donat know why this happened, Reverend Dawson."

"She was pregnant" he said, the words catching in his throat. "How could anyone?"

"I donat know"a I said. "I donat know how."

He coughed. "She did not own a gun."

For a moment, I did not know what he meant. Then I realized, and rea.s.sured him, "No. The police did not find a gun. Thereas no evidence she did this to herself."

"The police? You arenat the police?"

"No. Iam the chief medical examiner. Kay Scarpetta."

He stared numbly at me.

"Your daughter worked for me."

"Oh. Of course. Iam sorry."

"I donat know how to comfort you," I said with difficulty.

"I havenat begun to deal with this myself. But Iam going to do everything possible to find out what happened. I want you to know that."

"Susan spoke of you. She always wanted to be a doctor."

He averted his gaze, blinking back tears.