"Frightened, depressed, sometimes angry."

"Are you suggesting that there was some conspiracy involved in his case and he might have told his friend about it, perhaps in one of his earlier letters to her?"

"I donat know what Jenny Deighton knew, but I suspect she knew something."

"Did Waddell refer to her as aJennya?"

Grueman reached for his lighter again. "Yes."

"Did he ever mention to you a novel called Paris Trout?"

"Thatas interesting" - he looked surprised. "I havenat thought of this in quite sometime, but during one of my early sessions with Ronnie several years ago, we talked about books and his poetry. He liked to read, and suggested I should read Paris Trout. I told him I had already read the novel, but was curious as to why he would recommend it. He said, very quietly, aBecause thatas the way it works, Mr. Grueman. And thereas no way youare gonna change nothing.a'

At the time I interpreted this to mean that he was a southern black pitted against the white manas system, and no federal habeas remedy or any other magic I might invoke during the judicial review process was going to alter his fate."

"Is this still your interpretation?"

He stared thoughtfully through a cloud of fragrant smoke. "I believe so. Why are you interested in Ronnieas recommended reading list?"

He met my eyes.

"Jennifer Deighton had a copy of Paris Trout by her bed. Inside it was a poem that I suspect Waddell wrote for her. Itas not important. I was just curious."

"But it is important or you wouldnat have inquired about it. What youare contemplating is that perhaps Ronnie recommended the novel to her for the same reason that he recommended it to me. The story, in his mind, was somehow his story. And that leads us back to the question of how much he had divulged to Miss Deighton. In other words, what secret of his did she carry with her to the grave?"

"What do you think it was, Mr. Grueman?"

"I think a very nasty indiscretion has been covered up, and for some reason Ronnie was privy to it. Maybe this relates to what goes on behind bars, that is, corruption within the prison system. I donat know but I wish I did."

"But why hide anything when youare facing death? Why not just go ahead and take your chances and talk?"

"That would be the rational thing to do, now, wouldnat it? And now that I have so patiently and generously answered your probing questions, Dr. Scarpetta, perhaps you can better understand why I have been more than a little concerned about any abuse Ronnie may have received prior to his execution. You can understand better, perhaps, my pa.s.sionate opposition to capital punishment, which is cruel and unusual. You donat have to have bruises or abrasions or bleed from your nose to make it so."

"There was no evidence of physical abuse," I said. "Nor did we find drugs present. You have gotten my report."

"You are being evasive," Grueman said, knocking tobacco out of his pipe. "You are here today because you want something from me. I have given you a lot through a dialogue that I did not have to engage in. But I have been willing because I am forever in pursuit of fairness and truth, despite how I may appear to you. And there is another reason. A former student of mine is in trouble."

"If you are referring to me, then let me remind you of your own dictum. Donat make a.s.sumptions."

"I donat believe I am."

"Then I must convey acute curiosity over this sudden charitable att.i.tude youare allegedly displaying toward a former student. In fact, Mr. Grueman, the word charity has never entered my mind in connection with you."

"Perhaps, then, you donat know the true meaning of the word. An act or feeling of goodwill, giving alms to the needy. Charity is giving to someone what he needs versus what you want to give him. I have always given you what you need. I gave you what you needed while you were my student, and Iam giving you what you need today, though the acts are expressed very differently because the needs are very different.

"Now I am an old man, Dr. Scarpetta, and perhaps you think I donat remember much about your days at Georgetown. But you might be surprised to hear that I remember you vividly because you were one of the most promising students I ever taught. What you did not need from me was strokes and applause. The danger for you was not that you would lose faith in yourself and your excellent mind but that you would lose yourself, period. Do you think when you looked exhausted and distracted in my cla.s.s that I did not know the reason? Do you think I was unaware of your complete preoccupation with Mark James, who was mediocre by your standards, by the way? And if I appeared angry with you and very hard on you, it was because I wanted to get your attention. I wanted you to get mad. I wanted you to feel alive in the law instead of feeling only in love. I feared you would throw away a magnificent opportunity because your hormones and emotions were in overdrive. You see, we wake up one day to regret such decisions. We wake up in an empty bed with an empty day stretching before us and nothing to look forward to but empty weeks, months, and years. I was determined that you would not waste your gifts and give away your power."

I stared at him in astonishment as my face began to burn.

"I have never been sincere in my insults and lack of chivalry toward you," he went on with the same quiet intensity and precision that made him frightening in the courtroom. "These are tactics. We lawyers are famous for our tactics. They are the slices and spins we put on the ball, the angles and speed we use to bring about a certain necessary effect. At the foundation of all that I am is a sincere and pa.s.sionate desire to make my students tough and pray that they make a difference in this botched-up world we live in. And I feel no disappointment in you. You are, perhaps, one of my brightest stars."

"Why are you saying all this to me?" I asked.

"Because at this time in your life, you need to know it. You are in trouble, as Iave already stated. You are simply too proud to admit it."

I was silent, my thoughts engaged in a fierce debate.

"I will help you if you will allow it."

If he was telling me the truth, then it was vital that I respond in kind. I glanced toward his open door and imagined how easy it would be for anyone to walk in here. I imagined how easy it would be for someone to confront him as he hobbled to his car.

"If these incriminating stories continue to be printed in the newspaper, for example, it would behoove you to develop a few strategies -"

I interrupted him. "Mr. Grueman, when was the last time you saw Ronnie Joe Waddell?"

He paused and stared up at the ceiling. "The last time I was in his physical presence would have been at least a year ago. Typically, most of our conversations were over the phone. I would have been with him in the end had he permitted it, as Iave already mentioned."

"Then you never saw him or spoke with him when he was supposedly at Spring Street awaiting execution."

"Supposedly? Thatas a curious choice of words, Dr. Scarpetta."

"We canat prove it was Waddell who was executed the night of December thirteenth."

"Certainly youare not serious." He looked amazed.

I explained all that had transpired, including that Jennifer Deighton was a homicide and Waddellas fingerprint had turned up on a dining room chair inside her home. I told him about Eddie Heath and Susan Story, and the evidence that someone had tampered with AFIS. When I was finished, Grueman was sitting very still, his eyes riveted on me.

"My Lord," he muttered.

"Your letter to Jennifer Deighton never turned up," I went on. "The police found neither that nor her original fax to you when they searched her house. Maybe someone took them. Maybe her killer burned them in her fireplace the night of her death. Or maybe she disposed of them herself because she was afraid. I do believe she was killed because of something she knew."

"And this would be why Susan Story was killed, too? Because she knew something?"

"Certainly thatas possible," I said. "My point is that so far two people linked to Ronnie Waddell have been murdered. In terms of someone who might know a lot about Waddell, you would be considered high on the list."

"So you think I may be next," he said with a wry smile. "You know, perhaps my biggest grievance against the Almighty is that the difference between life and death should so often turn on timing. I consider myself forewarned, Dr. Scarpetta. But I am not foolish enough to think that if someone intends to shoot me I can successfully elude him."

"You could at least try," I said. "You could at least take precautions."

"And I shall."

"Maybe you and your wife could go on a vacation, get out of town for a while."

"Beverly has been dead for three years," he said.

"Iam very sorry, Mr. Grueman."

"She had not been well for many years - in fact, not for most of the years we were together. Now that I have no one to depend on me, I have given myself up to my proclivities. I am an incurable workaholic who wants to change the world."

"I suspect that if anyone could come close to changing it, you could."

"That is an opinion not based on any sort of fact, but I appreciate it nonetheless. And I also want to express to you my great sadness over Markas death. I did not know him well when he was here, but he seemed to be a decent-enough fellow."

"Thank you."

I got up and put on my coat. It took me a moment to find my car keys.

He got up, too. "What do we do next, Dr. Scarpetta?"

"I donat suppose you have any letters or other items from Ronnie Waddell that might be worth processing for his latent prints?"

"I have no letters, and any doc.u.ments that he might have signed would have been handled by a number of people. Youare welcome to try."

"Iall let you know if we have no other alternative. But there is one final thing Iave been meaning to ask."

We paused in the doorway. Grueman was leaning on his cane. "You mentioned that during your last conversation with Waddell, he made three last requests. One was to publish his meditation, another to call Jennifer Deighton. What was the third?"

"He wanted me to invite Norring to the execution."

"And did you?"

"Well, of course," Grueman said. "And your fine governor didnat even have the manners to RSVP."

10.

It was late afternoon, and Richmondas skyline was in view when I called Rose.

"Dr. Scarpetta, where are you?"

My secretary sounded frantic. "Are you in your car?"

"Yes. Iam about five minutes from downtown."

"Well, keep driving. Donat come here right now."

"What?"

"Lieutenant Marinoas trying to reach you. He said if I talk to you to tell you to call him before you do anything. He said itas very, very urgent."

"Rose, what on earth are you talking about?"

"Have you been listening to the news? Did you read the afternoon paper?"

"Iave been in D.C. all day. What news?"

"Frank Donahue was found dead early this afternoon."

"The prison warden? That Frank Donahue?"

"Yes."

My hands tensed on the wheel as I stared hard at the road.

"What happened?"

"He was shot. He was found in his car a couple of hours ago. Itas just like Susan."

"Iam on my way," I said. gliding into the left lane and accelerating.

"I really wouldnat. Fieldingas already started on him. Please call Marino. You need to read the evening paper. They know about the bullets."

'They?" I said.

"Reporters. They know about the bullets linking Edgy; Heathas and Susanas cases."

"I called Marinoas pager and told him I was on my way home. When I pulled into my garage, I went straight to the front stoop and retrieved the evening paper.

A photograph of Frank Donahue smiled above they fold: The headline read, "STATE PENITENTIARY WARDEN SLAIN."

Below this was a second story featuring the photograph of another state official - me: That storyas lead was that the bullets recovered from the bodies of the Heath boy and Susan had been fired from the same gun, and a number of bizarre connections seemed to link both homicides to me. In addition to the same intimation that had run in the Post was information much more sinister. My fingerprints, I was stunned to read, had been recovered from an envelope containing cash that the police had found inside Susan Storyas house. I had demonstrated an "unusual interest" in Eddie Heatha's case by appearing at Henrico Doctoras Hospital, prior to his death, to examine his wounds. Later I had performed his autopsy, and it was at this time that Susan refused to witness his case and supposedly fled from the morgue When she was murdered less than two weeks later, I responded to the scene, appeared unannounced at the home of her parents directly afterward to ask them questions, and insisted on being present during the autopsy. I was not directly a.s.signed a motive for malevolence toward anyone, but the one implied in Susanas case was as infuriating as it was amazing. I may have been making major mistakes on the job. I had neglected to print Ronnie Joe Waddell when his body came to the morgue after his execution. I recently had left the body of a homicide victim in the middle of a corridor, virtually in front of an elevator used by numerous people who worked in the building, thus seriously compromising the chain of evidence. I was described as aloof and unpredictable, with colleagues observing that my personality had begun to change after the death of my lover, Mark James. Perhaps Susan, who had worked by my side daily, had possessed knowledge that could ruin me professionally. Perhaps I had been paying for her silence.

"My fingerprints?" I said to Marino the instant he appeared at my door. "What the h.e.l.l is this business about fingerprints belonging to me?"

"Easy, Doc."

"I might just file suit this time. This has gone too far."

"I donat think you want to be filing anything right now." He got out his cigarettes as he followed me toll kits; where the evening paper was spread out on the table. "Ben Steven is behind this."

"Doc, I think what you watt to do is listen to what Iave got to say."

"Heas got to be the source of the leak about bullets a"

"Doc. G.o.ddam it, shut up."

I sat down. "My a.s.s is in the fire, too," he said. "Iam working cases with you: and now suddenly youave become an element. Yes, we did find an envelope in Susanas house. It was in a dresser drawer under some clothes. There were three one-hundred-dollar bills inside it. Vander processed the envelope and several latents popped up. Two of them are yours. Your prints, like mine and those of a lot of other investigators, are in AFIS for exclusionary purposes, in case we ever do a dumbs.h.i.t thing leave our prints at a scene."

"I did not leave prints at any scene. Thereas a logic explanation for this. There has to be. Maybe the envelope was one I touched at some point at the office or the morgue, and Susan took it home."

"Itas definitely not an office envelope," Marino said. "Itas about twice as wide as a legal-size envelope of stiff, shiny black paper. Thereas no writing on it."

I looked at him in disbelief as it dawned on me. "The scarf I gave her."